Izzy deserved to hear that from Ed.

That's Izzy's family. It's Izzy whom the crew loves.

That was Izzy's arc, not Edward's.

Now, please, don't get me wrong. It is a part of Ed's growth. Still, the main focus has always been his relationship with Stede and his identity. You can absolutely dive into the captain's relationship with his crew, but you don't replace a character's arc with another one's, especially at the last minute.

I understand the symbolism of Blackbeard "dying" with Izzy. The gatekeeping, gaslighting, feeding the persona of the world's greatest and most merciless pirate staying in the past... I am also fully convinced that Blackbeard's right-hand man actually passing away to achieve that was unnecessary.

What this season did for Izzy was absolutely incredible. That man abandoned his ego and changed the way he perceived power, respect, loyalty, and support for and because of a group of people he despised at the beginning.

His main purpose has always been looking after any crew he was a part of. He had more contact with them than the captain himself, especially aboard the Revenge when Blackbeard was going through his mental breakdown. In the first season, we saw Izzy wouldn't be the best captain, but he did have the experience and eventually learned how to look after his subordinates. All because he finally experienced proper care himself.

He got his heart broken in more than one way, yet managed to find his people, his family. Izzy finally got to know what real appreciation looks like. He got it from the people he initially mistreated. The crew decided to look after Izzy because "he's their dick". They stopped fighting after seeing him at his lowest. They made him a new prosthesis out of the figurehead of all things, showing the audience how they see him - the crew's protector, the spirit of the ship.

At first, Izzy kept pushing them away. Not out of hatred for them, but for himself. Because healing is difficult, it hurts, it takes incredible strength and willpower to admit to yourself that your environment is harmful and that you might be the problem as well. Especially when leaving it seemingly deprives you of your identity or purpose in life. Besides that, come on, it's Izzy Hands. A man who wasn't heartless, but also not "soft", as he would have most likely put it himself. He was still rough around the edges and cynical. However, after all this time he finally allowed himself to let go and feel comfortable, so some of that bitterness disappeared over time. I still don't believe he was fully healed, but he was on the right path.

Despite changing his outlook on life, Izzy was still respected. He knew what mattered and what to do and say to make sure his crew's issues were properly resolved.

Now, Ed's apology. At first I felt like there didn't need to be any deep talk between the first mate and his captain, because they understood each other well enough. That's not what communication is about though. It's not about taking something or someone for granted. Especially is the conflict escalates to such extent. There should've been more to that. They should've both had a conversation about their relationship and what made them bad for each other. Most importantly, how they could fix that and heal together. If that would require them to part ways, so be it. At least they'd separate on good terms. Now we can only speculate.

I would say my biggest problem is not with Izzy Hands dying. It's about how he died. Although I doubt I'd support this decision in season 3, at least it wouldn't be so rushed. There was no proper build-up to it. Izzy and Richard, of all people, had a deep talk about understanding piracy, a concept that is a base for one's actions. This was probably the biggest red flag, which tragically appeared in the same episode Izzy died. The crew didn't thank him or bid him farewell. He wasn't properly mourned. He was buried in the ground.

"You should've expected that. Things were going too well. A mentor character always dies after regaining hope". I have two HUGE problems with that.

First of all: a mentor character? I guess? For two, maybe three episodes at best? Izzy did meet some mentor archetype points. He was Stede's mentor for a bit, I mentioned his experience and position as the first mate, but I wouldn't say that's his main purpose. The writers did, but we're going to talk about it in a second.

Second of all: this was many people's comfort show. Especially when it comes to the LGBTQ+ community. I myself have praised this show for its take on communication and found family portrayal. It was fun, light-hearted, safe.

I understand the need to tell your story, I truly do. I know that people don't have the right to tell someone how to create, because the audience, especially the more pushy members, can be very often self-centered and don't know what's planned for a show's future. Except that these days you really have to be careful with how you plan your story with the corporations holding all the power - that's why we need to support the strikes. You need to be prepared to disclose necessary information in a proper way if needed. You need to pay attention to what you're portraying.

Now, I also believe that media literacy is dead (exaggeration) and people really can't for example understand that stories develop over time, seasons, or chapters unless they're consuming a media piece that has already run its course. They do have the tendency to take things literally and not search for the context.

Still, in the postmodern era of creativity, you need to know you don't hold all the power, despite not owning people anything. Your audience can interpret things on their own. What you believe to have no power or significance can mean the world to your audience. Remember how difficult it was for people to believe this show actually has LGBTQ+ characters and a love story in it? Or how the creator admitted he was surprised by the scepticism? I don't. Not only because I started watching the show quite late, but also because I don't consider myself to be a part of this community. It didn't mean so much to me, because I currently focus on different aspects of the content I consume. However, I know how they perceive media and their products. I may not have the same experience, but I know where theirs comes from. And I know that this show was just different. TV series, books, etc. do not belong only to the creators nowadays. Yes, they are their products, but they are made for an audience that has the right to individually approach and criticise them. And even though overinterpretation is a thing, there is no one right answer to certain issues.

BUT THEN AGAIN: THE MONEY. Was it the budget? I honestly have no idea. Perhaps it was, because literally everything is dependent on it these days...

See, we could argue back and forth about the behind-the-scenes, but I don't think I have enough knowledge of that. I also don't want to get into the topic of disability, suicide, abuse, etc., because I am not the right person for it, even though some of those things are a part of my experience. There are people out there who can give you their thoughts on their perception of Izzy's character and his significance in those areas.

I suppose my point is... I'm mad and genuinely disappointed. I can't remember the last time I was so attached to a character. I absolutely adored Izzy's character and was drawn to him in the first season. I related to him struggling with his toxic environment and finding a safe space. I was ready to see him become a captain. Heck, even if that wasn't planned for him, I still trusted the crew to let the character be happy after everything he's been through. Instead, I got this: "As long as you turn over a new leaf and heal, your death is a good one... Redemption equals no happily ever after... Remember that life isn't fair..." Aren't we tired of such narratives? What does it say about us and the media we consume? Isn't hypernormalisation of such issues exhausting?

I'm disappointed because I had hope. Even after getting betrayed by so many stories in recent years, I still had it. I had hope for a different character. Hope for a different show.

Edit: Just wanted to make something clear because I see more and more people focusing on Buttons sitting on Izzy's grave and David Jenkins liking a tweet about him being a witch. You could call me a hypocrite for pointing out people's lack of media literacy and not even considering the possibility of bringing Izzy back. That was my first thought. I would absolutely love for Buttons to do his magic and revive our man. There is something inside of me still holding onto that hope. I'm just really, really, REALLY tired of having hope in shows nowadays. I'm choosing to remain sceptical. Who knows, maybe I'll be positively surprised. Still, I stand by what I wrote: I think killing Izzy was unnecessary in the first place.

just woke up from a dream in which theo and matthias were in baldur's gate nobody move

WHEN DOES THIS GAME END????

Needlessly close reading and long commentary on chapter 57 and how the audience actually has an extremely limited view on what Marcille has been like over the course of her life.

I am once again thinking about how pre-dungeon Marcille is so quiet and stoic that she seems like a completely different person. How jarring chapter 57 is for the audience. Like you have Marcille, who has been just the most blindingly expressive person with resting baby face

And then the chapter drops a title page of Marcille hearing from Falin for the first time in four years and it's like.

Who is that. Genuinely. Would you even realize that's Marcille without the context clues?

And then the chapter just keeps coming in with the sucker punches.

We have SEEN Marcille meet strangers. It was never with this understated of a smile.

literally who the hell is this. the few times the audience gets to see some Signature Marcille Faces that they're used to is when she finally gets to see Falin again

when she's testing out her new spells

(and when Laios and Falin are fantasizing about her being their damsel in distress, funnily enough)

And then finally. Finally you get to a fully recognizable Marcille when she fucking DIES and comes back to life to geek out about necromancy.

We know she loves magic. We know she loves Falin. So it's not so surprising that she wouldn't be able to keep a mask up when thinking or talking about the things she loves. But why the mask in the first place? Where does it come from? It's tempting to think that, maybe, Falin's departure just hurt her so much that it turned her into a quiet person.

But that's only half true. If you go back, the first instance you see of this incredibly mild personality is actually introduced much earlier, in chapter 17.

What if she was always like that. What if her default after her father died was to hold people at arm's length, to never really emote past being polite and friendly. What if Falin was the first person who was able to bring her out of her shell, and when she left, Marcille just went back to how she was.

And when comparing her detached demeanour with someone else...

It's not exact, but wouldn't you say there's a resemblance? Wouldn't you think she might be trying her best to imitate what she saw of her own mother working as an accomplished mage?

It would certainly explain why she's hiding behind her portrait in her nightmare, at least.

We aren't told that Marcille has been distancing herself from everyone around her using a mature and dignified personality she modelled off her mother. But we sure as hell are shown it, I think.

A Royal Pain In The Ass

Yandere Male Alpha x Male Omega Reader (CW: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, INCEST, non-con, male reader, a/b/o, ass eaten like it is groceries, blowjob, marking, biting, knotting, musk, general yandere behavior, necromancy, assassination, minor character death, angst, pain, violent sex, breeding, forced feminization, size difference) Word Count: 2.9k (This is probably the worst thing I have ever written, but I think I covered all the appropriate warnings. Sorry for any mistakes I did proofread, but I did not have this beta read.)

Your father, King Esmer, had been among the wisest and most powerful kings in all the world. He had led decisive victories in war, chosen brilliant advisors, and knew when to rule kindness and when to rule with a bit of a sterner hand. Overall he had been much loved by all the classes and had truly united his kingdom, alphas, betas, and omegas alike. But as he grew older many in the royal court began to fear that your brother, Prince Vairthold, would become a tyrant of a monarch. He had always been a bit of a demanding brat, but as he grew so too did his arrogance and entitlement, and when he presented as an alpha he became an accomplished warrior, his powerful muscles and keen instinct allowing him to become a terror on the field. It did nothing to staunch the growth of his ego. Your father could not see it, as blinded as he was by denial and love for his first born, so he would not hear of it when his advisors wanted him to choose another heir. Perhaps one more malleable and temperate such as you, his younger son, an omega. “He will grow into the role,” he would always say, “I had to learn and change a lot too when I first started. Besides, most lords just would not accept an omega ruler.” And that would be the end of the discussion. But once Esmer had passed his successor wasted no time in changing how things were to be done. They were, in the grand scheme of things, very minor changes at first. Statues built, mundane orders carried out, nothing too unusual or threatening. But within months your older sibling allowed a dark sorcerer in the court in a high advisory position. Dark magic was not something that had been allowed in any capacity previously, but your brother had searched long to create someone to place in this position. When he finally had the magic user that he so desired he became not just arrogant and demanding, but colder and crueler as well. He did not go out slaughtering people, though laws did become more draconian, with several inmates disappearing in the dead quiet of night. He also revoked many of the laws and rights that omegas had previously enjoyed under his predecessors, making them basically under the ownership of their alpha or beta relatives unless they were single and had no family. You, being an omega yourself, were almost never allowed out of your brother’s sight, even being forced to stay in his bedroom. The only time you were not with him was when he was off in the darkness of night consorting with his dark advisor, and even then he left the bulkiest beta knights he could find to guard the door and make sure you had zero chance of escape. Your older sibling had always been far too possessive over you, some people, including your late father, might have mistaken his behavior as merely how a protective alpha is supposed to act around their smaller omega family members. But you knew better, you could tell there was something impure about the way you caught him leering at you, something off about how he had kept away any and all courters, something wicked in the way his expression changed when you were in heat and he caught a whiff of your scent. He had never been particularly mean to you, perhaps a bit of bullying here and there, but ever since he had changed the laws and the status of omegas he had been a lot more gruff with you. Not tolerating any dissent. If you resisted he would not hesitate to slap you across the face, but if you cooperated and did not complain he would often reward you with little gifts for your good behavior. Over time you learned never to complain, and so far nothing terrible had happened, but you did not trust his intentions at all. You dreaded to think what would happen if you had your heat now when he was always so close. He had not just forced you to sleep in his bedroom but to make a nest for yourself there too. You knew what it implied and you did not like it one bit. But a few months into his rule, as he started ignoring his court less and less, right as your heat was starting, he died. He was assassinated in his sleep. You were not involved at all in his murder, how could you be when you were constantly under the watch of him or his guards, but you did not raise a huge fuss over it either. You had been freed. Just in time. But it was only a delay of the inevitable. Soon after you had been crowned all those who had been involved with the assassination died, one by one. It was as if there had been some curse on the act of killing your brother and there was fear and dismay among the court and kingdom as a whole. You had never really been raised to rule, you mostly went by the advice of your council, they may have been using you as a puppet king to talk through, but they were good honest people who had wanted the best for the kingdom. With so few of them left you were buckling under the weight of your responsibility. But it would not be yours for long. After the last traitor of your sibling had been done away with, a few months into your reign and right as your heat was starting again, your brother and his wizard, who had gone missing after your brother’s murder, came sauntering into the castle, right in front of the throne as you were holding publicly addressing the problems of your lower-born subjects. There were whispers and murmurs among the guard and the present nobles. He looked different, blueish grey skin, dark rings around his now violet eyes, and his bright blonde hair had faded a bit, but he was still unmistakable as anyone but Vairthold. The deceased king. You, and everyone else present, were shocked and speechless. Had he faked his death? Why did he look so odd? Terror and hopelessness filled your heart as you knew immediately he had been responsible for the deaths of those involved in the plot against him and you were sure you would be next. He ordered the guards to remove everyone from the room except you. They hesitated briefly but decided that if your brother was not dead, and he seemingly had the ability to kill anyone who had tried to stand against him, then he was still their rightful king and they better be quick about following his orders. Vairthold smirked at you as they did his bidding while slowly approaching you, causing you to slink back against the throne with your arms in front of you protectively. The guards had left along with his magic using companion, so you were alone with him and he could do whatever he wanted with you. He wordlessly plucked the crown from your trembling form and placed it atop his head instead. “Awe, don’t be scared, little prince. I was mad at you for not avenging me, but I know you are just a weakling little omega doing what you were told. I am sorry I left you like I did, you must have been so terrified, but I wanted to become a lich, and I had to get rid of all those who would have stopped me.” You could not bear to meet his gaze, your lip trembled in fear, and your eyes were beginning to fill with tears. A lich was an immortal abomination made of magic that few believed in. If he truly was one then this couldn’t get any worse. Except it could, because under all the fear and anxiety there was another scent that had just graced your brother’s nostrils. Your heat. He began nuzzling his nose at your neck and underarms. In a rare act of defiance, perhaps forgetting exactly what he was for a moment, you tried to push away his head with all your might but he just chuckled and pinned your hands to the side. He had never been this brazen before. “It’s good that you’re feisty sometimes, shows that you’re strong, bet you’ll make us lots of strong heirs. I’ll forgive you for being uncooperative this time, putting you in front of subjects today when you’re in heat is bound to make your head a bit off. I should kill them all.” At his mention of heirs you redoubled your efforts to push him off, to somehow wiggle out of his grip, there was no way you could let this monster put anything inside of you. “N-no, this is my throne n-now! Y-y-you have to stop!” It was a pathetic display really, but a bit surprising coming from you. He smacked you with enough force to sting, but you knew he was not really trying to hurt you, just trying to remind you of your place. “Awe, that’s too cute, if you wanted the throne all you had to do was ask~ I will let you use it later.” He quickly disrobed and ripped off all of your clothing, leaving you bare beneath his hungry gaze. All your squirming and panicked pleas did nothing to stop him bending down and assaulting your neck with sloppy licks and kisses. You could smell the musk practically radiating off of him, it was making you dizzy, his smell had never interested you in the slightest and it still didn’t You could tell by his pheromones that he was a virile and fertile alpha, in any other alpha it may be attractive, but it only made your brother more terrifying. He did not have the same opinion of your scent, it had been driving him wild for years, but now was the first time he could freely indulge himself. He alternated between sniffing and licking your underarms and neck, he had longed for this for years and no one could stop him now. After making sure that you both utterly reeked of one another, he got between your legs on the ground in front of the throne and put your legs over his shoulder. Your mind felt distressed to the core, but your body had different plans, you could not control how it reacted. Especially when under the direct affections of such a powerful alpha during heat. You felt disgusted with yourself when you realized your cock was rock hard and felt slick start to leak out onto the throne beneath you, but your brother was thrilled. The smell emanating from your desperate little virgin hole was divine and he wasted no time at all in pulling your ass close to his face and sliding his tongue right in. The flavor was even better, so full of your pheromones, the taste was so intimately yours and he knew he was the only one that ever had or ever would get the chance to savor it. It was a royal treasure that only he and he alone was worthy enough for. A small involuntary moan escaped your attempt at stifling it and encouraged him to keep going. You really couldn’t help it, you were so grossed out, scared, and overstimulated that you were crying even as you instinctively spread your legs wider for him to get better access. You could feel his warm tongue sliding all around your entrance, stretching and warming it up. He pulled his face away from your ass and sniffed and licked at your precious little nuts, they were so tiny and delicate, unlike his big alpha balls. The scent you had there drove him wild. He started sucking on them before licking up your relatively small shaft and sucking your cock until he felt you buck into his mouth and cum all over his tongue. He moaned softly as he swallowed it all down. “I’m disgusting. That was wrong,” you muttered under your breath as you stared blankly at nothing in particular. “How could someone so sweet and perfect be disgusting? How could you think something that felt so good could possibly be wrong? Don’t worry princess, I know something that will feel so good you won’t even be able to form thoughts like that~” That was enough to jolt you from your post-orgasmic daze and revulsion, as your brother leaned over you, greedy hands busy groping and caressing up and down your sides. “I’m not a princess!!” You shrieked as you rocketed upwards from the throne and headbutt your lustful sibling as hard as you could. The unexpected impact caused even a large alpha such as himself to stumble backwards. You did not waste a fraction of a second to exploit the opening and started to get up past him. But he was no stranger to physical combat and knew how to recover quickly. He grabbed your arm and pulled you over to himself with great force. He sat on the cushioned throne and lifted you easily, forcing you to face him as you straddled his lap. When you felt the force with which he was grabbing you and saw the violence in his eyes as a small trickle of blood flowed from his nose you immediately regret assaulting him. “Let me be VERY clear, I am the king. And you ARE my princess. And when we are married you WILL be my queen. And there is nothing you can do about it.” You instinctively whimpered softly at the anger of the bristling alpha. He ignored it and focused on putting you in your place, submitting to him and impaled on his cock. Vairthold lifted you up and slammed you down on his cock. You screamed loud as it stretched and hurt in ways you had not conceived of. You knew he had stretched you. You knew there would certainly be blood. Even your slick couldn’t make this painless when he was driving into you so forcefully while you were so tense. “This could have been a lot easier on you, but you wanted to play rough!” With his hands gripping your sides painfully he lifted you up and slammed you back down on his dick repeatedly, thrusting upwards into you each time for added force. With each thrust you whimpered and yelped out in pain, your mind breaking a bit by bit. It felt like you were being stabbed. His nails began digging in, bruising your sensitive flesh as he only escalated the force he was using, you thought you were going to pass out, you even began to welcome it. “Puh-plea-ease, p-please. I’m s-s-sorry. I’ s-sorry. I-I’m sorry.” You sniffled and stammered, tears and snot running unattractively down your face, though your “partner” didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “Say... You’re... My... Princess…” He spat each word through gritted teeth, emphasizing each by painfully pulling you down on his cock. “I-i’m your p-pr-prin-ce-cessss.” You struggled to form the words but once you had the change was immediate. He began slowing down to a much more merciful pace before pulling your trembling form close to him. It was still extremely painful, given the abuse your hole had just endured, but you tried to not focus on it. You could not bear to look at him so you just buried your crying face into his chest instead. Vairthold took this as a sign that you were willingly seeking comfort from him as your alpha so he slowed down a bit more. As he slowly slid his cock in and out of you, a mixture of slick with a bit of blood leaking down his shaft, he licked, kissed, and nuzzled the sensitive scent gland on your neck to try to comfort you. You had hurt him, but you had submitted to your king, so you didn’t deserve anymore pain. “You’re being such a good girl for me, I am gonna put so many babies in that belly.” You sobbed a bit louder but made no movements against him. He stroked your back soothingly as his knot swelled up inside you, tying the both of you together right before his cock spasmed and began filling you up with seed. As he came he bit down on your neck hard, officially marking you as his mate. By the mercy of the gods you finally passed out, sparing you the pain of being conscious while tied to your alpha. King Vairthold licked your neck clean of the blood he had just drawn and cuddled you protectively, his instincts telling him to keep his mate safe at all costs. When his knot finally allowed him to, he slid out of your ass before bundling you up and carrying upstairs to your private chambers. He cleaned you off carefully and laid you in your bed, before sliding in beside you and wrapping his arms around your waist. As he lay there with his princess in his arms he could scarcely wait for the preparations to turn you into a lich to be completed. He was going to keep you with him for all eternity.

Full disclosure, I have not seen the Teen Wolf movie and no I do not plan on it. I have caught a few things through the magic of tumblr and I had some thoughts. So if everything I saw is accurate; Derek has a kid Eli (basically a Stiles replacement since Dylan wasn’t in the movie. Also, nobody knows who his mother is?) and Derek dies, and he leaves his kid to Scott and Allison. Am I right so far? I’ve seen a few posts entertaining the idea of Stiles being Eli’s other dad, fix-its that have him resurrecting/saving Derek in some capacity. And so it got me thinking of my own version of how I would fix this dumpster fire and like,

What if Stiles was not Eli’s dad?

No no no, hear me out, okay?

Derek had Eli with some one night stand or whatever, it’s not important. She’s not in the picture but neither is Stiles. Stiles is just the one that got away, he’s the guy Derek has been pining over for the past fifteen years, and nothing more. Stiles finally got away from the supernatural shitshow and Derek is not going to be the one to drag him back into it just because he has feelings for him.

But Stiles is still the closest thing Derek has ever had to family and it makes sense for Derek to entrust his family with Stiles’ family. So what if he left Eli in the care of John? (hIS NAME IS JOHN, FIGHT ME ON THIS.) And John, he kind of adores the kid, right? Of course when Derek dies (because he does) John takes Eli in just as he promised he would.

But John is getting older. Eli is a handful because he is just like Stiles. John has to tell Stiles eventually what happened and he really could use some help trying to wrangle a grieving teenager, so he calls Stiles.

Stiles is FURIOUS when he finds out what happened. He hasn’t been in contact with Scott for years because he realized what a piece of shit Scott was, but the fact that Scott didn’t even call when everything was happening makes him angry. The fact that they let Derek die?? More than angry. Angry enough to kill somebody. But when he meets Eli, all that anger disappears. Eli, who is this weird mix of Derek and Stiles, who is mourning the loss of his only parent, his only family. He knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but even after his mom died, he always had his dad. Eli doesn’t have that so Stiles makes it his responsibility to become that figure for him. Not his dad because nobody could replace Derek, but a guardian.

He moves back to town, he bonds with Eli, and in his spare time he maybe starts to explore the possibilities of necromancy. Death in a place like Beacon Hills has never been permanent– Peter and now Allison are proof of that. He doesn’t tell anybody because he doesn’t actually plan on bringing Derek back, it’s just a thought that keeps him from falling apart entirely. During this time, he realizes not only his feelings for Derek, but Derek’s feelings for him. He wishes he could have just a few minutes with Derek, wishes he could go back in time and redo everything. Maybe he would have stayed in Beacon Hills, or he would have asked Derek to leave with him. And time travel, yeah that’s a possibility, too, but time is a fickle bitch and Stiles isn’t willing to gamble with it. What if he messes something up and erases Eli from existence?

In the end, bringing Derek back is kind of an accident.

Years have passed and Eli is healing, Stiles is healing– they even manage to fix the jeep together because symbolism. Stiles is going through some old journals or something of Deaton’s and he finds something that looks kind of promising (something about true love being the one thing more powerful than death or something equally as cheesy) and he’s reading it out loud and it just happens. No fanfare, no sparks, almost like it’s not magic at all. One second, Stiles is alone, and the next, Derek is there– older than the last time Stiles saw him, just as beautiful. There’s some panic because what the fuck, the last thing Derek remembers is the fire and being so sure he was going to die and thinking if only I could see Stiles one more time and now he’s here, standing in front of Stiles– also older than the last time Derek saw him, and just as beautiful. But after the panic, there’s some kissing and some crying and some long awaited love confessions, and by the time they go home, Stiles still isn’t sure exactly what happened, what he did, what the consequences might be, but he’s got his arm around Derek’s waist and the burn of Derek’s stubble on his lips and Derek is alive so nothing else fucking matters.

Repose, My Love, I Have Sinned Enough (Astarion x F! reader)

CW and just content- violence, brief description of gore, enemies to lovers, mutual pining, brief mentions of sexual shiznet

Synopsis- You are a cleric of Kelemvor- a God that detests the undead and resurrection due to it disrupting the natural process. However, the Pale Elf you met in the aftermath of the mind-flayer incident is important to the bigger picture.

You’ve defeated Cazador and Orin, but Bhaal Cultists are still at large and they are specifically looking to kill you.

Song for this particular one shot is Eternally Yours by Motionless in White. Title is derived from the song.

Author note- I can’t remember when I recently read a few concepts on tumblr that I integrated into this writing (I.e. a God did answer Astarion’s prayers- I put my own twist on it, used a line from the game in a different spot for plot reasons). If anyone wants me to write any spin offs about specific moments, please let me know cause I love these two and I lowkey want to write mutually consensual ‘Gods I cannot stand you’ sex.

Hope you enjoy!

Photo belongs to @cheekylittlepupp on Tumblr

You hated him.

Astarion Acunín was single-handedly the worst thing that could have happened to you.

And you had quite literally fell out of the fucking sky with a tadpole in your head.

“My apologies” your ass. The minute he held that knife to your throat should have been enough. He duped you and he duped you good.

Overtime, you thought that Astarion was a pompous ass and you hated him for his existence- everything your God, Kelemvor, rejected. In spite of it all, you still let the man drink from you when he needed blood.

Kelemvor heard your prayers and allowed you to work with Astarion with no retribution to you. Being a part of a Divine plan to save the world has ultimately saved the Spawn.

Oh and Astarion despised you just as much- maybe even more. You were a threat to his safety- only allowed to protect him because your God had allowed it. So what happened once you no longer had need of him?

The two of you fought like cats and dogs, but your actions towards each other were in direct opposition with every nasty word you flung at each other.

The second week into the journey had demolished your armor and destroyed your only camp clothes. You had been silently upset about the endeavor- knowing there won’t be anyone selling any lounge clothes until you get to Baldur’s Gate.

The armor was an easy replacement- people sell plenty of that shit apparently.

You had asked everyone in camp (minus Astarion) if they either knew how to sew, had an extra blanket or cape you could use that they didn’t need, or had an extra shirt. Everyone told you no, but they would keep an eye out.

You tried your best to stitch it up yourself, but the thing had been a damn mess. You were sitting in your bra and leather pants while successfully tangling your shirt with the string.

You had finally had it and screamed at the top of your lungs. You threw the shirt on the floor of your camp and walked off with your Mace. It took an hour of hitting a tree and two wild hog kills before you had calmed down enough to attempt to return to your work. It was almost evening when you left and now it was getting dark as you got back- still in only your (sports like Karlach’s armor btw) bra, leather pants, and your flimsy camp shoes.

Gale had been thrilled to have the fresh meat, but had made you feel horribly embarrassed because he was trying to not gawk.

You had been a good sport about it- ignoring it entirely- and then went back to your tent to try to have something resembling a shirt before dinner.

Except the heap of string and cloth that had been strewn everywhere was gone- your shirt was perfectly stitched up and folded. There was a note attached.

So Gale doesn’t die from a boner induced stroke- Astarion p.s. I still hate your guts.

You gave him the Necromancy of Thay as a thank you and with the condition that Gale never knows.

You’ve also surprised him a multitude of times. You knew the right thing to do was to give him over to Galendral. It was just you and Astarion. You could team up with the monster hunter and just tell the group it had been a sudden “oh shit now I’m allergic to fire” moment.

Instead you helped Astarion kill the man and oooed and aweed over his very nice crossbow together.

Or the time that Araj wouldn’t stop asking him to drink her blood. You got so fed up that you knocked her out cold, woke her up, asked if she got the message, she said yes, and then you knocked her out cold again. Just because it felt good at that point.

“A woman after my own heart.” Astarion teased.

Your companions would frequently yell at you to get a room and you’d both scream about how awful the other is before storming off.

However, the two of you were formidable in battle when you worked side by side. It was the only time the group had any reprieve from your bickering. He stayed close to you and refused to let you go anywhere without him. You finally confronted him on it when he complained for the millionth time about all the walking.

It ended up with you two fighting in front of a very knowing Karlach and Shadowheart, yelling at each other nonsensically, and then Astarion suddenly broke up the fight by saying, “it’s not my fault your God won’t let me resurrect you if you die doing something stupid- which is very possible knowing the nature of this group!”

He stormed off in a huff and you shut up pretty quickly after that.

A flip had switched in your relationship following the first major fight the group had engaged in.

While making your way through the Goblin Camp- you had been injured fatally while trying to protect Gale from Minthara. You had been laughing and borderline crying with the irony of it all- you were allowed to keep the Spawn alive and anyone could resurrect him- but you got to sit there and die. For the first time- you aren’t comforted by the fact that your God will be waiting for you. In fact, all you can think about is Astarion.

Shadowheart was helping kill Priestess Gut and Halsin was in the middle of trying not to be killed by Dro Ragzlin. It was only you, Gale, and Astarion fighting and you are completely out of magic to heal yourself. You swallowed against the lump in your throat and took one last conscious ragged breath. You had let the world start to fade to black and the last thing you saw was Astarion running towards you.

Then you woke up next to the fire hours later with Astarion sitting on the log next to you- his book casting a shadow over his face.

Shadowheart told you that Astarion had practically half dragged her to where you were as Gale was forcing your unconscious body to take healing potion after healing potion. She told him not to worry- they could always resurrect you. Shadowheart says she regrets even uttering those words.

“Are you that incredibly unobservant or are you that ignorant, Sharran?” Astarion snarled, “she’s a Cleric of Kelemvor- resurrecting her would quite literally ruin her life so you better have a better back up plan than that.”

Astarion had been a mess and when they tried to put you in your tent- he had gotten pissed at them even more.

“She sleeps next to the fire, you incompetent fools,” he scoffed, “you can’t honestly expect her to heal in the coldest fucking corner of camp in that shitty excuse of a tent.”

You didn’t know how it happened- let alone twice, but you and Astarion did end up sleeping together. Kelemvor disapproved greatly (making it known after you helped Astarion kill a devil for Raphael) and you pushed Astarion away when he asked you to try to be in a relationship with him.

When he asked why- you told the truth. You were always meant to be enemies- you had allowed this to go on for too long and you should never have indulged in feelings that were silly- foolish even. Astarion’s heart was broken and he has been bitter towards you ever since.

You are the only one who knows that every word you said felt like you were being given a thousand papercuts. You want him so desperately- in every sentimental way you can think of.

But you are nothing- basically powerless- without Kelemvor. You can’t protect Astarion if you have no magic or the ability to heal.

The only exception to his bitterness was the day you barely saved him in time from Cazador.

You had found a blood stain next to his bed when you went to check on him. You had a weird feeling that you needed to. Astarion told you he had to grab something from upstairs before joining you all for a drink.

You had never run so fast- shouting at your companions to get in their gear and meet you at the Crimson Palace. Your lungs hurt as you raced through Baldur’s Gate with angry, vengeful tears streaming down your face.

You had basically demolished every single creature and person who was in your way- your abilities against the Undead coming in handy. Cazador had barely started the ritual when you came in and began slaughtering all the creatures guarding him- your companions were on your heels and came just in time.

You were able to focus on killing Cazador and stopping the ritual. You succeeded. When you released Astarion from his bindings so he could finish Cazador once and for all- the first thing he did was pull you into him and he clung to you for dear life.

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

Astarion decided not to ascend by some miracle. He still hasn’t told you why.

He took you to his grave and asked if you would give your blessing for his new birthdate. You had been absolutely bewildered- saying that is for your God to say, not you.

“I don’t care about your God, Tav,” Astarion said with desperation, “I just want to know you acknowledge that I am living- that I’m worthy of this new beginning. If you don’t feel that way or you just can’t- I will never bother you again.

“But if you do feel that way… please,” he stared at you earnestly, “you are the only one I know worth worshipping- yours is the only blessing I want to have.”

Kelemvor had told you you were on thin ice in a dream that night- your blessing had meant the world to Astarion, but was a cardinal sin to your God.

Kelemvor didn’t have anything to worry about- Astarion went back to being bitter and hateful towards you two weeks later anyway. One day you went from being friends to him bringing partners to fuck in the private room on your floor. He was also back to arguing with you and being nasty as all get out.

You don’t know why the Wood Elf at the Carnival specifically sought the two of you out the other day. You both scoffed at the idea, went into it expecting it to be a disaster, and then promptly avoided each other in the aftermath.

She told you your love for each other is impenetrable.

Considering the current situation- you think it was all just a shitty carnival trick.

It’s moments like these, as you watch him flirt with a very beautiful woman across the room at Elfsong, where you cling to those moments of intimacy you had been able to experience with him.

You are always heartbroken when he brings someone to the private room. It’s close to your bed and you can hear everything.

You couldn’t bring yourself to pretend you are okay with it today. You couldn’t pretend to be ‘just fine’ or unfazed. A child had died under your watch and you had barely killed Orin- the battle was gruesome and you saved Lae’zel in time (Thank Gods).

It has been a hard day. You are incredibly tired and your tipsy brain is grieving the fact that you don’t get to curl up next to him at the end of the day anymore. You haven’t been sleeping well since you stopped sleeping next to him- your nightmares came back in full force.

Your heart is entirely crushed like your spirit. You are certain that it’s beginning to show on your face and it makes you feel gross. You try not to be too obvious with how much you want to leave, but your little walk- sprint is far too awkward and telling.

There are plenty of Taverns to drink from with plenty of people to talk to. It may only be an hour and a half before the sun rises, but tomorrow is a day off so who cares? Besides, Baldur’s Gate never sleeps.

You don’t see Astarion watching you leave, the woman in front of him storming off in envy.

You don’t know that Astarion saw how you looked his way when he got closer to the woman in front of him- let alone that interacting with another person this way instead of being with you makes him equally as heartbroken.

None of these encounters felt right nor did they feel good. He had declined to Ascend- taking it to heart when you said you want him to be a man he can be proud of. Not to mention, you had destroyed an entire palace (Godey was scattered all over the halls) to get to him when he had been sitting there begging Selune of all fucking people to alert Isobel, Dame Aylin, Shadowheart- literally anyone- that he needed to be saved. Then he threw Jergal out there as a “fuck it, let’s try it” and not even 30 minutes later- you were there. Your eyes were full of bloodlust, anger, and vengeance.

Enemies to Lovers to Friends to Enemies again. Both of you are evidently in love with one another and cannot be together because Kelemvor said “psych”. The bards in Faerun will have a field day when that information comes out.

Ever since your display of brutal vengeance, he silently begged for you to finally just be with him. The light touches, the flirty conversations, the yearning looks- just denounce Kelemvor already!

There are plenty of Gods! Jergal could be fucking hiring for all Astarion knows at this point. It’s not like the ancient God of the dead and scribes wasn’t in their camp. He gave Withers a very suspecting look when they got back to camp- the skeleton merely bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Astarion had waited for two weeks- hoping maybe you had a change of heart and just needed the time to come to peace with it.

Nope. Absolutely nothing but friendship so he went back to trying to make you jealous. He knows it’s childish. What were you supposed to do? Denounce your God? The same God that had been there for you when your mother died in your childhood? No- that was and is unfair of him. He doesn’t know what to do anymore.

Astarion just wants one last moment- a tryst even- before you have to become enemies again. His heart aches for you- he adores you and he even admires your dedication to your faith. You’re passionate about the work you do- helping families grieve, providing them assurance that their loved one is safe on the other side, and saving towns from Undead individuals who truly mean harm.

If only he had met you in a different time period- before he was a Vampire- maybe then he could have been with you without the consequences. He couldn’t live with the crushing guilt of making you turn away from your God for him. Astarion can’t ask that of you and he knows he needs to stop trying to manipulate you into it as well.

He leaves the bar and searches the street for you. Astarion is relieved you haven't gotten very far. Bhaal cultists are still on the rise and with their leader freshly dead by your hand- well, it’s safe to assume you made enemies of the cult very quickly.

On the other hand, you continue to be lost in your confusing daze of emotions. The battle against Orin is far from your mind right now and Bhaal cultists aren’t even a thought.

What do you do when the person you want is someone you can’t have because your God says no? People don’t write books or scrolls for this kind of stuff.

Do you run away? Do you let them figure out the Elderbrain on their own? Do you denounc-

No, you think sharply whilst pushing the thought out of your mind. You can’t just stop worshiping Kelemvor.

Or can you?

Your internal war has given you tunnel vision in your pursuit to find the nearest bar- so much so that you don’t see the Bhaal assassin begin his attempt at your life from the alleyway.

You wouldn’t have known you were mere seconds from dying if you hadn’t been roughly pushed to the ground, landing flat on your face.

You scramble to your feet and what you see horrified you. The Bhaal assassin is standing over Astarion- who is now well and truly dead- his throat slit to the bone and a massive wooden stake in his chest.

The scream that tears through you is animalistic- the Bhaal assassin’s eyes widen. You paralyze him and use telekinesis to fling him into the dark alley. You break his arms, his legs, his jaw- the man is gurgling out for help. You mutilate his entire body- avoiding his head. The man is barely clinging to life when you light his entire existence on fire with the Blood of Lathander. You watch as his face melts off and you relish in his fear until his eyes no longer exist.

You almost forget that Astarion is dead. Almost, but only because you refuse to believe it. You drag him into the alley behind some boxes to shield the scene from onlookers. You gently pull the wooden stake out and press on his sternum with your fist.

“Astarion,” you croak, “Astarion- my love- please wake up.”

You are in front of him and trying so hard to see if there is any possible sign of life- you are throwing all of your healing magic at him as you beg him to get up. He can’t be dead. If he’s dead you can’t resurrect him and if you can’t resurrect him…

Your head is spinning and you feel like you can’t breathe.

This is the way of life.

That is what the doctrine teaches. Astarion lived 200 years too long- this is what was always supposed to happen.

You try to walk away- several times actually, but your heart cries out every time in protest.

He’s alone- don’t leave him. He can’t be alone right now. He’s probably so scared and-, You think.

You inhale and exhale- looking at him. You had closed his eyes so that the emptiness no longer haunted you. Nothing about this rest looks peaceful. His lips are still contorted in pain.

I can bring him back- there’s no time for for our companions. Kelemvor will take his soul when the Sun has come completely over the horizon.

You peer out at the sky- the purple sky was already turning to pink. You need to make a decision now and the decision is clear to you. You dump out the contents of your smaller bag of holding and the reincarnation scroll Astarion insisted you keep after the Goblin Camp hits the ground.

You can lose your God. There are many others- maybe even one who will let you love who you want to. On the flip side, there’s only one cheeky vampire rogue that makes you happy though and you can’t let that go.

You open it- the parchment burning your hands and you can feel your power being ripped from you.

Kelemvor is quick- as soon as the incantation leaves your lips and Astarion jolts back to life- you feel all your magic leave your body.

You feel cold, but all you can do is stare at him and cry silently. He’s alive and that is worth far more than any God’s blessing.

Astarion is coughing- touching his chest and throat as he becomes reorientated to his surroundings. Then he looks at you- his eyes going wide when he sees the used Scroll of Revivify in your hands.

“You-“ he chokes on his words, he looks at you with tears in his eyes, “you brought me back.”

You nod back and your lip trembles- you want to wrap your arms around him. You want to feel him hold you back- you want to know he’s alive.

“Why?” Astarion huffs in disbelief, “Kelemvor-“

Really!? Now he cares what Kelemvor THINKS!?

“I could give a shit less what Kelemvor thinks! You- you!,” you snap and throw your arms in the air, “you prick! I want you! I chose you! If I knew you’d be ungra-“

You are pulled into his lap with lightning speed and his lips are pressed roughly against yours. You are flush against each other as if you mean to consume one another. The kiss is sloppy, needy, and full of want- you finally have to break the kiss and breathe.

When you open your eyes to look at him- you are almost rendered breathless immediately after you inhale.

The warm oranges and pinks make him look like an ethereal creature- something celestial instead of undead. Astarion’s smile is a thousand times more bewitching in this light. Astarion is your Heaven and he is your home.

“I’ve missed you,” you say heavily, “and I hate every weirdo you took to bed,” you sniff and wipe your tears on your sleeves “- not cool by the way.”

Astarion’s face is quickly swimming with guilt and he rubs soft circles into your hips with his thumbs. Stray tears are falling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry Darling- I was being childish and I guess I thought I could… get you to be with me one last time if you were jealous enough.”

You squint at him through unamused, wet eyes and he chuckles nervously- his smile reflecting the “my bad” expression.

“You’re lucky I only had one resurrection scroll on me- otherwise I would kill you right now and bring you back again,” you say with a huff, “or maybe not. You are very beautiful.”

“Why thank you,” Astarion flashes a cheeky grin, “you could stand to mention it more, my Love.”

You roll your eyes at him and you cup his face with your hands- pulling his mouth up to yours to continue pressing soft kisses to his lips. You stay that way until your stomach growls and you flush in embarrassment.

You head back to Elfsong, hand in hand, undeath and Gods no longer keeping you apart.

“Wait,” Astarion stops abruptly and looks around, “what about the Bhaal Assassin? Did he get away?”

You chuckle awkwardly and scratch the back of your head, “I definitely didn’t fatally mutilate him and then burn him alive with the Blood of Lathander… if that’s what you are asking…”

Astarion blinks twice before he throws his head back in laughter, “how quickly did you start that endeavor?”

“Uh… maybe a second or two, give or take,” you frown, “why?”

Astarion rubs the worry from your brow with his thumb and places a chaste kiss on your lips. He smiles down at you cheekily.

“You couldn’t wait 10 seconds before being an absolute freak?”

You beam at him, “for you? Never.”

*************************************

How peculiar.

A die hard Kelemvor Cleric renouncing her faith and celebrating the rebirth of a creature with 200 more years than he was supposed to have under his belt, Withers thinks while striking Astarion’s name off the record, I have much to learn. Matters of the heart are tricky- or so it seems.

Withers had, in fact, responded to Astarion’s prayer. Hells- he answered multiple times about 28 years ago when you were brought into the world. It took a lot of generations to get to you, but it eventually happened within the last 200 years- did it not?

You and Astarion were either meant to collide in one of two ways because Astarion had prayed for two separate things on multiple occasions. One of those prayers was to let him die and the other was to be saved- to eventually be given the opportunity to have a happy life.

You would either kill him in the name of your God and eventually become Kelemvor’s Chosen or you would fall in love with each other and you would denounce Kelemvor- ultimately finding a new God in the chaos. One that doesn’t dictate your romantic relationships, but maybe is a little judgemental of them. Kelemvor and Withers left that to your own free will- Kelemvor testing you time and time again.

The future was leaning heavily towards you becoming Kelemvor’s chosen. It had surprised Withers and Kelemvor when the scales of fate had changed.

Withers watches with neutral eyes as you and Astarion sleep on Astarion’s bed- curled around each other for a post breakfast nap.

Astarion is an enigma to Withers. Vampire Spawn rarely think of others outside of the people they knew in their past. The man had approached him at camp during the early days and flat out asked him if he was Jergal. Withers declined to answer.

The boy is smart- Withers will give him that.

Both parties look content, peaceful, and happier than they had in the last several weeks. Withers returns to his list and his curious thoughts.

The girl has lost her powers- exchanging them for love and she sleeps like a babe.

How will she complete her destiny now, Withers ponders, already knowing the answer.

I could use a cleric or two again…

The Cost of Protection [Yandere elf guard x Fem Reader] 18+ Chapter #1

Based in Barovia (Curse of strahd, some dusk elf lore spoilers) Warnings: Non-con touching/kissing/ some violence, obsessive treatment, death threats necromancy?

Living in Barovia was hard enough; trying to do business in it is quite the other. Besides all of the ghosts, Undead creatures, and living under the tyranny of a centuries-old whiny vampire, everything was complicated. Still, you had your own set of struggles. Your Tavern was not necessarily famous, but it did good business. You had your regulars, Travelers who would sometimes come and try their hand at defeating the vampire lord Who you never saw again unless it was their Undead body, and some other travelers who were peddling wears pies, toys, weapons, anything that you could imagine then there was the common folk and Crafts People. Everyone was welcome in your Tavern. You offered a warm smile, a glass to drink, and whatever you could scratch up to cook that day; however, you had one unwelcome guest who changed your path forever.

 Maverick

 It wasn't uncommon that Dusk elves would come into your Tavern. They followed Vistani and often went through the cities of Barovia on a standard route, and more and more did you feel like you saw them integrating with the town, so seeing one dressed in a guard uniform was unusual but not unheard of. His long dark hair was braided up in leather twine, and his eyes were the standard golden color, but you did see a tiredness in them. He was only an inch or two shorter than you. After all, you were pretty tall for a human, but he was well-built and had hands that showed both work and strength. His smile and his voice were the things that stood out most. It had a ruggedness that you admitted caused a little heat in your cheeks the first time you spoke with him.

  Speaking of the first time, You remember clearly the first time he stopped by your Tavern. You treated him sweetly, flashed a smile, and put your arms down in front of him, looking up at him with innocent eyes leaning at the bar.

"Anything to drink, sir?"

You Tend to be flirty with everybody. It was basically in a bar person's job description. Still, you noticed that some visitors would give you an extra coin or became regulars if you gave them special treatment. However, his smile made you a little uneasy, almost excited. It was a smile that said he appreciated your treatment and wanted more, how much more you didn't quite understand that time. Did you know that that smile would lead to many other things? He just put your hand just under your cheek and, tilted his head, and said

"I think a beer or mash number 8 would be okay before I have to eat. I could live off your voice and those beautiful eyes forever.

 You just left thinking he was making some flirtatious joke, pulled his draft, and handed it to him. From what you've gathered, asking him simple questions about his life gave you non-committal answers or general mods. He was pretty new around town and it was just getting to know all of the local businesses, and he heard that you could get a good cup for cheap and that a cute shop girl was serving the drinks. You laughed again at his flirtatious joke, but you noticed that his eyes never left you from your lips to your shoulders, down your neck to your chest. Even to your backside, when you were turned around and helping other customers with their drinks, you didn't think much of it then. Still, it definitely left you a little unnerved.

 After that, he became one of your regulars. You knew his drink by heart, you knew what he liked to sit in at what time, and you learned exactly how to speak with him. Not too much, but he did enjoy hearing a little bit about your day. He wasn't much of a talker, but you don't mind, or you did not have the time. 

One night, a set of particularly Rowdy young men was causing ruckuses in your Tavern. You tried to compile them with free drinks and sweet words, but you needed more. It all came to a head when one of them tried to get handsy on you, and he was greeted with a sword to his neck. The man went still as Maverick whispered in his ear, pressing the dagger a little bit closer enough to cut into his neck. He looked at the other two men and said in his low, deep voice. 

"Oh, did you both want to be next? As much as I would joy putting all your heads on a platter and making it for the next stew, this one would not appreciate making a mess of her Tavern. How about all of us be nice to you all? Get the hell out of here before I make an example."

 They tried to avoid messing with a guard, let alone a dusk elf. There were rumors of them knowing dark magic. Magic rants to them after the travesty of their women being wiped out, dark magic that was taught to them by Rahadin, the right-hand Master of the lord of the world. The ability to raise the dead and control minds are abilities right from hell."

 They all scurried off. You were thankful, bowing to Maverick and taking his hand, promising free drinks for the rest of the night. Still, he took your hand and looked at you, his golden eyes hidden behind something mischievous, something lustful that weighed heavy on your heart. In your chest, you felt the heat rise up from your stomach.

"Darling, we can make a better arrangement. How would you like me to offer my protection?"

 You looked at him, confused, but still held his hand, your head tilted. 

"I would always be thankful, but isn't that what you usually do? I wouldn't want you to give me special treatment."

 "Oh well,"

 He takes your face and his hand. Squeezing your cheeks ever so slightly, 

"If you give me special treatment, I'll give you and your customers special treatment. After all, you wouldn't want anything to happen to you, your Tavern, or your customers, would you, darling?"

 He forces your eyes up to his and brings your lips closer. The rest of the Tavern, already daunted by the commotion, looks away. You simply nod in agreement, and he lets you go, patting your shoulder and laughing good-heartedly. 

"well, perfect, I think I'll take my first payment tonight."

 You panicked, thinking about how much she could get into the day, and said, 

"How much are you asking for? I've already offered you free drinks. I don't know what more I can do.-"

 He cuts you off, putting his finger to your lips. 

"Don't worry. You have everything that I could want to need."

 And he walks off.

 After closing, when all of the lights in the streets were out and the spirits were already roaming the streets, you clutched to your apron, putting up the last of the chairs. The candle lights were just barely about to go out. You counted up all of your money from the day, and while you made enough of an earning, you were very worried that he would not have enough to pay for this new extortion. You had heard stories of guards and heroes extorting young men and women for protection. You did not think it would happen to you that living in a place of cold and darkness was curse enough, but it looked like the fates had a little more for you. 

You almost didn't hear him come in as he stuck his hands around your waist and up your throat. You tried to yell out, but his hand covered your mouth, and he kissed just the side of your ear as you immediately felt yourself wanting to flee. Then he whispered in your ear, 

"Oh, now that's a pleasing darling. As much as I would have so much fun chasing you, I don't have the time tonight to have my cute little rabbit." 

He put his hands down your hip, lifted your dress, and ran his hand up your thigh as he kissed your jawline and neck. You stammered, still trying to get free. 

"You said you wanted payment. I'm really to pay. The draw is open. Take what you want. I don't care. Please, just don't hurt me."

 You cry through your struggles, but he just laughs, nipping where your neck and your shoulder mean, 

"Oh no, my little rabbit. As much as it delights me to hear you after having to endure hearing you simper over every man who can give you coin, I'm finally able to take the prize that is Rightfullymine after all that will be our deal."

 He lifts you up and plenty down on the closest table, the wood scratching into your shoulder, your head banging painfully on it. You cry out in pain. It is silenced by his mouth crashing into yours in a kiss. A rough kiss. He pins your hands down, holding his fingers In times with yours as his tongue searches into your open mouth, wrestling to pin it down. You see his golden eyes boring into yours like a beast unleashed. You stand there stunned, unable to move with his weight pushed against you. Even with your slight height Advantage, his trained muscle and sheer force can do nothing. 

He breaks apart, your lips bruised and your tongue hanging out of your mouth, a stream of saliva connecting both of your mouths. 

"Please, why are you doing this?"

 You manage to choke out as you feel him grinding into your lower half just underneath your dress. 

"Well, it's pretty simple, my cute little rabbit. I only joined the guard because I was bored, and I thought I could find some fun beating up the locals or helping young maidens. Still, I saw you, a bright Lily, and a swamp of muck to see simpering and pampering to everybody who entered your Tavern was so endearing I knew I needed to have you. I knew that you were mine, don't you understand? When elves mate, they mate for life, so that means."

He cried to you rougher you feel his hard cock rubbing into your own sex with a need want to be inside you. 

"You will be mine for the rest of your life. I will ensure that. If you don't want to be mine, it's pretty simple- you don't have to."

 You blink this as he lets you sit up, but he still stands between your legs.

"You mean you'll just let me go. You won't do anything?"

 You look at him, hoping that this is some weird pass, and you would know he would just leave you alone. But your hopes are soon crushed.

"oh no, my darling, if you say no," 

he moves in closer, and his sword falls at the back of your neck. 

"I will kill you and make sure you are raised as a zombie who has no free will and who is forced to do my bidding for the rest of your Undead life. Do you understand me, my cute little rabbit?"

 At that, you feel a heat emanating from his sword, a Blackness clouding around the edges of your eyes, and you know that his promise holds truth. Your body goes rigid and shakes, and tears silently stream down your eyes as he takes you in his arms, rubbing your back oddly comfortingly or trying to be with his sword. His other hand grips your bottom, pulling you closer as he snuggles into your neck, inhaling your scent.

"so you decide to make, my darling. Either I can have you here of your own free will, where I will love and protect you in this Tavern, or I will have the pleasure of seeing your beautiful blood dripping down your chest. I can have you as my perfect little Undead doll."

 "The choice is yours. You pretty little rabbit."

Obsession (part 2) - (tom riddle x fem!reader)

part 1

Warnings: injury & blood.

A/N: Finally I got this done. Hopefully it's to your liking and was worth the very very long wait. Let me know what you think!

༻♛༺

Tom Riddle was in a predicament.

In his defence, he had not expected things to turn out the way they did.

It started after that fated day in the library, when he had seen the kind of book she was interested in. She was out after curfew, when the clock was striking towards midnight, and he had been coming back from the meeting with his Knights of Walpurgis. He had not planned to trail behind her.

It was fate, he kept telling himself.

Clad in a silky nightgown that barely left anything to the imagination, the girl moved with an alluring grace, her slender figure slipping through the shadows as if guided by some invisible force. Tom, captivated by her presence, found himself lost in a daze, his purpose momentarily forgotten.

He kept to the dark corners of the hallway as he followed the girl he had become infatuated with, taking extra measure to disguise the echo of his footsteps.

When they reached the library, she looked around the corridor to make sure she was undetected before entering the place swiftly. Tom's curiosity peaked and he slipped inside, mirroring her movements with fluid precision.

A sly smirk danced on his lips when he realised she had broken into the restricted section of the library.

She stopped in front of a bookshelf and he watched, enthralled, as her fingers grazed the spines of the numerous tomes lined up on the shelves before they halted and pulled out a scarlet-bound book.

Using her momentary distraction, Tom sneaked behind her until he stood a mere centimetres away from her, so close that if she shifted even a little bit, his chest would brush against her back.

"Isn't it a little late for rendezvous in the library?"

She jumped, startled, and before she could let out a scream of surprise, his hand covered her mouth. He pressed himself against her back, effectively silencing her, but she kept squirming in his grip.

"If I let go, you will not scream." His voice held an unwavering authority as he warned her. Her head bobbed in reluctant agreement, and Tom cautiously withdrew his hand, yet he remained close, his presence an inescapable force. The witch pivoted to face him, steadying herself against the edge of the bookshelf as Tom loomed above her.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Tom's gaze dipped, his hand idly toying with the delicate fabric of her nightgown.

When she huffed impatiently, he rose a brow. "Should I not be the one asking you that?"

She stared at him for a moment before releasing a defeated sigh. "Fine. I was looking for a particular book and I knew the professors would not give me a pass if they knew what it was about."

His gaze dropped to the said book she was clutching in one of her hands, and despite the darkness surrounding them, he almost instantly recognized it.

"Why are you interested in necromancy?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

He hummed, displeased with her lack of communication. He knew she was not ordinary, and he was aware she possessed a certain interest in the Dark Arts.

"I have a proposition for you." He revealed after a brief moment of silence. "I have a...group of individuals who share an understanding and desire that can only be quenched with the Dark Arts. We have certain beliefs that we will enforce once we have enough power to do so. I wish for you to join us."

"Why me?"

"You would be a valuable asset."

She arched an elegant brow, bemused. "Asset?"

"Yes."

"I'm not an asset to be possessed, Tom. If you want me, you have to prove it."

There was something sultry in her tone that sent shivers down Tom's spine, and he felt unnerved by the unfamiliar feeling that crept into his veins. There was something about her, Tom had not yet figured it out, but whatever it was, it had pulled him towards her and he was set on finding out just why he had gotten so obsessed with the witch.

Despite the protests of the rational side of his head, he gave into his urges and pressed his body into hers, caging her against the bookshelf. She was startled by the proximity, he could tell by the way her eyes widened just slightly, and he threw all caution to the wind before lowering his head and pressing his lips to hers.

She wasted no time before trailing her hands into his hair, grasping his dark curls to ground herself before she could get lost in the feel of his mouth hungrily bruising her own. His lips felt contradicting— like sandpaper and silk, and she was sure that one taste of him would not suffice.

His hands grasped onto her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him as he bit down on her lower lip, drawing a gasp from her that had his body rising in temperature. If they did not stop, Tom was sure his self-control would slip through his grasp and he would end up taking her right there—against the bookshelf in the library.

With a pained groan, he drew back, giving her time to catch her breath as he did the same.

She slowly looked up at him from under her lashes with hazy eyes, and Tom had to close his eyes at the sight. He had to stop before he could lose all his composure.

When he looked at her again, the dishevelled hair and the reddened lips, it was as if reality had slapped him across the face. With a deep inhale—which might have been a bad idea, as it was only her scent that he inhaled, sweet and addictive— he turned on his heel and left her standing there, leaving only confusion in his wake.

She braced herself against the bookshelf. "What the fuck?" She wondered, and the only reply she got was the eerie silence of the Restricted Section.

༻♛༺

Tom was avoiding her.

She would have laughed at the situation. The notion that a mature and all-powerful wizard would find himself evading her presence, all because of a single kiss, held a touch of irony that was not lost on her. But alas, she had been just as affected by the kiss and had found herself instinctively steering clear of the places he frequented, caught in a delicate dance of longing and self-preservation.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder what it was that had set him off. Was it her audacious nature, her unyielding boldness that had unsettled him? Or perhaps it had been his own disbelief, grappling with the unexpected surge of desire that had coursed through his veins.

Yet despite their carefully constructed waltz of avoidance, like all dances, it had to come to an end at some point or another.

It was a rainy afternoon when they saw each other next. The Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom had been cleared to form a clear ground for what was assumed to be duels.

The witch released a displeased groan as soon as she set foot into the room, knowing quite well she was not in the right headspace to perform in a fight.

"Thought you loved a good old duel?" A familiar voice mused from behind her, and she turned to see Abraxas watching her with a raised brow.

"Not today. I am sleep deprived and I am hungry." She replied gloomily, glancing back at the board hung in the front of the room and trying to allocate her name.

"Ah yes. Your presence was certainly missed during breakfast today."

"I'm sure." She drawled. He was about to retort back with a sarcastic comment of his own when the witch in front of him stiffened before rubbing at her temples tiredly. "Great. I've been paired with Alphard Black."

The blonde patted her on the back sympathetically. "That is going to be a tough one." He snickered before adding— "Especially considering you are barely able to stand on two feet without swaying like a toddler who has just learned to walk."

The witch only shot him a deathly glare in reply.

"Settle down everyone!" The professor finally entered the room, clapping her hands to bring attention to herself. "You have probably already guessed what we are doing today." She rubbed her palms against each other excitedly, ignoring the weak protests voiced by some students claiming it to be too early for such exercise. "Shall we begin then? Who would like to go first?"

As she was just to suppress a yawn, Alphard Black stepped onto the podium, hands tucked lazily in his trousers, announcing that he would like to go first and finish the whole ordeal.

The professor smiled enthusiastically. "And who has been partnered with Alphard...?" She glanced at the board, eyes tracing over the thing until she found what she was looking for. She called the witch's name. "Come on up, dear."

"Break a leg," Abraxas said encouragingly, and the girl shot him a half-smile half-grimace before joining Alphard in the middle of the classroom.

Alphard nodded to her in acknowledgement while assuming his position with his wand raised at the ready. Bowing down slightly, as was customary at the start of every duel, they both waited for the professor to announce the beginning of the match.

The professor raised her hand, and with a firm voice, declared, "You may begin!"

Energy crackled in the air as the duo sprang into action. Alphard began with elegant yet measured wand movements, casting spells that tested her defences, and the witch in turn, countered with a protective shield to ward off his attacks. Seeing an opening to retaliate, she thrust her wand forward, causing a stream of sparks to shoot toward Alphard. He deflected them with a deft flick of his wrist.

The back and forth went on for a few more minutes, and she could sense Alphard's impatience at the lack of intensity of the fight. His eyes hardened, and he began shooting spell after spell, barely giving the witch any opportunity to retailate.

With each passing moment, her exhaustion became more evident as she struggled to maintain her concentration. Her wand movements became sluggish, and her spells lacked their usual precision. Alphard deftly deflected her weakened magical strikes, and in a split moment he managed to slip past her guard.

"Diffindo!"

Pain shot through her body at the impact as she staggered backwards from the impact, clutching her injured arm that was now gushing with blood.

Alphard's eye widened in alarm. "Sorry about that." He apologised sheepishly while the professor rushed to her side to examine the deep gash on her arm.

"You ought to go to the Hospital Wing to get this fixed."

"It is fine, it's not that—"

But her protest died in her throat when a familiar voice sounded from her side. "I will take her." And before she could process it, slender fingers wrapped around her elbow and began pulling her towards the door. She distinctly heard the Professor express her gratitude for Tom, but it was all tuned out by the close proximity of him invading her senses.

"What are you doing?" She asked when they were out the door, trying vainly to free herself from his grip. She only managed to stumble in the process, and Tom, with an exasperated sigh, grabbed a hold of her waist with his other arm so that she could walk straight.

"Escorting you to the Hospital Wing." He deadpanned, and had she not been dizzy from the blood loss, perhaps she would have protested.

"I can escort myself, thanks."

"Really? You could barely dodge a third-year spell back there. I do not think it is wise to trust you to find your way around the castle in this state."

She huffed. "I was...distracted." Then, with a surprising burst of energy, she ripped herself away from his hold. "And I do not wish to go to the Hospital Wing."

Tom's onyx eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"She will make me stay overnight for no reason. This is just a scratch. Not a big deal."

She could sense his indignation from where she stood, and for a brief moment she thought he would forcefully drag her down to get her arm fixed just to get their interaction over with, so it came as a surprise when he gave in. "Fine. I will fix it." He declared with a tired sigh.

"What? No. I don't wa—"

"It is either that or the Hospital Wing."

She glared at him. "You are a prick."

His hand found purchase around her elbow again, and he all but dragged her towards the nearest empty classroom, shoving her in. The door closed behind them with an echoing thud, sealing them in a space heavy with tension.

"Sit." He demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She reluctantly obeyed, propping herself on a table and dangling her legs, apprehensive eyes fixed on him as he began moving towards her. When he approached, a charged silence hung in the air and she held in her gasp as he placed a hand on her lower thigh, halting her movements. Slowly, almost as if unsure, he pushed her legs open so he could stand in between them.

Time seemed to stretch, elongating the moment, as they remained locked in a silent exchange, their unspoken desires suspended in the space between them. With a firm grasp, he took hold of her injured arm and held his wand in his unoccupied hand.

She watched with bated breath as he muttered under his breath, tracing his wand over her wound in patterns as the slash began closing, her skin knitting itself back together. He only stopped when the skin looked unblemished once again, pocketing his wand in the pocket of his robes, but not letting go of her arm just yet.

The closeness between them was intoxicating, their breaths mingling, their heartbeats echoing in a symphony of desire. He shifted, and the act caused his nose to brush against hers.

"Tom..." She whispered, unsure, hesitant, but wanting.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer, he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against hers. She kissed him back almost immediately, and he raised his hand to cradle her jaw, deepening the kiss.

"Tom," The witch managed to breathe out in between the kisses, "Are you going to run away again?" She managed to get out just as he dived to bite on the tender flesh of her neck. A gasp left her mouth at the stinging yet pleasurable feel of his teeth on her skin.

"No." He replied, and when he rose his head to look at her, his pupils were blown wide, and he looked absolutely feral. Wild and untamed. "No, I am never letting you out of my hold ever again." He stated before reclaiming her lips once again with a primal sense of ownership that sent a jolt of desire coursing through her entire being. "Mine," he whispered against her lips and his words resonated with unwavering conviction, an unyielding declaration of possession.

She did not protest.

༻♛༺

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After a weekend that exhausted me, I am finally able to come back to this book. My reacts proved useful to remind me where I left of, who would have thought.

previously, on harrowberry the ninth:

this happened

also, harrowberry is courtesy of @lady-harrowhark

after which I suggested the following album cover as a representation of her

currently, chapters 14-16:

"The Mithraeum, the seat of the First Reborn! The Sanctuary of the Emperor of the Nine Houses, the bolthole of God"

I don't want to sound like gideon

I really don't

but I have to be entirely honest here

I read that sentence twice, at separate times

and neither of those times did I read "bolthole"

MOVING ON

harrowberry is settled in a room which was made for a lyctor that never was

I don't know if this is at all important but it caught my eye

I wonder what happened there

and I am, as we have established, fixating on very particular things

the emperor johnny bravo has a room that's described as a locked tomb, but harrow says that, unlike the other locked tomb, she's not interested to see what's in this one

on the one hand, I want to know what this guy's actually doing but, on the other, I don't care about what's going on in his intimacy

harrow is also surprised that he gets embarrassed

which I don't, because he should be embarrassed and ashamed about all of the stuff that is going on in general

I don't know specifics and I don't know details, but I know he's at fault

like we say over here, I've got no evidence but I've got no doubt

he tells harrowbean about the BOE

he says they hate the nine houses and that they have agents who turn planets against them

they got themselves a leader about 25 years before harrow was born, who made things more difficult for johnny man

let's bring back the timeline I'm constantly discarding and bringing back

we've been told now that: this leader showed up 25 years before harrow was born, they disappeared nearly 20 years ago and gideon was born 18 years ago in space to a mom who was brain dead upon arriving at ninth

there's also the whole eggs thing that idk if it has something to do with this or not but we're not totally throwing anything away here

we've moved from a cork board to a 3d model at this point

emperor johnny boo is blaming these people for not!dulcinea going ballistic

idk johnny man, you kind of fucked that up on your own I think, but go off, I guess

he also says that the BOE folks hate necromancers and necromancy

I don't wanna be making assumptions with little to no info (literally all I've been doing) but all I've seen so far is these people teaching harrow to kill planets

that's not what miss frizzle told me I should be doing when she wore the most iconic looks in television history

maybe if the emperor dressed like this I'd be trusting him more

emperor johnny also clocked harrow being a ninth kid smoothie

because harrow was doing theorems in the river and only one other person ever did that before

the person who founded the sixth

we're ok with the sixth because camilla came from there

when harrow starts telling him the smoothie story, the emperor says "This was...all so different...before we discovered the scientific principles" and proceeds to tell her that her parents basically did a mini resurrection

he says "I have committed the same act, and I know the price I had to pay" and calls her "a walking miracle"

to which harrow responds "I have just told you that I am the product of my parents' genocide"

emperor, my man

he says "nobody has to know" about the kid smoothie

there sure are a lot of things people aren't supposed to know or ask about over here in the emperor's bolthole

*me, high fiving gideon's force ghost*

he says the initials of BOE mean "blood of eden" and that Eden is "someone they left to die"

then he quotes shakespeare??? I think king lear???

“How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child”, that quote

I'm not super knowledgeable when it comes to shakespeare tbh but...ominous

he also says "once you turn your back on something, you have no more right to act as though you own it"

and harrow thinks "at the time, that had made perfect sense to you"

that's pinned under the "hope for later" category

NEXT CHAPTER

harrow talks to ice cube barbie in her dreams

ice cube barbie says she's died twice

THEN, AND THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT

harrow asks her if she has ortus's eyes or if her eyes are hers and what her eyes are like

and ice cube barbie says "she asked me not to tell you"

this is me, adding another thing to the "hopeful hints for gideon" shrine I am building

chapter 16

harrow asks yandere twin about her diary and she says it has been burned on her own orders

more hints for my theory of past!harrow knowing a lot and planning ahead

harrowcita calls lyctortus (name suggested by the reply gang, thank you reply gang) "the other one"

which could be "other" as in "other lyctor" or as in "other ortus", so it's fine either way

harrow is worried about not!dulcinea still being a threat

AREN'T WE ALL

AREN'T WE ALL

I SURE AM, ALWAYS

she should have been flushed into space

harrow thinks not!dulcinea is moving and yandere twin calls her "crazycakes"

then we start going a bit more in depth about augustine

I have come to understand that he isn't called "saint of patience" because he's patient

he's called "saint of patience" because that's what you have to practice when you're around him

good god, this man

he has the charisma of the fifth but the disagreeable nature of the eighth

here I am, making judgment on these people I only know like 2 representatives of, but anyway

he's like if magnus hadn't discovered a passion for baking and had instead decided his hobby was to be passive aggressive and thinking too highly of himself

his cav was his brother, apparently

harrow thinks he's hollow inside

he is absolutely horrendous to mercygirl

BUT, MOST IMPORTANTLY

he also alludes to not!dulcinea moving and thinks mercygirl is doing it

I don't know about this, you guys

two mulders in one recap is what you get when I have been forced to not read for a couple days

I think fox mulder represents my energy in these recaps

Augustine The Unpleasant mentions that johnny j has "spent the last 10 thousand years on a perpetual search-and-destroy mission out of, as far as I can tell, purely symbolic retribution"

great, that sounds fantastic for god to do

and that "I wouldn't set myself up as his replacement A.L. He doesn't need another bodyguard, and even she was significantly more lucid than you are" (you being mercygirl)

I had mentioned the possibility of ice cube barbie being this AL person, we still don't know, but this AL is "she"

let's put that in the 3D model

augustine calls chad a "nice boy", which tracks for him being a Senior Chad

he treats harrow badly, which we absolutely don't stan over here in the harrow respect corner

harrow obliterates him with a comeback and he calls her Anastasia (You were born in a palace by the sea / A palace by the sea? Could it be?) like the previous ninth

these people love comparing their old pals to everyone they meet, even if they supposedly didn't get along much

harrow also makes fun of yandere twin for being what gideon would call "a weenie" over augustine

then we get the augustine and johnny explanation of how to kill the beast

I am all for information but this whole thing gives me the worst vibes

basically he says the beasts (disrespectful name) eat planets like oysters and then keep the thanergy as armor

the beast can inhabit anything it's thanergetically connected to it via their death

like that which they kill

they travel as river projections

they have agents, which he describes like the borg in star trek

individual forms connected to its hive

the whole lyctor thing, having a necromancer's ability with a cav's training to take over the body, seems to be a key to fighting these things

because the necro part goes down into the river to do the thing and the cav can take over the defense of the body

this, I think, could be what we saw harrow doing in the prologue, the projection thing

but harrow's body isn't protected, because she's "lyctor lite"

because there's hope for gideon or so help me john

which might be why yandere twin was telling her she would not be guarded if she did what she was about to do

I am very intrigued as to what harrow will come to know to push her to do what she did

also, she got stabbed, so I'd like to know if she's fine

but we have 0 guarantees of anything over here in the mithrandir or whatever

the emperor's bolthole

god, what has gideon done to me

they say the point of the combat is to throw the beast's soul into the abyss and hope it doesn't come back

that's what I've been trying to do with not!dulcinea all this time

ALSO still no camilla

see you next time and thank you for not hating the length of these things ♥

"came back wrong" but with g/t. bringing someone back to life--or finding someone you thought long dead--but in a far different form. i need the desperation in either party not recognizing the other. the fear that comes from realizing this isn't the person you lost, either because they're too massive to be anything but monstrous or too tiny to be anything but inhuman. i need the conflict that comes from trying to figure this out, or from accepting the person you've lost is forever changed.

on the giant side, like--imagine watching someone you know being frankensteined back to life, only the "ideal form" the team of scientists have chosen is impossibly massive. in some fantasy setting, imagine finding a lost party member claimed and given "new life" by some natural spirit. but--be they claimed by the fae, an odd type of infection, or the will of the forest itself--any humanity has been completely stolen from them, including their new, towering size. imagine a ritual to bring a loved one back gone wrong as they are transported back in an inhuman state--or you are transported to the realm of the spirits, and are given a painful awakening of the true scale of what lies outside our world. from the giant's perspective--either from a fantastical scenario or just an i-died-and-came-back-with-size-shifting-powers thing--they're either pleading with the person grieving for them, going hey, look at me, i'm here, i haven't changed at all, please look up. or, they're simply wondering why this tiny, chittering thing at their feet is so adamant that they know them, if they regard them peacefully at all.

on the tiny's side, there's perhaps even more of a sense of loss, as the revived is faced with a loss of power. someone's soul could be shucked into a homunculus doll, brought back either at the request of a loved one, or simply cursed into this form. maybe said loved one doesn't even recognize them, simply curious as to why this shop has a perfect replica of their deceased on a dusty shelf. some clause could exist for ripping people's soul from the beyond, one that forces any revived person into a smaller, weaker form. be it the laws of balance, the size of a sacrifice/summoning circle, or any other magical mishap, the necromanced is left with all the size and life of a broken action figure. in some tamer scenario, the only heartbreaking change could be the revived's own fear. it doesn't matter if they're not physically a doll, or if their soul is bound to an object. they don't want to be manipulated. there's a terror in suddenly having power, losing your life, and coming back with absolutely nothing. their loved one simply wants them to stop looking at them as if they'll harm their re-gifted life.

be it an actual necromancy, or just a shift or transformation, give me the fear of change. the loss of identity. an external threat exacerbating an internal. fear of power, or lack thereof. yeagh

so as a biology major, here's some things i've been chewing on after reading the unwanted guest. this post is brought to you by the part of my brain that saw the 7th's hereditary blood cancer and thought ok but what KIND of cancer is that.

the phrasing of "permeability of the soul" makes me think of semipermeable membranes and diffusion. diffusion is a passive process -- our molecules, when left to their own devices, want to be everywhere because entropy, but the semipermeable membranes that make up cells organelles etc make life possible by keeping things organized. this dividing & filtering process is required to keep things in place. with me so far?

to me, this concept of permeability emphasizes that souls are objects with boundaries. there's a line somewhere, however blurry (clearly very very blurry) or porous, that divides self & other, and! and!! that line only exists because it is somehow constructed, maintained, enforced. see: ianthe working so hard to convince herself/pal/the hypothetical audience of this play she's putting on that she's just ianthe with no babs mixed in. or john's ritual of retelling his story to alecto/harrow in NTN. something something being the unreliable narrator of your own identity.

palamedes calls the process that merges him and camilla to give us paul grand lysis vs. the "petty", incomplete lysis of eightfold word lyctorhood. lysis = the disintegration of a cell by rupture of the cell wall or membrane. the boundaries of their souls are sliced open so their contents can be poured out & mixed together to make someone new. but even in conventional lyctorhood, there's some kind of exchange of whatever material makes up the soul between cavalier & necromancer. as our boy tells ianthe at the end of the unwanted guest,

This is the real truth of Lyctorhood, Ianthe--it's not some bloodless swapping-out of batteries. It's grafting; transplantation. When you absorbed Naberius Tern's soul, you didn't swallow a diamond. You swallowed a piece of meat...and the longer you digest that meat, the more its proteins and lipids and molecules mix in with yours, until you can't tell them apart anymore.

idk where i'm even going with all of this, i'm just rotating it in my head, but:

tamsyn muir is so precise with her necromancy jargon & anatomical terms that i feel like there's definitely meaning to be found in the imagery here. there is poetry in biology, the universe is made of stories not of atoms, etc etc

it turns out lysis is also the title of a dialogue of plato on "the true nature of loving friendship," so if any classics enjoyers have thoughts on that connection i would love to hear them!

if lyctorhood is transplantation, is it possible for that transplant to be rejected? can the graft refuse to take?

souls are contained within their edges not unlike how a cell membrane contains its cytoplasm. or how a capri sun pouch contains its juice. and lyctors slurp that shit up and digest it baby

why choose to link the soul so closely with water? (the river, bubbles, currents & waves in the river, nona saying the water of the river "doesn't want to touch us.") contents of souls = liquid in the same way that the river is a liquid??? the river = spirit version of the primordial soup???

dulcinea refers to the river having two shores, not just a generic "shore", so it sounds like they're different in some meaningful way. but that may be conditional on what happens in alecto ("if this ends well you'll find that out")? is the point of the river the river itself, or is the point of the river to separate those two places?

Nora is being indirectly mistreated by her own family.

(And why my Noramalia obsession is slowly increasing-)

I don’t know why this happened the way it did but episodes 7 and 8 FED ME SOME GOOD NORAMALIA MOMENTS ✨✨

Also, let me just say how episode 7 ended up being the FIRST EVER recorded conversation between Amalia and Nora and it was WONDERFUL 💕💕

My girl is always the one complaining first but for once, it’s Nora who beat her to it 😭😭

I never thought I’d see the day when someone else would say their complaints out loud and it would be AMALIA OF ALL PEOPLE to try to look at the positives of the situation!

No matter how many times I keep analyzing how these two behave around each other throughout these two episodes, my heart keeps fluttering cuz I see NO FLAWS WHATSOEVER IT’S PERFECT ‼️‼️💖💖💖

Just look at how Amalia keeps being the one supporting Nora and snapping her awake from her panic attacks!

You’d usually think the ones who’d help her often with her problems would be Yugo, Qilby, and even Adamaï, her actual BROTHERS, or even her own mother but NO!!! It’s AMALIA!!!

Amalia saw how Nora looked super out of it during the battle and decided to go to her and snap her from her trance AND EVEN HELD HER SHOULDER OMG ARE U FUCKING KIDDING ME?!!?

But you’re gonna tell me: “chillax dummy, she only did that cuz it was the right thing to do. Yugo was busy supporting Adamaï and Qilby’s just being a dick.”

Oh yeah?

Well I reject ur premise.

Amalia is such a good girlfriend that she KEEPS BEING BY NORA’S SIDE EVEN AFTER SHE CALMED DOWN.

Ankama could’ve made Joris support her instead since he was free but nope! It HAD to be Amalia 💕💕

Just look at how my girl keeps holding her from behind and making sure she’s alright.

Keep in mind that Amalia has no idea what’s going on with Nora. This is the second legitimate time she sees Nora like this (since Nora also had one of those moments back in the Sadida kingdom) and Amalia does not know if her frozen state usually happens when she sees something that triggers her or if this is just something that Nora gets from time to time.

Whatever Amalia may be thinking about this, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s the only one in the group who realized her peculiar case and did something to help her.

Not only is this character development for Amalia, but it also shows how she caught Nora’s odd behavior much more quickly than the others. And it only took two times for her to see it to do anything about it.

LOOK SHE’S STILL HOLDING NORA ‼️‼️‼️

Are you seeing this shit⁉️⁉️⁉️

How the hell am I the only one addressing Amalia’s care for Nora???

And Nora just lets her!

Even after her little panic attack ended, she still lets Amalia touch her back for support!

This is honestly such a cute detail and I love how the small noramalia moments are treated like this 💖

When you really think about it, the relationship could work, especially for Nora’s part.

Nora’s family is especially messy and chaotic. Her mother is too traumatized by the necromes to do anything about her situation or even ask her how she’s feeling. She didn’t even have an alone talk with Nora to properly talk about how she was feeling. I bet that even when Nora had managed to save the Eliatrope goddess and got to be alone for some time, not even once did the Eliatrope goddess ask her anything cuz Nora was too busy consolidating her mother while internally freaking out for her brother.

Yugo and Qilby are just fighting with each other while Adamaï stays on the sidelines and doesn’t try to get closer to his mother, preferring to put some distance between him and her.

So who’s left to talk about her troubles or to let out her frustrations and misery?

Amalia.

The only person who attempted to help and noticed she had something off.

The only person who, despite not being family or even a divinity, attempted to do anything about her case.

The only person who stayed next to her and placed her hand behind her back even when she stopped freaking out.

Amalia would be a good person Nora could choose to go to for her problems.

It’s clear to see Nora had no room to breathe or place herself first at any moment that we got to see her. Her mother and her brothers are taking too much space and they don’t seem to realize how much she’s got to lose despite the evidence plastered right in front of their faces. Even when Nora explains to them how she managed to find their mother and how Efrim had to sacrifice himself in the process, she gets absolutely no words of consolidation from her brothers or her mother.

Instead, she just gets looks of sympathy from Yugo and Adamaï but it’s clear that they don’t seem to be sad about Nora being stuck in her dofus but rather because she lost her brother. For a primordial eliatrope to understand that their dofus won’t hatch because their sibling got infected means that they’re aware they can predict their time of “death”, ending their continuous cycle and rebirth that was supposed to last for eternity. Since the eliatrope council cannot die and constantly come back to life, this could technically be considered their actual death.

Upon knowing that Nora knows this however, the Eliatrope goddess simply says :

What kind of answer is that?!

Her mother is basically implying that there’s no hope for Nora but at the same time is saying that she loves her??

She does realize that her words feel empty now that she told her she couldn’t let that happen again right?? She’s basically indirectly saying that Nora is a lost cause.

It's clear to see that Nora has much more to lose than her other family members.

She’s the only one who lost her brother for good and will likely not get reborn in her next life with him because she’ll be stuck in her dofus forever. To be able to get reborn over and over again but not be able to anymore because your brother froze the cycle is a fate worse than death. She’s the only one who’s hiding her sadness and pain to give space for her mother because she thinks her problems are way less important than what’s currently going on. She’s the only one having panic attacks and thinks she’s seeing her brother everywhere. She’s the only suspect who is likely the reason why the portal to the necrome world is even there and is very likely the sick eliatrope.

So to have Amalia do this small and kind gesture for Nora made my heart warm up at the fact that she IS worried for her and is still holding her up after she had her little struggle.

Their relationship doesn’t even need to be romantic. Just as long as I get to see Amalia be by Nora’s side for anything, I’d be happy.

Cuz to be real with you, I’m starting to get annoyed that her family doesn’t seem to understand the level of severity of Nora’s case.

If Amalia noticed Nora was having a panic attack, then she could notice her struggles hidden inside her if Nora confided in her. (this also means her family should be able to clearly see it but since they’re not doing anything about it, they shouldn’t be an option for Nora to go to).

And that’s what I would like to see.

A moment like this where Nora can properly rely on someone who isn’t her family.

But for a romantic relationship, I can definitely see it too lol

Amalia’s usually the one speaking her thoughts so shamelessly but Nora might as well take her place and be a boss ass bitch while Amalia’s the more caring side and supports Nora and hears her troubles.

That can be a good dynamic to see. We only saw a glimpse of it when Nora was complaining about the rulers of the world. So it’d be nice to see these two talking to each other again like this.

Playing a Heroic Necromancer in DnD 5e

Necromancy is one of the most evil-skewed powers in just about any fantasy setting. However, unless you're running a villain campaign, most DnD parties are made up of heroes who won't like having an evil character in their midst. You want to play a necromancer, but you also realize that DnD is a very collaborative game. So, how do you make your party more amicable towards the thought of you raising a family? Here's some possible backstory ideas that can fuel a heroic necromancer for your next campaign.

The Scholar

The taboo, illegal, or forbidden nature of studying necromancy drew your interest. Whether you studied with a secret sect, uncovered a grimoire of necromantic magic, or made a deal with a devil for profane knowledge, you were driven by a desire to study magic. The sparse availability of necromancy forces you to remain mobile, making party formation easy. You may be hunted by law enforcement, clerics of Kelemvor, or other necromancers angry at you for stealing their arcane secrets. And now that you know what so many tried to hide from you, it's your choice how to use it.

The Chronicaller

History is written by the victors, the rich, and the powerful. But every life holds valuable knowledge and secrets. Ancient bones know things lost to time. Knowledge that was never written down. Stories which have not been spoken in centuries. Opinions of the common people during a historical event. Experience with phenomenon that can no longer be encountered. The Chronicaller wishes to unearth the secrets of the past already laid to rest.

The Physician

The Frankenstein of Necromancers wishes to understand the medical and scientific elements of life and death itself. To understand the body by inspecting it and digging into it. They may study how to cure diseases or how to spread them. Try to find a way to slow or even halt the slow decomposition that turns the body elderly and frail.

The Thayan Rebel

Once a Red Wizard of Thay, you have left Thay and the Red Wizards, letting your hair grow back slowly as you seek to expand your arcane talents beyond the limitations of Thayan conquest and oppression. The Red Wizards and Szas Tam become personal antagonists for your character and party as a result.

The Undead

Be they a Revenant, a Dhampir, a Vampire, a Lich, or something else, they are already imbued with undead power. They simply embrace their anti-life energy already flowing through them, channeling a power most others would avoid. You may be undead, but you desire to staunchly defend the living from other undead who are less compassionate.

The General

A wizard with a soldier background and optional martial multiclassing, your undead horde is your army of loyal soldiers, putting their lives on the line again and again to serve their general. An Oathbreaker 7/wizard 6 adds your CHA mod to undead within 10 ft, and proficiency bonus to all undead you control. But the steep dip into paladin locks you out from higher level spell slots for stronger undead minions.

The Noble

Similar to the general, the undead serve you out of loyalty, not fear or force. But where the general commands their soldiers, the Noble may command their staff of servants, their commoner citizens, their knights and soldiers, or their own noble ancestors. The Noble utilizes their horde to fulfil the services and duties of their noble house. They're just as likely to conscript skeletons to pave a road or build a bridge as they are to form a wave of zombies to break up a smuggling ring in their city.

The Immortal Guardian

You have or want to become immortal not out of power hunger or greed, but to protect the innocent forever as an unwavering guardian against evil. Everyday people can't protect themselves, and even legendary heroes die eventually. Only an immortal protector can be an eternal defender of the people.

I hope if nothing else, this gave you some ideas for some good and noble necromancers you could bring to your next table. Did I miss any Heroic concepts that you thought of? Let me know, and help make the world a more morbid place.

I was rewatching rc9gn and revisited “Dawn of the Driscoll” and I gotta say, Randy’s art of healing is crazily overpowered.

He revived someone who was reduced to nothing but bones and had been dead for who knows how long. Not only that but it was later shown that he revived various animals who had dissected and most were nothing but eyes. Not to mention he did all that from just skimming through the instructions.

Imagine the full potential that he could unlock if he studied the art of healing fully and practiced enough times!

Oh BOI YEs. It's ridiculous how overpowered Randy can come across, because the show wanted to make a funny episode (and we love that of course but still xD).

Like, how strong of a potential this boy has, if he managed to execute what must be one of the hardest techniques in the Ninja arsenal? Just imagine all the implications of that ability??? To literally save someone from a brink of death/resuscitate them? No wonder some ninjas go power crazy! I would too, if i had ability to bring back the dead!

Though I do like to think that there are more nuance to all of that, than it was shown in the series. (A bit of a me yapping on beneath, feel free to ignore it.)

One of the things that actually bothers me about this ability - is that technically, for something called the Art of Healing, we never saw actual healing performed (because its a kid's show duh but still) BUT it has been used in the show more to 'restore' inanimate objects (the bike) and bring someone "back to life" (skeleton & dissected animals) - which IMO is not 'healing' but more of a necromancy ability.

After all, Randy didn't restore Driscoll to full life (gave a fully functioning body back) and the animals/body parts are also in their post-mortem states. So, what he essentially did is reanimate remains, by (perhaps) returning their souls and binding them to what was left of mortal bodies (which probably reflected very badly on their mental state = reason why Driscoll&animals were full of anger/insanity) or sharing some of his own life energy to restore minimal physical 'aliveness' (I mean a bunch of eyeballs in a jar could hardly be called alive, but they do perform their basic function of looking/blinking). Seems like classic nercomancy to me!

Of course one could argue that the reason it happened is because Randy didn't execute the technique correctly, because he 'skimmed' through instructions, and that potentially he could have restored their bodies too....but I like to think that the ability have its limitations - and returning long-dead bodies to full life back (basically rebuilding a whole creature from a body part/single cell scenario) is one of them.

Otherwise, in my opinion, while it is impressive that Randy 'revived' someone long dead, what he has done is technically one of the easiest (and thus more dangerous) variation of Art of Healing/basically Art of of Necromancy - reanimation through spiritual energy, but not actually returning someone to full life. Another variation of Art of Healing - is Restoration of Physical Body without any sort of Spiritual Energy - aka the freaking bike. I mean, is it really healing if one just restored the original form of the object without any actual prior life in it??? Bike is not the same as a human after all, its not alive in any sense, it doesn't have a soul/life energy.

So you see, in these two occasions Randy used Art of Healing, none of them actually healed anything. Because actual healing of live things is much harder! And further proof of my headcanons is in the plants.

The original reason Randy learned Art of Healing is to restore their Botanical project - and despite hitting at first full blast before Randy lost control of 'beams' - it never actually worked on it. I mean, we basically see the plant still dead even as an already alive Driscoll pops out behind them!

So obviously healing a recently dead plant requires a much more fine touch/precise control than just full-blasting healing energy at long dead remains. And further emphasize on it we have with The Skunk Pine. The pine cone is alive and in whole condition - but the application of healing energy gave it a boost that accelerated its growth to the point that Randy implied that in few days it would be a fully functioning tree.

It kind of aligns with my understanding of how magical healing works - the healer basically shares their energy with the target to kick start and accelerate their own healing rapidly and sort of suppliment their reserves with the healer's help. But again - the pine cone was not injured/dead/damaged so it would be much easier for Randy to 'heal' it in order for it to grow rapidly - but no actual healing took place.

So the point of all this rambling recollections - is that while Randy's raw potential made something like reanimating and restoring look too easy - the things he did were already the easiest parts of Art of Healing because either option essentially requires only one aspect of either soul/body to be restored. The true Art of Healing is much more complicated. Not only it requires concentration and precise control/application in restoration of both physical and spiritual aspects, it also most likely has power requirements and repercussions to the user if they tried to overcome those limitations.

All in all, thinking about application of fantasy healing is always fun when you look deeper into its simplified canon version. ;)

Working In Graveyards & Graveyard Etiquette🕯

Why Incorporate Graveyards?

Graveyards have always been associated with the supernatural and metaphysical. In both ancient and modern cultures, funerary rights and the dead have always held great significance in society. When working in these spaces, the most important thing to remember is respect. The dead are not as mutable as the living and it may take longer to rectify a mistake and earn their trust again than it would have been to learn the proper etiquette from the start.

Which begs the question, why work in these spaces and with these spirits? Well lots of reasons, some people choose to only work in graveyards that they have a direct ancestral connection with (ie. family members or distant relative are buried there). Others, like myself, find it a good way to honour the local spirits. Even spirits of people you don't know and have no connection too are worth honouring. Some people believe that since all of humanity has a common ancestor, we are all related and so even cemeteries you have no direct connection to, are connected to you by our common ancestor (another reason I am quite fond of). Maybe you just think it's cool, which is valid. Whatever your reason, just make sure you have one and are not going there with insincere intentions.

What is Graveyard Etiquette?

Graveyard etiquette are the ways in which we should behave when entering and visiting a graveyard in order to be respectful to those resting there. Although there are general rules of thumb which many witches follow, as you develop a relationship with a particular graveyard, those customs can change. Here are some I like to follow:

Leaving an offering- I always bring an offering of coins or flowers. If I'm visiting a graveyard that I've never been to before, I will leave coins at the gate, for the guardian and at some of the older and unkept headstone (also graves of young children if I find any). During regular visits, I leave offerings with the guardian and at headstones of spirits I've developed a relationship with.

Walking the entire graveyard- this is not something I do every time but I like to walk around the entire site and introduce myself especially if I plan on having a working relationship with the spirits there (this may be more difficult for larger sites, I recommend picking an new area each time you visit if that is the case).

Entering and leaving through the same gate- this is not one I stick to every time if I know the spirits really well. If I've never visited before I will always leave through the same exit that I entered from.

Throwing salt or spinning- I heard this one from ChaoticWitchAunt (on TikTok) and it's something that I've just always done. They recommended spinning around three times before leaving to prevent spirits from following you home. I've also thrown a bit of salt over my left shoulder outside the entrance for the same purpose (beware: salt is not good for the earth). This is definitely something that just resonated with me after a bad experience and that's why I continue to do it.

A Note on Necromancy & Death work:

Necromancy is often a term used in many scary movies and cult fiction. It is actually a form of divination which utilizes the dead. Anyone can learn necromancy however it is an integral part of death work. Death worker (practitioners who practice death work) are involved with crossing spirits over. The job requires some level of mediumship abilities and can be very taxing on your mental health. Some death workers take on the lingering emotions of the deceased (pain, fear, anger, etc.) in order to help that spirit. Death work is much more than the small bit that I've described but it is important to note that the path is not for everyone. You can still work in cemeteries and utilize necromancy without doing death work (& a big thank you to the death workers who continue on their path despite the toll it takes, we love you!).

*All images are from Pinterest*