#stage gate process

[erme-aeterna-arts]

astarion casting tasha's hideous laughter.

[stardustthread]

You guys shouldn’t forget this at all

[imogenkol]

WELCOME TO EDEN’S END - Far Cry 5

[template by @unholymilf]

[scribeofmorpheus]

Why Dragon Age Veilguard isn't a "Cathedral"

Concept art by Matt Rhodes

"To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals."

What is inherent with Veilguard that keeps bothering me is the fact that the world's choices truly didn't matter--and it doesn't simply bother me from a player perspective, it's not simply a grievance borne of frustration to what I (as a longtime fan) have lost. It's about the very culture of the arts under capitalism's new media habituation cycle [x][x].

Yes, I spent hours of my life playing and replaying each instalment of Dragon Age. Yes, I painstakingly curated a 'canon' world state by replaying what came before in preparation for Veilguard. Yes, I am even more unsatisfied with the end product--time hasn't helped, it's just widened the divide. But, and I can't stress this enough, these very personal gripes aren't what hit home the most. It's the inherent disregard of legacy. A legacy that the previous writers and game developers were building towards.

In the DAV artbook, "cathedral" is the word used to describe the process of making a game. Matt Rhodes' exact words are: "One artist can make a painting, but it takes a team to build a cathedral." Cathedrals took centuries to build. The architect who drafted the first blueprints would likely never see his work realised, he had to rely on those who came after him, like-minded and passionate, to see it through--for the culture, for the future, for legacy. Painters took on several apprentices for this reason too--giant frescoes were not completed by one man's hand, even if it is one man's name that immortalises them. Similarly, if you weave a narrative around choice, what good does it do to take it away at the final act if not to fall to caricature?

To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals.

Late-stage capitalism and profit-margin-obsessed game producers forcing developers to churn out meager content, to make a known brand into something it's not, to chase a fad or a popular trend... o, how reductive and cliche you've been forced to become Bioware. We have lost the cultural thought patterns relative to Cathedrals. We know only of barn-raised churches--done in a day but unlikely to last the turn of the seasons.

And don't even get me started on the music of Veilguard either. From Origins to World of Warcraft to Everquest to Baldur's Gate to Dungeon Siege, you can hear the intricate interconnected weave of sounds inspired by the Dungeons and Dragons-esque fantasy genre. You hear it in the repeated use of certain instruments, in the harmonic weeping notes of a bard-like singer or the foreboding echoes of drums as if of war. In tavern songs. But then, rather than hire someone who loves these worlds and this genre, who is a hungry artist looking to make a name, a legacy if you will, for themselves with a spectacular score, you hire any already sated composer, one well-into the encroaching years of career fatigue, whose notes repeat in countless projects, who feels less concise and more uninterested with each new project. One who has long since cemented his legacy. Someone in it for a paycheck and nothing else! And, to top it off, you let him compose something so minimalist? I am offended actually.

Cathedrals! We should have witnessed the final tile being placed on the Dragon Age cathedral. Instead, some architects walked up, tore down the interior and installed IKEA furniture and called it authentic before having to call the previous architects to come and fix the "load-bearing issues", forcing them to rush and add a coat of varnish and a few 'aged' details for authenticity.

[sensualnoiree]

1st House: The Helm This is where your spiritual energy and identity take the spotlight. The 1st House governs your appearance, personality, and vitality—the essence of how you project yourself to the world. It’s your steez, your approach to life, and the first impression you make on others. The 1st House is all about beginnings, the mask you may unknowingly wear, and how you come to know yourself on a deep authentic level. The captain of this ship is the ruling planet of the zodiac sign residing there.

2nd House: Gate of Hades Your values, self-esteem, and ability to attract wealth are all tied to the 2nd House. This is where your personal resources, possessions, and financial matters come into play. The foods you eat, your saving and spending habits, and your sense of self-worth are all part of this house. It’s where your style and material wealth are rooted, reflecting how you value yourself and what you own. This house represents how you sustain for yourself, how you support all that the first house needs of you to be who you are.

3rd House: Goddess The 3rd House is the domain of communication, early education, and the mind. It governs how you gather and process information, your intellect, and your interactions within your community. This house also encompasses your relationships with siblings, short travels, and technical skills. It’s the space where your to-do list and daily mental activities take shape.

4th House: Subterranean Deeply connected to your roots, the 4th House represents your home, heritage, and ancestry. It’s where your inner life and sense of security are nurtured, influenced by your upbringing and relationship with your parents—especially the mother. This house also relates to land, generational gifts, and knowledge passed down through the family. It’s a space of femininity and the feminine energies in your life. This is the lowest point of the birth chart and can be fairly private and personal-as opposed to the 10th house. It holds up the rest of the chart and is incredibly important in terms of learning about our sense of security/stability emotionally, spiritually, and physically.

5th House: Good Fortune Joy, creativity, and self-expression flourish in the 5th House. This is where you experience the pleasures of life—love affairs, children, art, and entertainment. It’s the house of flirtation, play, and drama, where your passions come to life. The 5th House also governs leisure activities, fertility, and the pursuit of happiness through creative endeavors. A sense of nostalgia lives here too.

6th House: Bad Fortune The 6th House deals with work, health, and daily routines. It’s the space of labor, servitude, and the duties that never seem to end. This house also governs how you care for your body, deal with illness and injury, and interact with employees or pets. It’s where the unexpected challenges in life arise, requiring your attention and resilience. Look here for understanding on what great works you may find yourself committing to.

7th House: Setting Place Relationships take center stage in the 7th House. This is where you finally begin to truly engage with others, forming long-term commitments, whether in marriage, partnerships, or friendships. It’s the house of open enemies, where you face the other in life. The 7th House also governs relaxation, romance, and the deep bonds that define your connections with others.

8th House: The Idle Place Death, transformation, and shared resources are key themes in the 8th House. It’s where you confront karma, contracts, and generational lessons. This house also deals with loans, debts, and the deep psyche—the mysteries and fears that lie beneath the surface. The 8th House is a place of soul material, where you explore the unseen and the unknown. Here, you face all consequences-positive & negative- of the 7th house and the relationships, contracts, and potential enemies made there. This is the house of others esteem of you, opposite of the 2nd.

9th House: House of God The 9th House is your portal to higher knowledge, philosophy, and spiritual exploration. It governs your worldview, ethics, and the pursuit of truth through study, travel, and discovery. This house is where you connect with religion, spirituality, and the higher mind, expanding your understanding of the world and your place in it.

10th House: House of Praxis Your public life, reputation, and career are shaped by the 10th House. It’s where you strive for honor, recognition, and achievements that define your legacy. This house also relates to your relationships with authority figures, particularly the father, and how you navigate the public sphere. The 10th House is where your goals, fame, and business acumen are realized. Sitting at the very top of the chart, like the sun at noon high in the sky, all can see you here.

11th House: Good Spirits In the 11th House, your hopes, dreams, and social networks come to life. This house governs your friendships, group affiliations, and the communities you belong to. It’s where you connect with humanity, receive sudden blessings, and find support in your aspirations. The 11th House is also associated with gifts, riches, and the imagination needed to dream big.

12th House: Bad Spirits The 12th House is a place of retreat, isolation, and self-undoing. It’s where you confront your inner shadows, secrets, and hidden enemies. This house governs institutions, mental health, and the need for solitude or seclusion. It’s also a space of psychological development, where you deal with endings, sickness, and the unseen forces that shape your life journey. This house is in a blind spot to the first house of Self and that is why we can be blind to the very things that reside here. Its not so much that these things seek out to destroy you but any area of your life your are deeply unaware of can come back and disorientate you from who you believe yourself to be.

follow for more astro insights like this and head on over to @quenysefields or my etsy --> sensualnoiree to grab my new astrology guidebook on reading your own natal chart :)

[apas-95]

Did you know that NASA engineers considered the failure rate of some critical shuttle parts to be about 1 in 100 (significantly greater than what NASA upper-management considered the failure rate to be, and what was considered at all acceptable by the certification process)?

Do you know that NASA engineers currently have no idea how many rocket launches the next mission in the Artemis program (in 2 years!) is meant to involve, because the mission plan relies on SpaceX being contracted to deliver a supply of cryogenic fuel to the crewed Orion (™ Lockheed-Martin) capsule in orbit - a procedure that 1: has never been attempted before on any spacecraft, let alone the Orion™ capsule, not even in uncrewed technology demonstration flights; and 2: would require an as-of-yet unknown number of SpaceX 'Starship' launches, because said vehicle does not actually exist at time of writing?

Did you know they're planning on using this 'starship' as the crewed lander? A design for a lunar ascent vehicle, that is, that does not use hypergolic fuel, that relies on a swing-out crane as the only entry and egress point? During the original moon landings, the LEM had so many redundant methods to make sure it got astronauts off the surface of the moon, that in the most absurd, extreme case, where every single mechanism fails, there's a procedure trained into the astronauts to climb around the outside of the capsule, take a pair of bolt-cutters from the equipment box, physically cut the couplings holding the capsule to the lander stage, and take off to get home. Artemis' proposed lander, on the other hand, is planned to be a vehicle whose design didn't even include heatshields until it was realised it would obviously need heatshields, which are ceramic tiles bolted after-the-fact directly through the steel hull, because SpaceX had decided to mass-produce the original-design hull sections all at once for all the 'starships' first, before doing any integrated testing.

We're seeing the exact attitude that led to the shuttle disasters not being prevented now expressing itself in (and even through) the Artemis program, a project pushed harder and faster through the gates than it should be, by a government (and NASA administration thereby) desperate to advance the eponymous Artemis Accords (that goes unsigned by China, Russia, and much of the world) and reneg on all previous space charters that onsidered ownership, commercial exploitation, and military usage of space forbidden. Something bad is going to happen, and it's going to happen for the sake of SpaceX and the military-industrial complex at large.

[elliesmainhoe]

need ellie to take care of me drunk desperately

i love your writing 😭

Rescue Remedy

e.williams x fem!reader

summary: you call Ellie to come and rescue you from a bar after having a few too many drinks

warnings: alcohol, cigarettes, mentions of hangovers, slurred speech, drunk crying, fluff.

just realized this is basically a self insert vent post of a very similar situation I've been in LMAO

WC 1K

DAY 4 OF SAPPHIC SUMMER

you were relieved when the familiar beaten up Ford focus pulled up beside you. you'd been sitting on the curb for almost 15 minutes- tear stained cheeks, smudged glitter and mascara as your body shook and jittered from both the cold Seattle night and the mixture of cigarette smoke and alcohol causing the most humbling case of hiccups you think you've ever had.

"Ells!" you whined, a new flood of tears streaming from your eyes at the sight of your night in shining armour- your girlfriend.

"c'mon sweet girl" she huffed, hair thrown up messily in the usual half up, half down style, clad in red and black checkered pyjama pants, black hoodie that was splattered with paint topped off with the obnoxious lime green crocks you'd gotten her for her one Christmas, of course decked out in charms shed collected over the past few months.

before you could even process it you were sitting in the passenger seat, leather seats sticking to your sweat glazed skin, and sobs turning to hiccups.

this had been the worst night out you'd had since your 21st. and as soon as the car revved and moved down the road, Ellie's hand pressed firmly on your bare thigh, the fabric of your dress not long enough to cover the majority of your thigh.

"what happened sweet girl?" oh and by that one question, it's like Ellie had opened a flood gate.

firstly, you got to the club of choice after having to walk almost a mile from where your designated driver had parked, accompanied by a couple of friends. after queuing on the curb for almost thirty minutes, you reached the front of the queue and then promptly realized you had left you purse. with your id. in the car. a mile away.

so after you'd trekked all the way to the car, retrieving your purse and id, getting back to the club, queuing for another 30 minutes, on your own this time- as your friends who had not forgotten their id decided to go in and leave you to sort your shit out.

let's just say you were already a little pissed off.

secondly, you got in the club and it stunk. not just of sweat and booze, but piss. fucking piss. and to top that all off you couldn't find your friends so- you did what any other sane person would do and ordered shots.

shots that were actually doubles, but of course you hadnt realized that until way too late.

which leads into the final stage of the night, your head being deep in a grimy toilet bowl, knees bruised from having to kneel on tiles that were not grouted properly and pieces of them shot out and cut at your skin.

and by that point you had gotten out your phone, which was now on 7% charge because you had offers to use your GPS and it drained all your battery, and was a blubbering mess on call with your girlfriend.

you would later have to retell the story again, as apparently according to Ellie- she couldn't understand a word you were saying, just nodding along in a desperate attempt to keep you awake long enough to get a glass of water and a slice of toast down you.

it must have been during your tangent when you'd gotten home, as when you finally finished your incoherent mumbling you were sitting on the beat up leather couch of yours and Ellie's apartment, a couch you'd hated as soon as you moved in, but Ellie had a weird attachment to so it stayed in it's place, the first thing you saw when you entered the home.

Ellie was kneeling in front of you, sitting between your thighs and facing you, holding up a large glass of water,

"sip baby" she spoke softly, to which you groaned.

"do- do- I haveeeeeee to?" you whined, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to distract your girlfriend "jus' wan' sleep"

"you can sleep after you drink that." after another groan you took a sip of the glass of water- admittedly, it was refreshing, however you still gagged to prove a point.

"good girl" she purred, standing up and kissing your forehead, moving over to the cabinet to grab a packet of pills.

"fuck off"

she laughs, moving back with a small white pill in the palm of her hand, to which you begrudgingly take after Ellie promises to take you to get ice cream the day after.

you felt your eyelids droop once more, you couldn't tell if it was sleep, or just your false eyelashes becoming suddenly very heavy, you whine "'m tired ells..."

"alright I hear you, c'mon baby" she sighs, leaving a half eaten piece of toast on the coffee table, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees as she made her way to your bedroom, plopping you on the mattress and you sigh, already drifting to sleep before you screech at the feeling of something wet in your face.

"hey- hey" Ellie laughs, "I'm just taking off your makeup baby, just taking off your makeup", she smiles, dragging a cotton pad across your skin, taking off the creams and powders you had applied previously, smudged mascara coming off with it.

Ellie was thankful you'd taken off your clothes as soon as you stepped foot into the apartment saying something which she thinks was "dresses like these are modern day torture devices"- but with the way you slur your words when drunk she could never be sure, leaving you just in your underwear, making her job a whole lot easier.

trying to maneuver you, who had now dropped on the mattress like a deadweight, would've been a too strenuous task for 3am.

after discarding the used wipes and pulling your hair back into a very messy ponytail, Ellie scooted in beside you, the mattress sinking as you unconsciously snuggle in closer, head nuzzling into the girls neck, her hand going around to caress your back, soothing you into an easy sleep.

the hangover tomorrow was going to be horrible.

••••••••••••••

The third time I've tried to write this, I almost gave up 🥰

[lady-buggerinton]

Ok I’ve seen the Fingering Gate Analysis but can we also consider how Penelope most likely isn’t simply a “never been touched” pure virgin who hasn’t known any pleasure before: an analysis

1. She’s not Daphne, she was deeply lonely and had lots of time to daydream and explore her own mind, desires, and interests (Whistledown being an example) I don’t think she needed to be taught by a rakish man how to get off on her own, PLUS she’s been yearning and pining for Colin who lives right across the street, so she’s had plenty of time to RUMINATE being within close proximity to the object of her desire.

2. She didn’t seem that shocked by the pleasure Colin was giving her, more just overwhelmed by it as it’s something she’s likely dreamed about and wanted for years. The consensual nod reads to me that she knows where exactly he’s planning on going with this, what is going to happen, and she wants him to do it to her.

3. What do we know about Penelope? She’s an entrepreneur and self-made woman, I think she would have definitely developed a deep curiosity about sex and relationships and would have worked out what sexual pleasure is and how to achieve it solo style! She’s a people watcher and an avid reader, she clearly wants to participate and not just watch.

4. Clues from past seasons. In season 1 she and Eloise announce their curiosity about sex and specifically conception, and Penelope is clearly inexperienced at that time, similar to Colin being inexperienced with women. After her discussion about love with Marina, I believe her interest was peaked and it started her on her own path of self discovery, parallel to Colin’s but obviously hindered due to her role in society.

5. She was ready. If you are brand new to pleasure you are not prone to sound making or expressions such as moaning/sighing. If she were completely inexperienced the process would definitely have been more clunky and would’ve taken a longer time to “warm her up”, this is the case often for women in the early stages of sexual awakening. Clearly, Colin was taking her lead on some things, and would’ve probably slowed way down if he sensed fear or inexperience. In the carriage, she got into it RIGHT away and was keyed up and ready to go, that reads to me a woman who is familiar with her body and what it can do.

5. Story wise I want this to be the case because I was annoyed with the “women can’t work out self pleasure on their own and need a rakish man to teach them” and was glad with Kate it just wasn’t addressed/implied she was experienced in some form. Women in every era figured out how to self-pleasure despite societal silence on the matter in the higher classes and I’m a fan every time that is explored.

In conclusion, the fact that the carriage scene felt so natural and passionate is because Penelope is an Experienced virgin with a capital E and was just waiting for the opportunity to express her sexuality and I believe this to be the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth!

[lizardkingeliot]

I took a ton of notes during my rewatch of 2x07 just now but the thing I kept coming back to again and again was Armand's framing of the entire narrative and how it plays with truth vs lies in such an insidious way it's honestly brilliant in its cruelty. Truth being used as a cudgel not only against Louis, but against Lestat as well. And against, us, the viewers at home.

We obviously all know Armand is a very powerful 500 year old vampire who is not going to be held back by an infant of a vampire like Santiago. Like… Armand. Babe. Let’s get real. But that’s the narrative set-up. The coven, now being led by Santiago, has Armand captive behind his little rickety baby gate with Sam and his prop weapon not letting the puppy come out to play. He cannot prevent it! Poor baby. Someone get him a juice box and a snack.

Enter Lestat. The vengeful lover come to make Louis and Claudia pay for what they did to him. What's interesting here is that everyone—Daniel, Louis, Armand—acknowledges in Dubai that the trial IS a sham from the beginning. A tool to allow Lestat his revenge. But the truth of why it's actually a sham is being hidden behind a thousand layers of gaslighting and deceit by Armand. Lestat is merely another prop on the stage. Being forced to use the TRUTH of his love story with Louis—and to twist essential elements of their beginning as a couple—as a weapon to drive the final wedge between them so that Armand might have Louis all to himself. That's what this is about. A farce so that Armand might have what he wants more than anything in the world. Someone who will be with him always. Without Claudia, without Lestat... who else is there for Louis to run to?

The trial as we see it is told mostly through Louis' POV. It seems to be a true picture of how it all happened but the cognitive dissonance watching him try to reconcile what Lestat was doing on the stage with the framing provided by Armand (who cuts in frequently to assure us that Lestat shapes things to suit HIS narrative) is painful. Louis sees and feels and hears the sincerity of Lestat. A Lestat who is defiant from the jump and refuses to paint the story as butchery. It's about LOVE. It is always always always about the love. An entire sham trial about vengeance and murder framed around... love.

Everyone who's familiar with the books already knows Lestat didn't want to be there. I won't go into that too much but the show did a good job of showing us just how unwell Lestat was during the entire process. But there are also some really interesting moments where we are TOLD explicitly through Louis' recounting of the events that Lestat was not actually there for revenge. Namely, the moment when Lestat says HE deserves to be punished alongside them. These are not the words of someone who is seeking vengeance. These are the words of someone desperately rattling the bars of his own cage trying everything he can to prevent what's happening. Because unlike a certain someone, in that moment Lestat is quite literally unable to prevent it!

The entire episode is Louis trying to reconcile the conflicting truths that exist inside him: that Lestat was there for revenge, that Armand couldn't prevent the coven from exacting their cruelty, and that the Lestat who was on stage WAS sincere and emotional and fighting with everything he had to let the truth ring as true as it was when he was able. He refused to refer to Louis as the accused every time Santiago insisted on it. He would only refer to Louis by name. He would NOT allow the narrative to frame him as someone who didn't also do monstrous things to his lover. He was weeping and flooded with shame. Sincerely, genuinely remorseful for the awful thing he had done to Louis.

There's also something else here about Lestat acknowledging he tried to crush what he could not own vs Armand deceiving Louis into the false sense of control that is the entire basis for their relationship. Owning something he does not crush, merely confines. He's not crushing Louis with insanity, he's locking him inside his prison of empathy. He quite literally has Louis locked in a cage while allowing him to believe he's truly free. Free from the insanity of Lestat. Evil, vengeful, gaslighting Lestat who only uses the truth to shape the narrative for himself.

There's a lot more going on here. I can't possibly get it all out of my brain right now and I imagine I'm going to be picking apart the nuances for a while. There are so many layers. The truth vs lies vs intentional reshaping of the truth of it all. But if you rewatch, pay attention to Armand's face, the score that accompanies his recounting of events, the passive way in which he holds his body in both Paris and Dubai. He's locking Louis in a dream world where the truth is present in such a way it only serves to amplify its own distortion. I don't even think he's fucking with Louis' memory all that much, just framing it in such a way that Louis cannot see past what is right there in front of him. What he already knows. If only he had just a few more tiny pieces of the puzzle...

But he's trying to get there. He is getting there. The truth of Lestat is breaking though. Lestat is still present there with him in Dubai, as real as if he were really in the room. After 74 years, Louis can still recall every detail of his face, still smile at him recalling the truth of his memories. The truth he wouldn't allow himself to look at all the way. The truth he himself had to distort for his own sake because it hurt too much. He's allowing himself to see not only the truth of himself and his own actions, but the truth of Lestat. All the complicated, sincere truth of him. The truth of the one who truly could not prevent it.

[justin-chapmanswers]

hi Justin! just want to say I ADORE ii and it's one of my favourite shows out there; actually inspired me to start my own!

which is a lame segue into my question- do you have any advice for someone wanting to make their own show?

That's so exciting!! Art makes art!

Oh golly uhhhh. There's so so much to say in so many different departments. So. I'll keep it broad and of course anyone can ask more specific questions haha.

My go-to advice tends to be for creators to start as small as possible early on. Even if you aspire to create projects that are huge-in-scale down the line. So much about becoming a great artist involves moving through the stages of your art (whatever type it may be!) from start-to-finish, every step of the process, over and over and over again. So say in show creation, idk if you plan to be hands-on in every department or if you have a lot of help, but that could mean breaking down stories and outlining, writing, recording, constructing audio scenes and boarding, character and prop and background design, animating, music assembly, mixing, finalizing and editing, etc, over and over again. Obviously not every step may be involved in your project depending on what your goal is, but whatever it is that you do, do it sooooooooo many times.

While there's nothing inherently wrong with jumping in and making your first project something say, movie-length, or something immensely complex in scope, I do find it can, for many (not all) be limiting when it comes to learning a lot of fundamental building-blocks in craft. As well, I see a lot of people get lost in an overwhelming project, trying to focus on quality>quantity right out of the gate. But spending the majority of your time just on adding some extra polish as opposed to running through the whole process again and again can only do so much for you. Obviously, a mentality of quality>quantity is great once you have a strong baseline understanding of production. But again, I think it's a huge plus to work on shorts and teeny-projects to start.

Since the above is pretty dry, I'll add an additional fun one. I've found that a lot of newer artists will toss away the concepts that make them joyous in hopes that they can instead create something that fits an objective perception of "professional." Nothing wrong with that, but I strongly advise artists of all levels of experience to toss everything they've love about the world and other media into their work. Their favorite genres and tropes, the stupid inside jokes that make them light up with their friends that they can invite the audience in-on, adaptations of stories that have made them cry. Create the things YOU love to experience. It's fine to let go of what you think the audience wants. Cause that's not easily guessable. But what YOU enjoy is something certain to you. It's sorta like how they say, it's better to go to the gym and do an suboptimal-but-fun workout that keeps you coming every day than a perfect workout that leads you to quitting. Share your joy with the world, and someone will resonate!

Be silly, be cringe, have fun!

[theresattrpgforthat]

Mint Plays Games: Changelings, Trauma & Gaming

Over the course of October and November, I returned to one of my favourite ttrpgs of all time with @thydungeongal and my girlfriend: Changeling the Lost. About once or twice a year, I get the itch to run the 1st edition of this lovely, lore-heavy game, and every year I come away from it thinking about its potential. This is meant to be a quick break-down of my latest Changeling session, as well as a reflection on the parts of Changeling that really touch my heart.

The Game.

This game happened over three sessions, involving a character creation session, and two sessions of play. We had one character who was a Darkling Gravewright - folks who dealt with the dead in their time in Faerie (and can also see ghosts), and another who was a Fairest Flamesiren, whose entire deal is about burning bright, but also burning out quickly.

I decided to give these girls a murder mystery, with a mortal body found just outside a gate to a Goblin Market, and a missing changeling to track down. We’d talked about themes of grief and addiction prior to my planning stage, so I figured dealing with both a death and a place that offers your wildest dreams (for a price) might be a good place to start.

I don’t like planning out specific plot beats in my games, so instead I tried designing the Market like an adventure location, with various vendors to tempt the players with their wares, while dotting the landscape with NPCs in various states of distress. I figured the Changelings would pick something that resonated with them, and we could go from there. This process also generated a few different villainous characters who could be responsible for the murder, which I’m glad I did, because as usual, what the players decide to do always falls outside the bounds of what the GM plans for.

The story ended up being about saving a kidnapped changeling from a hungry Fae, and bluffing through a group of Privateers (read: mercenaries) and bringing the victim to safety. However, they didn't escape completely unscathed - coming face to face with a True Fae caused a cascade of terrible memories coming back to visit one of our characters right after she thought she'd made it to safety.

Our session was an introduction to the world and lore of Changeling, and I feel like I did a pretty good job on that front. On the other hand, I felt like it was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the things I think Changeling can be about.

The Potential

When it comes to the World of Darkness in general, I think Changeling: the Lost has a relatively sleek amount of lore regarding the various Courts, Seemings, and faerie characters. Each Changeling’s durance can be typified, but ultimately what they went through can be up to the player who designs them, and the Hedge is limitless in its weird and strange creatures, which gives the GM license to create all kinds of goblins and monsters to fit what they want their game to be about - and the players aren’t really expected to know what’s going on in there anyways. Most Freehold history exists in rumour, because talking too openly about it feels like you’re inviting the Fae to your front doorstep, and in the same way, the true nature of the Fae is left up to rumour and superstition, allowing your group to decide what they really are, or leave their nature forever a mystery.

That being said, the toys that you can play with are still more numerous than anything that you can fit into any one campaign, even if you’re playing that campaign for 4+ years. You can very easily play Changeling as a magical urban fantasy game (and I’ve done this fairly regularly with my group), but C:tL also has a lot of poignant themes that can delve into themes about trauma, addiction, and mental health.

Disclaimer: CtL is not always graceful in the way it represents mental health. There are antagonists presented in the books that come across as “madmen”, some pretty gross Merits you can take that can feel bad to play at most tables, and characters that have lost what makes them human, becoming threats to the players. However, I think that the Clarity system does have some interesting ideas in it that, if treated with care, can still provide some interesting depth to the game.

Clarity

Clarity is meant to be a measure of how well your character can tell truth from Fiction - a high enough Clarity score, and you can sniff out a Fae even if they’re trying to hide themselves; a low enough Clarity Score, and you have a hard time differentiating colour and smell, and might even start seeing an overlay of your Durance infiltrating your weekly grocery trip.

Your Changeling moves up in Clarity if they’re able to keep a stable life with elements that help you ground yourself and give you a sense of identity - and mechanically, once you spend Experience points. Your Changeling moves down in Clarity when they suffer “sins” - moments that disrupt that hard-won stability. This sins could be something we’d consider morally fraught, such as stealing, assaulting someone, or murder - but they could also be significant life changes, like losing your job, buying a house, losing a friend or getting married. You also always suffer a Clarity sin when you come in contact with a reminder of your durance - particularly a True Fae.

The higher your Clarity score is, the harder it is to keep yourself there. Smaller and smaller things can trigger a Breaking point, like going a day without human contact, starting a new college course, or using a Faerie token. Furthermore, the lower your Clarity score, the more difficult it is for you to tell truth from fiction - think of the scenes in Mockingjay where Peeta has to ask Katniss “real or not real” and try to trust her answers.

It doesn’t help that so many pieces of the Changeling experience after getting out of the Hedge seems designed to Fuck You Up - like the doppelgänger that’s been living your life ever since you left, or the fact that mortals can’t seem to notice the ways that Faerie has changed you: you can feel the horns on your head, but all they touch is a well-coiffed hairstyle. In many ways it feels like your whole experience with Faerie is invisible - and you’re fairly certain that even if you told a mortal the truth, they’d never believe you. If they did believe you, they would never treat you the same again.

I like this system because it doesn't really measure how "good" or "bad" your character is - instead it's a representation of how your lived experiences can often trigger symptoms even if others get lucky enough to survive those events with their mental health intact. I'm not a bit fan of derangements - but I think dropping in Clarity is an excellent time to ask characters about pieces of their time in Faerie that haunt them, and perhaps saddle them with Frailties instead - what personal rules do you have to follow in order to navigate the world when you have a hard time telling friend from foe?

Other Themes & Metaphors

The Fae themselves are also exquisite boogeymen, mercurial abusers without the familiar human emotions that we might feel more equipped to understand. They act on their whims and follow their appetites - and while real-life abusers often have very human reasons for being that way, we need not feel such compunctions from the Fae.

We might have to feel some compunctions about their right-hand Loyalists however, changelings who have agreed to work for their Fae Masters in exchange for some semblance of freedom. These are enablers: giving the Fae a step into the mortal realm and throwing mortals and other Lost under the bus, just so the True Fae won't turn their abuses back onto them.

Much of the ethos of the seasonal courts in the first edition has to do with different strategies for preventing a day where you find yourself back under your abuser’s control. Do you pretend that everything is fine, because they won’t recognize their victims if they’re happy? Make yourself physically stronger so you can tell yourself that you’ll win next time? Amass magic rituals in the hopes that learning just the right order of steps will keep you safe? Or do you make yourself as un-interesting as possible in the hopes that they give up on you for other prey? (Yes, I think the Winter Court could totally be all about grey-rocking).

On top of that, the Changelings that your characters embody (and interact with) are far from perfect. They have vices, fears and trauma responses that pull and push them into a dance of backstabbing, power-grabbing politics, full of seeking the upper hand and possibly even selling out their fellows in a gambit meant to keep the Fae focused on someone other than them. (A political game or LARP with these themes in mind feels so juicy to me.)

Next is the metaphors of power and/or addiction. The higher your Wyrd is, the more Glamour you can hold, and the more powerful your magic is. At the same time, the more Glamour you can hold, the more you need to hold it: what starts as a fun magical resource can grow into an addiction, if you lean into it hard enough. Sure, your Contracts become easier to activate and you can Incite Bedlam if you get powerful enough, but are you willing to chance withdrawal if you can’t get your daily fix of goblin fruit? How much are you willing to play with human emotions in order to get that sweet sweet taste of anger or grief?

Then there’s the seeming-specific traumas. Beasts struggle with wondering whether they can be human after giving in to animal instinct; Darklings fell into Faerie because they crossed an invisible or moral line and have had to make morally questionable decisions in order to survive. Elementals are used to being treated as part of the scenery, moulded to fit the whims of their captors; Fairest are constantly pressured to be the prettiest or the best with the threat of terrible terrible things should they fail. Ogres have undergone terrible physical hardships, including physical mistreatment and deprivation, while Wizened have been told time and time again that they are only worth something if they are useful. Stepping out of Faerie doesn’t magically “fix” any of these complexes, and as a result each Seeming has to wrestle with stereotypes even amongst their own: if you need someone murdered, go to a Darkling, If you need something made, go to a Wizened. If you need a hot piece of ass, a Fairest is sure to oblige - right?

Lastly, there's the Fetch: a copy of yourself that was made to replace you when the Fae took you away. This other-you is often so much better or so much worse than the person they used to be - they can act as a foil to your character, haunting you or making your life difficult, reminding you of who you used to be, or never letting others forget how badly you may have screwed up. In Changeling society, killing your Fetch is at the very least a regrettably convenient way of tying up loose ends, and at the most, a rite of passage. But it's also a surefire way to risk losing Clarity. Kind of a catch-22 situation, isn't it?

My Experience So Far

Past Changeling sessions I’ve run have included NPCs getting kidnapped by misguided friends, stumbling across characters who were at an all-time Clarity low, trying to save other Changelings from their Faerie kidnappers, cannibals, Fetches, and antagonists who are set out to betray one or more factions of the Freehold that is supposed to protect them. It’s always bits and pieces of what feels like a bigger picture.

On the one hand, I think that's to be expected. There's so much in this game, and I doubt that any campaign can really dig in to all of its systems and complexities. On the other hand, I’m not sure if I’ve been able to really dig into the themes of Changeling: the Lost in the way that I’d really love to be able to do.

The subject matter can be so close to real struggles, that I’m nervous about making those struggles too bare-faced at my local table. Gas-lighting, torture, hallucinations, drug abuse and cannibalism are so very easy to drop into a Changeling game, but are also so very easy to hit uncomfortable moments for someone who's unprepared.

At the same time, I think that playing a game like Changeling with a high-trust table that uses robust safety features has so many interesting stories that can give power to players, even if the setting is technically a horror one. I’ve been having conversations with @psychhound about a lot of the themes that folks try to explore in ttrpgs, especially in response to this post he commented on back in April. To summarize that conversation: TTRPGs are a great way for folks to tackle personal struggles and traumas from a safe place, in ways that can give them a cathartic experience or that can give them a fresh sense of identity. Changeling has been a significant part of those discussions.

I came to Changeling: the Lost as a fairly new GM the first time I picked it up, and the more I learn about Safety Tools and a culture of care, the closer I feel to getting to that game that lives in my head that lured me into TTRPGS in the first place. Every time I come back to It, I think I'm closer to pulling together a Changeling game that sinks its teeth into the themes I’m interested in and hit some of the grime beneath all that glitter. So every time I come back to it, I’m going to create funky little goblins and design weird Fae bars and take the characters’ memories and ask them why they hurt - figuring out how I can twist the knife just enough to peel back the glamour, without opening any wounds that we’re trying to keep closed.

[kaliforniahigh]

I could 100% see Noah getting turned on by the sight of you being angry and standing up for him and the band

Oh, he thinks it's so fucking hot.

You were travelling with the guys to your next destination on tour and you had just arrived at the airport. To say today has been shitty would be an understatement.

First, you woke up late and had no time to get ready. Then, your bag was was over the weight limit and you had to pay extra for that. Then, there was a child crying during the whole flight.

Now, you were beside Noah, engulfed in one of his hoodies as you made your way to the van waiting outside the airport.

From afar, you saw some fans gathered by the arrival gate, and you pulled your hoodie up, not wanting to give them a glimpse of your tired face.

"We'll be at the hotel soon, ok?", Noah reassured you, rubbing a hand up and down your back, sensing your discomfort. You nodded and leaned a little closer to him.

As you made your way through the gate, a couple of fans were asking for pictues, but Noah only smiled their way and waved at them, the other boys doing the same. You kept your head down, when you heard a voice.

"You're so ungrateful! You can't even take a picture with us?"

Your steps faltered until you stopped completely. You felt Noah tug your arm for you to keep walking.

"You don't deserve the fame you got!", and that was your breaking point. Sliding the hood off, you looked at the girl spewing shit.

"What the fuck did you just say?", you told her, eyes narrowed and voice controlled, but a little bit of anger shined through.

Her eyes went wide, not expecting someone from the crew to confront her. You took a few steps closer and you felt Noah right behind you.

"He's not an animal in the zoo for you to take pictures with him whenever you please. He owes you nothing. Why don't you get a fucking job instead of standing here complaining and whining like a little kid?", you told her, and observed as her jaw just about fell to the floor, mouth gaping like a fish as she tried to think what to say to you, but no words came out.

Turning around, you grabbed Noah's hand and you two finally got into the van.

You sat next to him, but neither one of you said anything, still processing what just happened. You noticed him a little agitated on the seat beside you, and as you looked at him, you caught him adjusting his pants.

"Are you seriously hard right now?", your voice was lighter, and you had a teasing grin on your face as it dawned on you what was happening. He sighed out loud.

"Seeing you talk like that, standing up for me? Was fucking hot, ok? Don't judge me"

"Now I know how I feel when I see you growling and barking on stage"

[websterss]

NOBODY BUT YOU — GUILDFORD DUDLEY

REQUESTS: hi! can I request a Guildford x reader where they’re kind of in the same situation as him and Jane, but they’re childhood friends who never knew their parents planned an arranged marriage for them? reader knows he’s ethian and is fully supportive. maybe some angst as they come to terms with the news and then their new marriage, then they slowly realize that maybe they’ve loved each other all along and lots of fluff ensues? please and thank you!💗

WARNING(S): angst, fluff

WORD COUNT: 7,491

PAIRING: Guildford Dudley x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.

MASTERLIST

Guildford's and your parents had taken one look at you from the earlier stages of your adolescence and thought to themselves how perfect a match their children were for each other. The pair of you was almost too difficult to ignore since your similarities defined how well you fit together.

Your stubborn natures and wit could only be matched to the extent that you found each other tolerable. That and you both were born under the same full moon. Your mother's ensuring it.

That was why, as you grew up together, they found your bickering more entertaining than annoying. You always sought the other one out if you were hurt or needed someone to talk to.

Guildford’s parents could recall the first time you had run to their home, crying.

You, a tiny thing of eight, had fallen and hurt yourself. Guildford who was also eight at the time had taken one look at you and rushed forward when the garden gate swung open.

You had fallen off the swing at the back of your house. You bellowed in tears, your knee scraped open in the process of your fall. Guildford, who had been practicing with wooden swords in the garden with Stan, dropped them instantly when you came running towards him, and he was instantly by your side, soothing and caring for you. He was tender and gentle as he cleaned the wound and held you in his arms.

"Do you think I'll need to saw it off?" You whimpered.

Guildford felt his heart clench.

“No, it isn't that bad, honest.” He reassured. “But you need to be a lot more careful, I told you we would fix the swing, but you do not listen.”

"I just wanted to soar…"

He smiled gently before continuing to apply ointment to your wound. "You do realize you are a bird? You're able to soar all on your own without the use of a broken swing set."

"Where's the fun in that?" You hiss as he helps you put a cloth over your scrap.

"You're going to get yourself hurt more seriously one day," he muttered with a heavy, dramatic sigh. "You cannot keep doing this and expect me to always be here to pick you up."

"I thought that was the very reason our mothers ensured we were born on the same night. Insistent and prudent for our friendship to flourish."

He glanced up at you, almost shyly, before he looked away again. "Yes, well…" His silence confirmed that you were right. That was exactly what both your mothers had intended. "You still can't use a broken swing set." He continued firmly.

"You have no right to make me." You stick your tongue out at him.

He scoffs, his lip curling in irritation, but also a little bit of amusement. "And yet I've just done it."

"Yes well, you're a horse!" You taunt.

"And you are going to make me throw something at you." He replies threateningly, raising his hand which still has some of the ointment on it. You both know he'll never do it, but you still take a step back, pretending to be intimidated.

It's not till you recreate a whinny of his Ethian form that you're limping off towards the gate that divides your family's lands, or in simpler terms your very backyards.

Guildford's eyes widened as he got up to go after you. He shoves away the rag and pot of ointment carelessly then chases after you. He hates it when you copy the sound of his horse. "Get back here," he demands, though he continues in a calmer tone, "Why must you always do this? You are nowhere near as close sounding to it."

"Cause you hate it!" You huff, calling over your shoulder as you avoid bumping into a rose bush.

"Only because you insist that I sound like a dying horse!" He grabs one of your arms to stop you in your tracks, his fingers wrapping firmly, yet gently around it. With a sharp tug, you were once again facing him. "It is very rude!"

"Oh grow up!"

He lets out a scoff. "Says the pigeon."

You gasp out of his grasp. "I. Am a dove!"

"Do you know the difference between you and a dove?" He asks with a mocking smirk. "I'll make it easy, you're competence." He busted out laughing when you tried for him, swinging your arm in hopes of hitting him in the shoulder.

Though as you swung again, Guildford decided to dodge your weave and watched as you stumbled over your feet into a fall. You yelped as you went tumbling down onto the grass. Guildford reached out last second and fell with you. His hands cradle the back of your head cushioning it. Your eyes widen as he emits a cry of pain himself.

Guildford was breathing heavily as you were now underneath him with his body pressing flat on top of yours, his arms now bracketing either side of your head. He blinked down at you for a second, seemingly unaware of the position you were now in or the fact that the air was suddenly difficult to breathe.

"Guildford your hand…" Your head caught the scrape along his knuckles. The sight of red as you holding your breath. You reached behind your head trying to fight the answer to his injury, and then turned your head to find a medium-sized rock lying where your head would have landed.

He looked down at his hand and the shallow wound that was bleeding, then back to the rock. He felt a pang of guilt when he realized what could have just happened to you. "Are you okay?" He asked softly, his hand coming up instinctively to brush the hair away from your face.

"Yes, but your hand-" You sat up to reach for his wrist, but he pulled away. Going to inspect the back of your head first.

He ignored the sharp stinging sensation and moved you so you were facing away from him. He lifted your hair up, his fingers gently prodding and searching but coming up empty-handed.

"Guildford you're bleeding." You reached back and brought his hand out to face you. "Hey, I'm quite alright." You reassured.

He was almost too focused on you to realize how injured he was, but now he could see the scrapes on his knuckles. They weren't deep at all, but the scrapes had ripped open the skin and the blood was smeared over the back of his hand. He hissed as you inspected his hand further. "I'm fine, it's nothing."

"Guildford, I'm alright." You stop his inner turmoil. cupping the sides of his face now.

He stopped fidgeting and allowed you to hold his head in a firm grip, forcing him to still. He looked at you with wide eyes and he slowly realized how close you were. The way your bodies were pressed against each other. "You almost hit your head."

"But you made sure that I did not."

He continued to gaze at you as he felt the lightness of your breath against his face. The way you were now cradling his face in your hands. He felt something in his chest tighten. He never wanted to picture what could have happened if he did not catch you in time.

His eyes flicked to your lips and the way you were looking at him. "If I was a second too late-"

"No stop it. No more belittling yourself. You saved me from severe injuries and I am forever grateful. Come on now. We need to dress your wounds. The faster we heal the faster we can transform again. Well one of us willingly that is..." You grimace and you pull him up by his good hand.

"How do you manage to always make light of things." He scoffs.

"There is no need to dwell on the horrible 'what ifs', Guildford." You respond with a scoff of your own. "Now come on. Let's clean you up."

-

As you both had reached the prime age of thirteen, well the secret of being Ethian only became a greater priority to ensure remained unknown to strangers. Your marriage to each other was a close second to your parents. Wanting to surprise both of you when the time comes.

It would become a great scandal among the courts in London if word got out that two young members of two noble class families turned out to be part animals. It ruins the chance of one’s positive introduction into upper society.

Luckily for both you and Guildford, you had both managed to keep a relatively low profile. You both had taken extra precautions to keep yourselves from being seen 'transforming', but there were always those close calls.

To name one specifically. Guildford had completely forgotten that you would visit him during one night while a cousin of his was visiting. He practically jumped out of his seat in his room where he heard the familiar chirps and coos. A white, feathered, bird, perched on the edge of his very open window. He damn near screamed when his cousins approached you with curiosity and mischief written over his face.

You, of course, were unaware. At the time, you found this all comical - as you were prone to do - while your bird self preened yourself on the window sill. You were completely at ease. Until of course, you found yourself suddenly gripped in the hands of Guildford's relative.

Guildford's heart plummeted at the call for help you emitted.

"My mother was always quite taken by doves. My father on the other hand never quite saw the fascination, cousin." Cousin Jeffrey admitted. "Let us throw it out the window!"

You were flapping your wings desperately to try and get away. Guildford's heart pounded in his ears. "Stop, Jeffrey!" But cousin Jeffrey paid no mind to him. He was already heading towards the open window and was a little too close for Guildford's comfort.

He had to think of something fast. "Cousin, how about we tie it down with a rock, that way it plummets faster. I believe Bertie knows where we might keep the thread, and there are perfectly good rocks in the garden. You hand he-it over to me as you hurry along."

Cousin Jeffrey paused his movements, his eyes lighting up like he had just discovered a gold mine. "Oh yes! Brillant Cousin!" He shoved you into Guildford's hands, and your struggle stopped at the rough treatment of the transfer. "You hold it firmly, I'll be back shortly." He then slipped out of the door, yelling out for Bertie.

Guildford moved with haste to shut and lock his door. His eyes shut in relief from the close call of his cousin tormenting you. He then hurried to set you on his bed and waited.

Your bird self was still very shaken up from what had just happened. Your wings beat wildly in the air while you hopped around in a small circle in the middle of the bed. What the hell was going on?

Guildford moved over to the bed and gently placed a hand on your back, your feathers were ruffled in fright. "Shhh. Shhh. It's alright now. You're alright. I have you." He spoke softly.

You shook out your feathers and before he knew it, he was met with the all too familiar black and orange hue. You morphed back into your human form.

He paused to glance at you again, noticing how you sat on the bed, your breathing heavy. Your hair was disheveled and your face was flushed in anger and embarrassment. You looked like you were close to tears.

"I know, I know." His hand went to your back once more. The thought of you in the hands of his idiot cousin made Guildford's blood boil. His hand moved to the back of your head and he pulled you into his chest, his other hand wrapping around you in a firm grip.

"You’re fine. He didn’t hurt you. He will never hurt you. I promise. I would never let you meet such a horrid fate."

"No, no, no." You shiver at the thought of his calloused hands holding your precious feathers.

Your shivering and the look on your face only served to make Guildford all the more angry. He held you tight against his chest and let out a scoff. "I'll make him pay for that, I swear it. But for the sake of your secret and mine. I need you to leave!" He gently hauled you up to your feet. Ushering towards the way you entered.

"Guildford, you cannot be serious!" Your eyes widen as he keeps holding you by your shoulders, ushering you backwards.

"I am very serious," He said urgently as, despite your resistance, he moved you closer to the window. "I care about your well-being, more than you have grown to become accustomed to, and I would go to the ends of the earth if anyone so much as Jeffrey puts their hands on you. So for my sake, I need you to leave. Now!" He kept his tone gentle.

"What will you tell him?" You peer over his shoulder, then meet his softened gaze.

"He needs the help of seven tutors, surely I'll think of something. I'll tell him you flew out my hands." His hands now came to your face, his palms cupping your cheeks and he gently but firmly pushed you towards the open window. "He'll believe it."

"Seven?" You looked at him with an incredulous look.

Even in the seriousness of the moment, Guildford couldn't help but let out a scoff. "Unlike you my darling, he had the pleasure of landing head-first on top of a boulder." He said, giving you a light push. "Go!" He breathes out a laugh.

"Glad it wasn't me." You grimace.

"No, you are much too clever for that, and I'm too stubborn to let you be harmed," He responds dryly while pushing you through the window. "Now go. Quickly."

"I'm going!" You hiss as you turn and give him a thankful grin before you turn and twirl out of his window. Your figuration transforms mid-spin into a dove again. You chirp, bidding yourself a goodbye for the evening. Guildford leans against the frame, his shoulders relaxing seeing you soar back home. He had been lost in thought of your secret almost having been discovered he completely disregarded the knocks at his door.

"Cousin. I have fetched the rope and rock. Let us now sink the filthy pigeon." Guildford rolled his eyes as he heard his door hatch rattle. "Cousin, are you there? It is me, your cousin, Jeffrey. Hello?"

-

When you turned eighteen. Guildford took into account just how much your beauty and coy smile had attracted the attention of men interested in courting you. Much to his amusement. Any given chance someone tried to hand you a bouquet of flowers, he'd stomp on them before your very own eyes. Sending each man, if you could even call them that, running off scared.

Guildford couldn't deny the evitable. He'd grown to fall in love with you. And now it seemed he was running short on time, you were of age and your mother was sure to marry you off to the next lad that came from fortune.

Rupert kept Guildford company as the morning went on. His usual brushing and feeding were cut short by Guildford's disinterest in his grooming activities.

Rupert could feel the tension in Guildford's muscles. His usual steady rhythm was a bit more chaotic than normal in his pulse, but his mood was much more brooding.

He could sense his Lord was struggling with something weighing on his mind, and Rupert could only offer his silent support. "What troubles you, my lord?" Rupert cooed softly, patting his side affectionately. "Surely it can't be our dear Y/n. She'll be here soon to stop by for her visit. You did not hear it from me, but I heard Marge tell Bertie that Y/n will bring you carrots." Rupert leaned in closer to whisper to Guildford. Now reaching forward to caress his mane. A weak huff from him had his groomsmen frowning. "The talk about food always brightens your woes…"

It was unusual for Guildford to not even give a flicker of acknowledgment whenever food was brought up. He usually had at least a hint of a twitch of his ears whenever he was anticipating your visit.

Not today, however.

"Guildford!" Your voice bellows through the open stable door. "You're not gonna believe what I've brought for you." Your chipper mood slowly disperses when your skip comes to a halt. You look to Rupert then at Guildford. He shifts his head to the side, avoiding your approach. "What? What have I done?"

You were met with silence from his end, you glanced over to Rupert to gain some answers but he just shrugs, just as confused as you were.

Guildford refused to look at you, he shifted on his hoves as your steps grew closer. "I brought you carrots." You only met with a huff.

"He knows."

"What do you mean?" You were now at his paddock gate, your hands gripping the wood as you tried once more to meet his gaze, but to no avail. Rupert watched on, completely confused.

"He knows about the carrots, my lady."

"And that has been a problem since when?" You frown, now stepping closer to his stall. Guildford lets out another huff.

"I do not know more than I do, which is that our Lord is restless, and troubled."

"Troubled?" You try and get closer to get a better look at his face, but he's keeping a distance from you. Your frown grew more worrisome. "But why? Has something happened?"

"He is upset, that much was certain, but what, I'm afraid, I cannot answer for. I'm sorry my lady."

"No apologies needed, Rupert. You have done everything you can," You offer the other a small smile. Once he was gone and you were alone, your hands gripped the gate again. "Guildford," You murmur, peering into his stall. "Will you please look at me?"

Another huff is emitted from him.

His stubbornness never failed to infuriate you. "What?" You exclaim, your arms crossing over your chest. "Now you're acting like an overgrown child. I was going to greet you with freshly picked carrots, but they are mine now."

Your threat to withhold the carrots you brought had the desired effect. He turned and looked at you, his eyes flicking from your own to the carrots in your bag. If he were human, he could easily be accused of pouting.

You smirk, seeing the way his eyes were fixed on the bag in your hands. "Ah, so you do want the carrots, hm?" You tease, a hand reaching forward to dangle the bag temptingly.

Guildford lets out a huff, lowering his head, clearly displeased. But you knew that he did want the bag of carrots, you could see it in his eyes. He took a few steps closer to your hand, his hot breath ghosting over your arm.

Your smirk grew wider, watching Guildford's approach, he wanted them. "Ah ah, first we need to talk. Tell me, what are you so upset about?" You lower your voice in a more gentle tone. "We will play the guessing game. A whinny for yes, a huff for no. Simple right?" Your hand moved towards his muzzle and gave it a soft rub. "Now...Is this about me?" You say softly, while he remains still, his nostrils fluttering against your touch. "No?" Huff. "Alright not about me...is it about someone else?"

This time he gave a very quick whinny.

"Is it your parents?" Now you had his attention. He leaned against your chest, his head dropping, forcing your free hand to support his weight so he wouldn't knock you back. He huffed once more. "No? Is it about the men that have come? Surely you're not upset about such a thing." You ask worried, and another whinny confirms that you found the answer.

A huff of a response had given him away. Your shoulders drop from the realization settling in. "You're upset over the men..." You state carefully. You step closer to his stall. "What would grant such a reaction?"

Your hand returns to brushing over his face, this time your knuckles brushing softly through his mane. Guildford doesn't move away from the touch this time but remains silent.

"Is it because of how they look at me?" You try again, observing him. He remained still for a moment, before giving a gentle nod "I can reassure you that their attempts of trying to gain my hand in marriage are not working."

"Our friendship is too important to me to waste on some potential husband…Quite frankly the idea of marriage scares me." You breathe out a laugh.

Guildford had seemed to relax as you continued to pet him. He gave a huff as your hand continued to scratch through his mane and down his neck. His head now lying over your shoulder.

"Scared of marriage, you say?" You raise a brow, amused. "Well, my dear Guildford. I don't want to bore you with the specifications. Surely you have better things that heavily neigh upon you." You try good and well to fight back the smile easing onto your face.

Guildford retreats from your pets.

"Ah, back to pouting I see." You sighed, though you were enjoying how stubborn he was being. He was just like an unruly child, you couldn't help but find it endearing. "And here I was about to give you the carrots I brought for you..." You stick your tongue out at him.

-

When 4 years had passed you both had deemed yourselves in the clear of being stuck in a loveless marriage. You were incredibly mistaken when Guildford had burdened you with the news that he was to be in an arranged marriage. Your deepest fears surpassed your mind, turning into a reality. One you didn't want to succumb to and let your troubling insecurities be known to him.

You were even more burdened to allow him the courtesy to tell him that you too were met with such a fate. Your mother had let you know she had gone ahead to rearrange a marriage with a well-suited lord who she had claimed was the perfect match for you. If your heart hadn't already laid its claim on Guildford, you'd have humored her advances.

Now here you were in the meadow late at night, weighing your woes onto Guildford's shoulders. And his own onto yours.

"She can't do this..." You sniffled into your handkerchief. "Your mother can't do this. What good is a marriage if you've never even met the person who you're going to live out the rest of your life with?"

Guildford held you against his chest, his arms tight around you, feeling your body shudder as you fought to keep your sobs quiet. He was no better, just as much a mess as you were, he was struggling to keep his tears at bay now. His chin rested on your head, and he held you closer. "I know," He whispered against your hair. "Believe me, I've tried to deny my father's wishes. But he's refused to hear my protest. I'll get on my knees for your mother if it needs to be done."

"You can't sway her mind, Guildford. Her mind is set, and when it's set-"

"I'll get down on my knees and plead for it." He repeated firmly, his hold on you still tight. "You think I'll let them take you away from me? I mean, why can't she see that our friendship outweighs a forced courtship with some...some-" He clenched his jaw, refusing to imagine it. You with some old haggard, it made him shiver. "This courtship contradicts everything our mothers had set out for us. We were planned to be born on the same night for goodness sake!"

You sit up and turn to face him. "I-I won't do it."

"Neither would I," He responds resolutely, lifting his head to meet your gaze. Your face was flushed, tears streaming down your cheeks. The sight made his heartache. He reached out to wipe away a tear, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "But you're mother will have my head if I don't ensure your return home."

"T-Then we'll leave. I don't need to go back. Let's run away. Somewhere far, somewhere where our mothers won't force us into an arranged courtship."

His expression softened at your words. The thought of spending countless days and hours away from the constraints of their parents and a wedding, was admittedly, appealing, but Guildford shook his head. His hand now resting on your shoulder, "As much as I would love to run away with you, our parents would spare no cost at searching for us." He said in a low voice. "And I am too selfish to be the reason your bond with your parents is severed."

"Guildford please..." You shake your head at his surrender. Why wasn't he trying harder?

"What do you want me to do, Y/n?" Guildford's voice became more raised, and he now was the one who was pleading with you. He stood to his feet, towering over you. "Do we run away, and let our parents tear the country apart looking for us? For all we know, we could be on the run for months, hell, years even. I am more than willing to run if it means a chance to be by your side, but can you survive that type of life? Always on the move, looking over our shoulders. Never able to settle down. Don't ask that of me. I will not allow you to live such a life." He grabbed your face and turned it towards him so he could see you. Your eyes were watery with tears, and he let out a huff of frustration. "W-we can't just run away. We both know it."

"So you'd rather follow through with the courtships arranged for the both of us then?" You stand up slowly.

"Of course, I don't-" Guildford closed his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. He was struggling to maintain control over his emotions, his hands clenched by his sides. "No, I don't want that for us. Not in the slightest. But we are expected to wed someone. That was always set in stone. You know this. It's what's expected of us. For our families."

Your single nod, clutching at his heart. "So that's it then…"

"It has to be." Despite his resolve, Guildford couldn't bring himself to look at you. He was too afraid, too afraid to see the hurt, the disappointment, the sadness in your eyes. He didn't want to be the one to bring you pain. He was supposed to be the one to make you smile, to make you laugh, and to cause butterflies to form in your stomach. Not this… not this pain. But if he caved into your wishes, then everything your family worked for would be lost on you if you did leave. He couldn't let you surrender to such a life without your family's support and without the potential chance of becoming a wife and mother.

"I wish to go home now, Guildford." You turn and start making your way back to the trail.

"Y/n, wait-" Guildford stumbles after you, grabbing your wrist gently and yanking you towards him, "Stop… p-please." The desperation was evident in his voice, and he didn't let go of your hand, not this time.

"I wish to go home." Your voice held its firm tone. You yank your arm back.

The coldness of your tone caught him off guard, and he faltered. His grip lessened on your wrist, but it was still enough to keep you in place. You could hear Guildford's ragged breaths as if he was fighting back from completely crumbling apart into pieces, and he sounded broken. You knew that he was struggling to remain calm, but you couldn't bring yourself to turn around and comfort him, not when your heart was shattering before him. "I mean well in this, you know it."

"Maybe…Guildford, I will make the walk alone." You warn, gesturing to make your leave again.

"You will do no such thing." He had reached his breaking point, and he was no longer going to stand by and let you walk away. Guildford pulled you back into his chest, his hands grasping to keep you in place, refusing to let you slip from his grip. "I'll make this right."

You shake away from him. "You can't." You pull out of his grip slower this time. Sparing him one last gaze before you began the way back home. Guildford followed behind you a couple of feet. The both of you surrender to the silence of the evening. No words were spoken, no goodbyes even as you pushed through the door of your home and closed it behind you, leaving him to his thoughts.

Standing at your door, Guildford stood frozen, rooted to the spot. He stared at the door for several seconds, his heart going a thousand miles per hour. He was unable to think clearly with the onslaught of emotions going off inside his head. The image of you closing the door behind you, the sound of it shutting him off from you was enough to force Guildford back into motion, and he turned away from your house, his feet carrying him blindly away from you.

-

You continued to pick at your nailbed as the carriage made its final stop at the church. You peer out the window your mind faltering hearing that you had not heard your mother speak to you. It wasn't until she gently laid her hand on top of your fidgeting ones that you were finally able to snap out of your self-deprecating thoughts. Coming up with ways and scenarios that this evening could go wrong in the blink of an eye.

"My dear...won't you look at me." Your mother's eyes were soft with pity, her smile was one of sincere concern, which you hadn't seen for years now. She looked at you like she had done when you were just a little girl, the look that reminded you she was still your mother, one who loved you. The one who held your best interest at heart.

"Mother…"

"Stop biting your nails, dear." She said in a gentle tone of voice, her slender fingers intertwining with yours and pulling your hand away from your mouth. "You'll make them raw if you keep doing that."

"I'll try my best." You give her a faint smile.

"Good." Her other hand reached out and patted the top of your hair, an almost motherly action, and she let out a sigh. Your mother's eyes scanned over your face looking at the worry and nerves that were settled on your expression, and despite her usually harsh persona, she still cared for your well-being. "You look beautiful."

"Truly? You think so." You wring your hands together. Your eyes were full of hope, wondering if you'd believe the words that would escape her.

"I do. My darling girl…you're radiant. I mean it." She continued to pat the top of your hair, gently running a few locks of hair through her fingers, a small, encouraging smile on her face. "You'll make a beautiful bride."

"Thank you mother…"

"I know how worried you are. I was in your situation once, so I understand." Her hand now moved from your hair and rested instead on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But I can see the strength in you. You'll do wonderfully, my darling."

You can only muster a nod in response. Her eyes shine with further concern.

"Yet something more weighs on your mind?"

"I'm scared..."

"It's a guarantee when getting married." She attempts to jest but sighs when you continue to show the crease between your brows.

"When did you and father fall in love after your wedding?"

Her expression softens considerably, and she lets her hand drop back to her side. Your mother's eyes drift ahead, a faraway expression forming as if she was reliving the memories.

"A year after…but it wasn't by choice," She responds, turning back to look at you. You were so similar to her sometimes it was uncanny. "Your father and I grew to love each other, we had no other option. We couldn't deny what was there between us." She looks back at you. "And even then, it wasn't just love- at least not what you or I would think. But we became familiar with each other, and we grew to know the other's traits and habits and what the other loved and disliked. A mutual bond, if you will, my darling girl, it was more of a–" She paused in thought.

"A friendship."

Her small smile slowly returned, and your mother nodded almost knowingly to your statement.

"Yes," she chuckled. "A friendship, first and foremost. It became the foundation for us to build our love further from there."

"I will hope for such love with my husband too…" You look back out through the window of the carriage. You miss your mother's inner turmoil.

"Darling…" She looked back at you, her hands grasping on yours again. "The man you are to marry is of good stock…he is handsome and comes from a respectable family. He will be a good husband to you and will hopefully give you many children when the time comes."

Her expression faltered, taking on a more pained look as if she was trying to come around to saying something else...but she didn't.

You only nod in response. You release a sigh and knock against the window, signaling to the footmen that you are ready to exit and go inside.

With that, the footmen approached and opened the carriage door, helping you to step out carefully onto the pavement and holding out your hand to help you down safely. Your mother soon followed behind you, her skirts brushing against the cobblestone.

Once you arrived at the entrance of the church she turned to you to fix the veil of your dress and pat down any loose hairs that escaped your braid.

"Any last motherly advice?"

She took a breath to collect herself and glanced up at you. She looked at how similar you were to her. Once upon a time, she had the same worries of being a good wife and mother. Your expectant gaze had caused her to lean forward and press a kiss against your temple. "Know your mother has always meant well."

You nod, her words confusing you more than ever as you are handed off to your father, who is waiting patiently to walk you down the aisle.

Your father looked down at you. The emotions he felt were a mixture of pride, nostalgia, and protectiveness. The memories of you growing up flashed through his mind as he looked down at you and his heart ached. You were no longer his little girl, the same little girl he could scoop up in his arms as he walked you through the orchards.

Taking his arm, the both of you began the walk down the aisle.

The eyes of the congregation followed as you walked down the aisle. You found it difficult at first not to look at anyone in particular, but you finally settled your gaze ahead to the front. The closer you get, the more your heart begins to thump in your chest, beating hard and loud, making it difficult to focus. It was now then that your nerves kicked into overdrive, and all you could do was fixate on putting one step in front of the other. You had dared to let your eyes settle on those of your guest in witness. Your sight had accidentally landed on that of Mr. Dudley, and was that Stan? You had looked around frantically in search of one particular Dudley, but when you didn't find him your heart had settled down in its disappointment once more.

Then, you reached the altar and you were handed off to your soon-to-be husband. Your heart rate had skyrocketed at this point. Your mother had been right. He was handsome, but to your amazement, you were already quite aware of his dashing good looks.

He was tall, that you already knew, and held a charming smile. One you memorized by heart since you were children.

Guildford was stunned into silence. His was positive your face mirrored his expression. One of disbelief, in need of an explanation for this cruel jest. Guildford was your betrothed. As you were his. You both had admitted your inner turmoils to each other, both in the dark. Fearing being separated by an arranged courtship. You could only turn to face your families, your mothers each holding a hand to their lips in hopes of muffling their cries of joy.

Had they planned this from the start? Surely yes.

You wouldn’t put it past them.

You kissed your father on the cheek, releasing his arm from your hold. To him. You would have given him an earful for handing you off to a stranger. You did, though had you known you’d be given off to your dearest friend. You would have thanked your father. You gave off that of a fish out of water. Rendered speechless. Lost for words that your heart wanted to say but your mind withheld.

You ascend the two steps to stand before the church, before Guildford. Your eyes are locked with Guildford’s. He too was at a loss for words but his eyes held your own. Not a trace of regret or guilt or sadness. Just pure contentment, content that it was you and no one else. He prayed it wouldn’t have been anyone but you. Your soon-to-be husband took your hand into his and brought it up to his lips, bestowing a kiss upon the back of it. You breathe out a laugh of disbelief as a smile reaches your eyes.

“Hi.” You whispered with contentment.

“Hi.” He whispers back. Smiles etch onto your faces as the officiant begins.

-

To say trying to navigate your newfound marriage to one another wasn’t awkward would have been a lie. You thought the world of Guildford, had seen him through his highs and lows, and vice versa. If someone had told you, you would get to set your eyes on his shirtless back every day, you’d have labeled them a fool, an absolute baboon.

“You're allowed to look, you know. What is mine is yours now.” Guildford glances over his shoulder as you teetered back and forth on your bare feet. You’d been hesitating to enter your shared bedroom. He was in the middle of undressing when your gaze shied away. “And it's not like you haven’t seen anything you’re unfamiliar with.” He pokes his fun. However, when he fully turns to you, his smile fades as he sees your timid nature. “You’re troubled.” It wasn’t a question.

Your gaze was averted to the floor, your fingers fidgeting and your bottom lip having been chewed on in your nervousness. You were now aware that he was looking at you intently, able to no doubt read your feelings and notice your hesitance.

Your eyes shifted, looking up at him for a fraction of a moment before hastily being returned to the floor again, your heart pounding in your chest as you were still unused to the lack of space between you both. “It's not the same anymore.” Your brows furrow as you curl in on yourself. “Before, there was no courtship between us where looking was considered intimate. Now it is.”

He sighs at your words, the frown on his face deepening further. He could sense your trepidation, and seeing you so hesitant and nervous around him made his heart sink. He couldn’t bear to see you this way.

He stepped towards you, his bare feet silently padding across the wooden floorboards. He reached up and gently took your chin in his hand, coaxing your head into lifting to look at him.

“Who says it wasn’t before?” Guildford steps closer. His hand reaches out as you avert away from his stare. “I've looked, foresay, admired, in all honesty.”

“You have?” Your nervous voice replies, your heart now thudding louder in your chest as you were aware of his proximity, now feeling the heat radiating off his bare chest.

"Yes."

“Guildford–“

“If you, my beautiful wife, find yourself staring because you find me irresistible. Look away, and look with no regrets.”

“But mother once said that looking at your husband a certain way will lead to being bedridden. And I will end up with your child.” Guildford gaped at you for a second before he snapped out of it.

“From now on…do not believe a word that woman says.” Guildford blinked. “Not every occurrence or every look will lead to such a thing. Nor is it terrible either.”

"Guildford…did you know about our courtship? Did you know our mothers would do this, without telling us?"

Guildford’s face fell, now noticing your solemn expression. With a great sigh, he ran the hand not holding your chin upwards, and through his hair. His chest and shoulders rose and fell as he breathed out slowly, giving him time to collect himself before answering you.

“…No. If I had I would have never let you walk through that door upset with me.”

"I'm scared, Guildford. We've never charted waters like this before."

His expression softened again when he saw the anguish on your expression. He reached up and placed his hand against your cheek, gently stroking his thumb across your warm skin.

“I know. I am too.” He whispered, his tone of voice was tender, a tone of voice not even his family had ever heard. They were the whispers meant just for you and you alone. His eyes held a certain vulnerability as he met your gaze. "This is quite honestly all new for me as well. I'm terrified of ruining what we have. I almost did."

"Why couldn't they just tell us? It's simple."

“Our mothers are complicated women as you well know. I wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them find entertainment in our frustration. But one thing I know is that their one goal was to keep us together, no matter what. Now we are, and forever will be.”

Guildford then smiled, but it was a smile of sadness rather than anything else. “Our whole lives we’ve feared the day we wouldn't be friends anymore. But now we get to outlive that fear and null its value to us.”

"My mother told me before I had entered the church that she always meant well…"

“Of course, they always mean well, they’re mothers.” Guildford lets out a small chuckle, his hand now sliding from your jaw down your neck and over your shoulder and gently massaging it to calm you.

“My mother told me if I could find it in my heart to forgive her someday. And I believe in it. They always do mean well. Perhaps in their meddling ways."

"I still would have preferred to have known. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't the one standing at the altar."

It was at this point that Guildford allowed the full length of his arm to settle around your waist, gathering you into his strong grip. He pulled you tight against him, his bare skin now pressed against yours, the heat from his bare chest radiating into you through the fabric of your dress.

He then let out a heavy sigh, allowing his head to rest against your forehead, his lips just a hair length away from yours as he responded with a whisper.

“I cannot bear to think what I would have done if it wasn't you at the steps.”

"We don't have to bear the fears any longer. We have each other now."

“We do.” He muttered, his voice low and grave as his grip on your waist only tightened. “For better, for worse.” Guildford lifted his head slightly and tilted it to the side, his gaze fixed on yours before he spoke again. "For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, mine to love and to cherish till death parts us." Your lips meet in a kiss that had been a long time coming. It was passionate but tender. it was intimate and full of love. You found your arms automatically wrapping around his neck as he deepened the kiss, pressing you closer to him, the final piece sealing your marriage.

[milevenstancyendgame]

On Eleven, Complex Trauma, And Romantic Relationship (s4)

This probably has been pointed out way back in 2022, but I just re-watched a bit of s4 and it struck me that El lying about being bullied in school is completely due to her surpressed trauma.

When you first watch it, the whole "I'm friends with Angela"-pretense seems pretty out of character for El - the only other time I can remember where she lied so overtly and consciously about something big to her friends was in s1, about the gate. As we know she did this because she was scared.

At the beginning of s4, we can't understand why she lies, and neither does Mike, and probably neither does El herself.

But then comes the Nina project and she unearths all of these trauma memories, which have been hinted at the whole time.

We see that she has been bullied as a child by her peers in the rainbow room and importantly that they threatened to kill her if she told anyone about it.

This explains her deeply entrenched fear of telling anyone (remember that she also didn't tell Joyce about it, nor the teacher at school when she asked her directly) about the bullying in school - although she couldn't remember the previous trauma, her body remembered it and reacted in the same way to keep her safe. This is a very typical trait of trauma.

And since El has complex trauma (there was continuous trauma in her childhood), this peer bullying got connected to other trauma, which happened soon after - the massacre at the lab.

We see that she has recurring flashbacks in s4 of this massacre, and she starts to believe that she killed the other children.

Add to that the whole trauma of being abused by Brenner and the other lab staff, this explains of course why she feels like a monster and believes that everyone else sees her as that too. If you've been treated like trash as a child, then that's what you believe yourself to be.

So the peer bullying trauma is connected in her psyche/nervous system to fatal danger if she tells anyone about it, and to her doing something terrible.

So when she finally snaps and attacks Angela with the roller skate, and everyone is horrified, of course this re-enacts the trauma of the past and confirms to her the belief that she is a monster/everyone sees her as a monster.

This then sets the stage for the argument with Mike, which - as others have rightly pointed out - didn't even have a lot to do with Mike. It was about El and her trauma.

Yes, the whole "Mike can't say he loves me"-thing was of course a problem for her. It was a cruel coincidence that all these negative things happened at the same time for her: Losing Hopper, moving away from Mike and her friends, a new environment, the school bullying, and the flashbacks. That's why she became fixated on this detail and it got entangled in all those trauma layers and became just another proof for El that she was unloved, because she is a monster.

It was literally just the wrong thing at the wrong time though, or the cherry on top. If she had stayed in Hawkins and there wouldn't have been Angela and co, and a new environment, and school, and horrid flashbacks; and if she had had all of her old friends around her, and Hopper! -

Well, she probably still would have been confused and hurt by Mike never saying the word love, but we wouldn't have had that kind of charged and escalating argument.

But as it was, the argument was about so many things at once, and the love-thing just came up out of nowhere, because everything was crashing down for El, and Mike was clearly overwhelmed and couldn't follow her or understand what was going on for her.

And again, like others have thankfully said before, saying that if Mike actually loved her, he would have hugged or comforted her in that moment - that would have been disastrous!

First of all, as I said above and as was more than obvious, Mike was overwhelmed himself. He was in no position to comfort anyone. He needed time to process.

Second, El was clearly pushing him away, she was in a very destructive state of mind, because all of that above-mentioned trauma got activated and was in full swing.

Anyone with an ounce of emotional intelligence could tell that she was not able to receive any reassurance in that moment. We saw that Mike tried to reassure her the whole time and it didn't work!

Trying anything further would have been forcing something on her, which obviously Mike would never do.

So, in summary - the bulk of El and Mike's relationship issues in s4 was about El and her trauma. There was at no point any hint that they don't love each other any more. On the contrary, both were scared to lose the other.

And to those who say that they shouldn't be in a relationship, because El/both have so much trauma:

First of all, it's bullshit. You clearly know nothing about trauma healing. I have complex trauma and the one thing I learned in my recovery journey about healing is that actually the only thing that truly heals you is love. Self-love is important, yes, but that can't happen in isolation. You need safe relationships to learn about safe relationships. The original trauma was caused by unsafe relationships, so it only makes sense that the healing needs to happen through safe relationships.

That's what is called a corrective experience. And we can see that El has had many corrective experiences with Mike, as well as her other friends.

And why would a romantic relationship be bad for El's healing, but not other relationships?

What's messy and shitty is that El nor any of the other characters are getting any trauma therapy, and yeah, in reality there would be a whole lot more issues, for all of them. But El doesn't have any more relationship issues with Mike than with Hopper (!!!!!) and strangely I don't see anyone suggesting that the last thing she needs is a new father figure.🙄

And secondly, Will has a fuck-ton of trauma too, lol. So saying El needs to not be in a romantic relationship to heal, but wanting Will and Mike to be in one, is hypocrisy.

El experiences Mike to consistently be there for her when she needs him, he's constantly showing her that he loves her, and he's saying it in words too.

And after the argument in s4, he showed to El that he still loves her, that he doesn't think she's a monster. Both his actions proved this and then also his words in the monologue, and he gave her what she needed, he said "I love you" many times, and he explained why he couldn't say it before, that this had nothing to do with her, it was his own insecurities and fear.

And this made El stronger than ever. And this is the set-up for s5.

Thank you for coming to my TED-talk.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

I read about an evil magistrate in another Faerûn city, a few decades after Astarion had that job in Baldur's Gate and it has me thinking about his pre-vampire days, and my irl time as a Las Vegas law clerk. A lot.

Full disclosure: I feel a little guilty that I wrote so much on this topic rather than on one of my fics.

I wrote very little in July 🫣but it's because I was drawing and reading instead.

I read 13 books, but they were the first 13 Legend of Drizzt books.

And while writing fic, I've avoid details about Astarion's background as a magistrate, for reasons I've talked about a lot before, but I might need to rethink that, because one book in the Drizzt series just gave me SO MUCH context for what the world was like around the time that Astarion would have had this job, and also, what that job was like, and how it was very effected by geography and race. And I have THOUGHTS. Thousands of words of thoughts, apparently, below the cut.

TL;DR - The popular idea that pre-Cazador Astarion is the biggest possible asshole so he "earns" his fate is boring as hell, not actually supported by canon, or the examples of magistrates that we see in FR (who don't even need to be corrupt to satisfy cruel inclinations) and I deeply prefer going in a totally different direction. Below the cut is me working through my headcanon, and why I came to these conclusions.

I tagged this appropriately I think, but to emphasize, topics of relevance include horror movie tropes, torture, the deeply flawed American justice system, and the even more deeply flawed one in Faerûn as described by the Forgotten Realms novels I've read and the mentions/demonstrations in Bladur's Gate 3.

If you feel you need to avoid thinking about all of that, you are valid, and probably more correct than me for doing so.

And as always, it's just my opinion, based on my experiences. All headcanon is equally headcanon.

To start, I'm going to briefly reiterate that:

Astarion's canon backstory is thin on purpose and that all we really know about him is that he was a magistrate with not-red eyes who made an unpopular ruling that was unpopular for an unspecified reason and got jumped by Gur for a (heavily implied to be unreliable narrator influenced) reason.

That artbook is a developmental tool that is actually less likely to ever be considered canon than even a later stage developmental tool like a full manuscript outline precisely because of its position in the process.

But, before I get into what I read in Drizzt, I want to establish that my head space started from thinking about how much sadder it is if Astarion actually did have compassionate ideals and a balanced sense of justice prior to Cazador. The reason I think it's sadder is best illustrated by the choice to either make a doomed horror movie character sympathetic or an asshole. What happens to Astarion is basically a horror show, and some people prefer those fates are reserved exclusively for asshole victims. There's reasons to write this way, and it can be done well, but it's very easy to make it feel cheap and contrived and it's usually a sign of an amateur production, and a quick way to make an accessible film rather than a good one. Another option (which can also be done well or done poorly) is to harm characters who did absolutely nothing wrong.

To be clear, whether or not we like a character doesn't affect whether or not they "deserve" death. Horror movies often deal with totally disproportionate consequences, and the gruesome fate not really being "earned" can be an inherent part of the horror regardless of our sympathy.

But, I'm not sad when the evil teenagers in Toxic Avenger are killed. I am not that sad when Jigsaw's traps prove to be too much for his chosen victims. What happens to Julia's marks in Hellraiser doesn't move me as much as what's going on with Kirsty, even if they didn't deserve it, because they aren't particularly sympathetic.

And the thing about using characters like that is that it's not realistic. And to be clear, I don't think you always have to be realistic to tell a good story, in fact, please don't always cling to realism. But realism in characterization is usually a stronger choice, and should be considered generally. Most people are not as flat and unsympathetic as the asshole victims in slasher flicks. Even people who do bad things are not so one dimensional as to instill no sympathy in irl humans. I think people like to flatten Astarion in their mind, so that they don't have to confront the fact that very bad things happen all the time, and that most people didn't do anything to earn a horrible fate.

In the specific case of what happened to Astarion, even if he was a bad person, it's very difficult to ever make 200 years of torture, the loss of autonomy, exploitation on every level, including physical, sexual and psychological abuse, ever feel proportional. So at this point, some people need something to make it seem more just. Either because they hate the character, and want to feel that hating the character is objectively correct, or their worldview includes an idea of justice that can't accept such disproportionality.

And if you need that for your headcanon, dope. you're allowed whatever headcanon you want.

The "corrupt magistrate" thing isn't canon. It's headcanon. I understand that some people who really seem to know what they are talking about said it was canon, that's because they are wrong. People are wrong sometimes.

I recently became aware that although I thought we were all playing the same game, a bunch of players have never seen what I've seen, because it's all missable content. And, because everyone knows there's a bunch of stuff they haven't seen, it's real easy to just believe any random person on the internet who tells you something is buried deep in the game that you don't know about.

This specific situation with Astarion's canon backstory is that you'll never find much in the game, no matter how much you play, because there's nothing to find. Here's the facts: -There was never anything about Astarion being corrupt in the game, in early access, or in any of the writing that made it to recording. It was an idea that was discussed very early on---like back when we almost had a werewolf companion, (RIP Helia, you would've loved what I put you through) and they went in a totally different direction. Essentially, just imagine what they ultimately ended up doing with Gortash, and know that they were thinking about doing something similar with Astarion, but a long, long time ago.

-In the game, he'll lie and tell you he's a magistrate in Baldur's Gate and that it's tedious.

-Or, if you wait to ask him about himself until after you know he's a vampire, he'll tell you he was a magistrate, punishing troublemakers.

-Backstory complete!

-Art books are great, and beautiful, and it's baffling to me to see fans treat them like canon content, because if anything, they demonstrate various attempts to put together a story that ultimately didn't land for the creators. I love using materials like this when I write, I create character sheets and artbooks for my work all the time, and part of their charm is the features that didn't make it into the final work. Minthara is no longer an elven cleric, Shadowheart isn't covered in tattoos, and Astarion isn't one of corrupt elite of Baldur's Gate, or even elite, or a courtesan. Stop bringing up the artbook, you're embarrassing yourselves.

-There's actual explicit dialogue in game in which Astarion says he doesn't remember much from before he was turned. He says the person he was is gone, nothing left but a name on a rock. That's what's intentionally in the game. I think this is brilliant, because I think his character represents loss in a really poignant way, and that if they included anything too detailed about who he was before he got turned, that would undermine this theme, in a way that's especially unnecessary. It's better to keep it purposefully blank. A void of nothing. I'm actually really surprised that they didn't do this for Shadowheart, given that she's a Sharran, but in her story, we actually see a really nice counterexample: she does recall small details about her time in the city. Coming back there triggers memories and if you find all three of them---[spoiler deleted, please message me if you want to know about this, I've been informed I shouldn't just shout this out, because some people like to discover this stuff on their own. But also I'm not a gatekeeper, if you really want to know, I'm happy to tell you]. There's none of that for Astarion, in fact, if you go to the cemetery looking for his grave, which is something I think a lot of us did, you won't find any mention of him anywhere, but you will find one of those Shadowheart memories if she's with you. You only get to see Astarion's grave briefly, if you're romancing him, and even then, he once again takes the opportunity to talk about the person he once was truly is lost to him (and to us) and gone forever, long before we ever had the chance to know him.

It's tragic, and kind of perfect.

And in the meta of all this, it's intentional that we'll never known him. We might think we do, but we literally can't, because it's not in the story.

Which is good because it would ruin the scene a bit if he'd been like "btw I was a real piece of shit lmao." Just like it kind of ruins the affect of the empty backstory to go ahead and add a backstory.

But. We're curious, we speculate, and we expand, that's what fanfiction is for—it exists outside of the canon. I usually write post-canon, canon-consistent content, but there's a possibility I'll need to add a few scenes from Astarion's mortal life in this one fic—maybe not, idk—but in preparation for maybe doing that (or not), I had considered working through what I think his life was life before he was turned, and the events leading up to Cazador capturing him. I wasn't sold on the idea, but I was thinking about it.

And, then I started reading Spine of The World, which features an actual magistrate from DR 1365. This one is um. Corrupt. Or, at least, we would consider him to be corrupt? He's actually doing his job perfectly according to the very messed up justice system in Luskan, where he works. They don't have a concept of burden of proof there, or of innocence at all after you manage to get yourself arrested, and instead essentially just torture people to death publicly and explicitly for entertainment. It's not chill. It's not subtle. They call it Prisoner's Carnival.

This magistrate has Astarion's exact job, in a different city and a few decades later (and those differences matter, we'll get to it) but the important features are the same. So, here's some things to note: being a magistrate is a position of limited power, you have total discretion over the prisoners given to you for punishment (minus a few notable exceptions that come up in Spine of The World), but that's it. It's not like an influential political position of respect or anything. It can't be, because they are beholden to laws they can't change, and cultural traditions that are non-negotiable parts of the community.

This guy is referred to multiple times are a carnival barker. And there's loads of magistrates, they all have different reputations and and ymmv on how sadistic they individually are in Luskan. In a later book, when this particular magistrate is brought up again to another magistrate in Luskan, it's clear that the carnival barker thing isn't entirely universal and that he's considered one of the really bad ones, but regardless, they all acknowledge that what he does is legal and "serves a purpose" and they all direct and orchestrate the torture and slaughter of prisoners, and they all admit that many of them are probably innocent. The magistrates, and more importantly, the people in charge of them, maintain the necessity of the system, and the fear it instils to keep troublemakers in line.

One of the more reasonable and intelligent wizards in the series (a guy called Robillard who I can't help but envision as Gale of Waterdeep, because almost everything he does and says makes him sound like Gale of Waterdeep) shocks Drizzt by defending this system of justice very passionately.

Actually, Drizzt's thoughts in general about the Prisoner's Carnival are S-tier Drizzt musings, I love a man who keeps a journal. Likes cats too. Drizzt is lovely.

Drizzt also notes that this is a popular system in human societies specifically. Other races don't go in for it so much, and tend not to participate unless it's as... um... you know... as the prisoners being tortured. I think it's interesting that he mentions that elves in particular (in his experience) are universally disgusted by it. It's also explicitly stated that Baldur's Gate is different, and a much preferrable place to get tried by a magistrate. That isn't in his journal entry though, that's earlier in the novel. A moment of foreshadowing.

The whole world is brutal, but Baldur's Gate is a bit more modern and open to change than other places. That's probably one reason it keeps getting featured and mentioned even though we've barely spent any time there in Drizzt's series so far. It's a bit more relatable a place to actually live in long term than somewhere like Luskan, where you may have to seek out real estate that's far enough away from the square that you're not constantly hearing the death screams of someone being drawn and quartered in front of a cheering crowd. So that's the basics of it, and getting back to Astarion and the backstory that I would personally novelize for him, we have options:

If I'm going to try to fit this into the context that I now have though, it's important to keep in mind that 1) Baldur's Gate is considered one of the "nicer" places to be tried and 2) culturally, elves don't go in for cruelty, especially not as systemic "justice." None of this has to apply to Astarion, but if I'm writing it, I'm not going to ignore this cultural context. At a minimum, I'm going to say that appointing an elf as a magistrate in a city that's known for being more progressively compassionate about their treatment of prisoners was probably pointed on the part of tptb. Baldur's Gate wanted him to set an example for these bloodthirsty humans about mercy and justice and the balance between them. Racism dictates that you don't go to a human for that. They're carnival barkers. If you want a more compassionate magistrate, appoint an elf. And from there, we get to decide whether or not Astarion met their expectations, or if he defied them. Because maybe he was an asshole. Maybe he was just as bad as his human magistrate counterparts. That's not outside the realm of possibility at all, there's an argument to be made that we write him as a counterweight to the stereotype. Astarion is written to be capable of anything, so you can literally go in any direction with his disposition.

But, considering how Cazador rages that he "made" Astarion, and Astarion doesn't even argue with that sentiment. I think it's more likely (and loads sadder) if this unmaking and making included a complete and total overhaul of Astarion entire sense of justice. I actually think the harsh sentiments that Astarion expresses at the tribunal in Ansur's trials are a really good example of the flickers of Cazador and the person he twisted Astarion into, than they would ever be indicative of who he was before getting turned.

That guy's gone, remember?

And if it's not obvious, I'm going in that direction with my fanfic. I'm going to say he actually thought he could help his community. He studied. He got this civil servant position. It was a bit disillusioning. It's better in Baldur's Gate than in other places, but the system itself is cruel, and he's rewarded for being cruel within it. It doesn't even matter that he originally got the job because they hoped he would be a compassionate elf judge amongst bloodthirsty humans, once he's actually in position, it's all about maintaining the status quo. That's what they actually want from him, in spite of their "progressive" leanings.

If anything, he's getting in trouble, and getting noticed by not quite being status quo. A soft-hearted elf, letting his charges get away with all kinds of mischief. I'd write him this way, because I think it then easily follows that Cazador takes note of him and targets him, precisely because he's too merciful. It's annoying.

And, little bit about me, I'm an attorney, and early on, during and right after law school I worked for a few judges.

If Faerûn is anything like the USA I figure that after a few years he has figured out that being a magistrate only gives him a limited amount of discretion and authority over the specific individuals who are brought before him.

It's really legislation that makes a difference and he is specifically forbidden from that. He rules from the bench, and hopes that if he's consistent and fair, and if nothing disastrous results from his rulings, (and if he doesn't get reversed too often, idk if that's a thing in Faerûn but it's a thing in America) then maybe he could eventually influence those who do legislate, but like, that's not his job. And it's going to take a long time because most of it's quite tedious and people don't pay attention unless it's someone they care about standing before him. Nobody cares about the vast majority of these people. His job is to stare at "troublemakers" who have supposedly broken the law, hear witnesses and confessions and denials and lies and decide what the truth is, and decide what's fair.

And it's emotionally heavy work. A lot of people describe being a magistrate as a political position, and that's not incorrect, but there's a valley of difference between Astarion's very hands on job, and what Gortash/Duke Ravenguard do. You are beholden to powerful politicians (like actual politicians) with a lot more influence who figured all this out long before they made the mistake of having ideals or believing in anything, or taking a job in which they would have to a) actually work with people to probable burnout and b) inevitably make a lot of people very angry regardless of what they did.

But, Astarion is still young, he's still got energy, he's not lost himself yet, he thinks he can handle this responsibility and he's wrong.

One day, someone is brought before him. This person is Gur and has supposedly broken the law. Other Gur are upset about the way Astarion ruled. He was way too harsh, or maybe he wasn't.

Quick sidebar: in court, I have watched people literally receive the death sentence and have zero reaction. Same with life w/o parole and other life ruining sentences. In my experience, what triggers an emotional reaction and anger targeted at a judge isn't the severity of the sentence, it's how the severity of the sentence stacks up against their expectations. The defendants (or their families, with proxy outrage) who get really angry, who try to attack the judge, or the ones who are so disruptive that we have to call it and go wait in the hallway while the baliffs calm things down, all have one thing in common: they legitimately thought they were going to just be sent home. They didn't think they were going to be held at all. For that reason, I actually saw a lot more rage from people who had committed minor offenses, because they didn't think what they had done was that big a deal, showed no remorse, ignored their atty, made no effort to express any respect for the law, or any victims, and then when the judge just decides to go with whatever the statute says, in light if zero mitigating factors, the defendant hears "60 days" for the very first time and assumes that the judge just made that up and hates them.

And like, I know it's fiction, and I'm speaking on a very niche experience that most people can't relate to. It's unlikely the writers had anything (let alone realism) in mind at all when they decided to be as vague as possible in the details about a character who embodies "loss" as a concept. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss. I think they were vague because of the theme of loss.

But this sidebar is just to explain why whenever someone says "well he got beat to death for it so his ruling must've been racist and harsh" my knee jerk response is "not necessarily."

And sidebar within the sidebar: if I was going to fully novelize the story, I would actually go in the direction of having the ruling in question be uncommonly fair. I might hint at some racism though—nobody really talks about it below the surface level obvious stuff that's in the game, and part of that is because information about the Gur as a people isn't super accessible. But there is information, and synthesized: racism against the Gur seems pretty standard, especially for an elf who has had it up to here with human bullshit generally. Especially during that time period. He probably didn't have a good opinion of the Gur in life.

But, I have to assume that his animosity towards the Gur that we see in the game was at least affected by the fact that they beat him to death, and then, he spent two centuries as an undead being that they kill on sight with absolutely no justification needed. Like. I don't think it's wild to suggest that. I'm actually very confused by how much people push back on the idea that this could be responsible for his attitude, in part. And that's as far as I have combed through all this so far. Idk how much of it will end up in fic, but it's my personal headcanon now.

I love horror movies. I have watched so many of them it's embarrassing. My letterboxd is embarrassing. I do love several horror movies that feature asshole victims, but as I look at my very favorites, I'm noticing a pattern. I like to feel hurt. I like it when a movie doesn't shy away from dealing out universal, apathetic and disproportionate punishment to everyone. I can't think of anything quite so sad as seeing a perfectly normal, maybe even morally progressive person with their whole life ahead of them, and choosing to unmake them and twist them into a broken puppet in your own image. Sparing/saving no one and nothing in the process. Just make them lose everything, including their entire sense of who they are.

So, I'm going to hurt my own feelings with my Astarion headcanon.

[leighsartworks216]

request if you feel like it:

i've been thinking a lot about astarion coming up with some unique pet name(unique as in not on his usual list of what he calls everyone) for tav and their brain just short-circuiting a little when they first hear it

“another (again no pressure): tav writing a song about astarion? or them absent-mindedly playing something that was inspired by him? and his reaction to that”

I assume these were both by you, anon lol I combined them because I felt like they worked really well off each other

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: references to sex, anxiety

Word Count: 989

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

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As a bard, you were no stranger to performing for audiences and putting on a good show. Smiling and going on with the show in spite of the stage fright. You’d rubbed elbows with nobles and sung ballads to their wives - you shouldn’t be as anxious as you are.

And yet, as you sit Astarion down on a pillow within your tent and pick up your lute, your fingers shake and you feel short of breath. Even when you sit down across from him, you cannot seem to settle down. You performed this a hundred times by now to make sure it was absolutely perfect, but it felt like your fingers had never held an instrument before, and like your voice was entirely gone.

Cold fingers brush your knee. He looks worried. “Are you alright, darling?”

You nod despite the forced smile you put on. “Yup! Never better! I just, uhm,” you reach over for your journal and hurriedly flip through the pages, “need to make sure I’ve got this right.”

Your eyes read the notes and lyrics over and over and over, but process none of it. You try to jumpstart your brain by placing your fingers over the frets, but your nail catches a string and makes a rather terrible noise. You both wince. Astarion leans forward and takes your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Darling, breathe. Imagine I’m just another drunk tavern patron.”

You huff a nervous laugh. “It’s hard when all I see is the man I love.”

He smirks, but the softness of his eyes ruin the illusion. He pulls you forward and meets you halfway to place a kiss on your forehead. “Breathe. I won’t laugh if you mess up.”

“Liar.”

“I won’t laugh excessively if you mess up.”

He pulls away, stroking your cheek with his thumb before he pulls away and leans back on his arms. He’s so open and inviting like this. You want to toss your lute aside and crawl into his lap, bombarding him with hugs. But, you need to share this with him first.

You close your eyes. You imagine you’re just in some dingy inn, playing for scraps and discounted rooms. This song is just like any other you’ve written. The notes are at your fingertips, ready to be released. You breathe in, imagine the song in your mind, and breathe out. You’ve got this.

You avoid looking at him as you close your journal and set it aside - you fear doing so would ruin the illusion you’ve painted for yourself. Your fingers glide smoothly along the strings, as familiar as a lover’s caress, and settle on the first chord. The words climb up your throat, lining up, ready to leap out. You try not to choke on them. You close your eyes again and start to play.

You spent countless nights composing it. Ever since you chanced upon him looking in the mirror and he’d called your descriptions of him “poetry”. To you, poetry was one in the same with the flattery he so desired. Maybe he understood that now, now that you were together. And that is exactly what this song was for.

You sang about his eyes, his hair, his smile, his hands - preening him and his apparent beauty. But you sang about his heart, too. The tenderness he shared in quiet moments, the way he sought your hand out by hesitantly brushing his pinky against yours, the delicate way he peppered your neck with kisses before he bit down as gently as possible. You poured your heart into every note, into every word. You meant every single one.

The last note fluttered into the air, and in the void it left behind came your anxiety. You were scared to open your eyes. To lose this moment would destroy you. If he hated it… Gods, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Cold hands hold your face again, but before you can open your eyes, his lips are on yours. He kisses you with a burning passion. Gratitude and love and a million more emotions, all vying to be expressed in this one act, like he can’t leave them to fester in his chest any longer. When the kiss slows, when he can bear the weight of the remaining feelings, he pulls away so gently. You pant to catch your breath, and you can feel it fanning against his skin and back at you from his proximity.

“My wonderful little song bird,” he hums. Your eyes shoot open to stare at him. He can feel your pulse as your heart skips a beat, soaring with the new pet name. He pecks your lips again briefly. “Only you would take my words and turn them against me in song.”

You chuckle breathlessly. Your mind is still trying to catch up. “You wanted flattery, and I excel in poetry - it only made sense to combine them for my favorite muse.”

He smiles wide, fangs peeking out beneath his lips. “I think I can make an exception,” he teases. “As long as you only sing about my good features.”

You cup his cheek and guide him down until you can kiss his forehead. “All of your features are good features, my star.” You lift his head again to press your forehead to his. “I can’t admire a bow and ignore its arrows - you’re not you without all of your qualities, good and bad and middling.”

“Fine,” he sighs, “but I’m to be your first audience with each one.”

“And if I write something truly scandalous?”

He smirks devilishly. “Then I’m to be your only audience, and,” he leans forward to whisper in your ear, “I intend to act out each phrase.”

You hum. “I should get to writing, then.”

Fangs tease at your lobe. “Allow me to provide you some inspiration, my precious song bird. It’s only fair, as your favorite muse.”

---

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