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littlejuicebox · 5 months

Note

Hi! I'm not sure if you take requests so if you don't, please ignore this and I hope you had a wonderful Christmas.

I just read your Astarion X Tav fanfic where Astarion proposes. It is said that the ring he got glows whenever Astarion thinks of Tav. I was just wondering if you could write a slice of life about the ring glowing at the most random times. Maybe during a stealth mission where Tav has to stay hidden or when he is smiling in his sleep and the ring glows. I just thought it would be cute and fun to write about. You can get creative with it.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, whether you end up doing this request or not. I hope you had an amazing Christmas and I hope you will have an amazing New Year's!

Hi Anon! I don’t think this is quite what you were asking for but… this is what came out! 🤷‍♀️ The smut gods blessed me and I cannot deny their gifts. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Smut below the cut.

If you haven’t read my other work and would like context, Anon is referencing a two part mini story I wrote. Click here for part 1, and click here for part 2.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only please, smut, masturbation, sex pollen, swearing/cursing, game spoilers

Word Count: 1.5K

-----

“I think we’re just… a bit out of practice, darling. It has been nearly a year since we were down here last, you know.” Astarion whispers, crouched next to you behind a Funguswood tree. He’s wiping bits of dirt, twigs, and mushroom pollen off himself with a handkerchief.

“Admit it, Astarion. You just weren’t fast enough.” You respond with a small, teasing poke of your tongue as you rearrange your weaponry and count your arrows.

The pale elf finishes wiping off the debris, and you return your attentions to the mission. You’d been contracted to scout out the vampire stronghold in the Underdark and report your findings back to Wyll and the Flaming Fists. Rumor was that the vampire hoard had wreaked absolute havoc on the Underdark; the city feared the creatures would soon return to the surface if they could not find sustenance here.

“Would you have preferred I let that wild Rothé ram you into those mushrooms in my stead?!” Astarion hisses in return while rubbing his hand over his arm, which now felt unbelievably tingly and was starting to radiate significant warmth, “Hells, what mushrooms were those, anyway?!”

You stifle a chuckle, knowing your fiancé is already past his limits of patience. You two need to get to the scouting point, set up camp, and hunker down for a few days… all while avoiding detection from the vampires or any other nefarious creatures in the Underdark. Best to do it without an ornery Astarion by your side.

“I don’t know what mushrooms those were. I’ve never seen them before.” You admit with a small shrug, “Come on my love, not much further now and then we can get you properly cleaned up.”

Astarion follows behind you in silence, apart from the occasional cursing and swiping at his skin. Gods, the heat had spread up his entire arm now. The scratching seemed to make it worse, but by the hells, he couldn’t stop no matter how much he wanted to. The two of you finally got to the cragged rock that led to a small cave where you would make camp, and he never felt more relieved in his life. He couldn’t wait to clean himself properly and be done with this burning sensation.

You glance at him briefly and then begin climbing the rock. Astarion remains below to keep you covered in case anything decides to attack while you’re left defenseless. He looks up to watch your progress and cannot help but to notice the overwhelmingly attractive curve of your bottom. It was always attractive, of course, but something about it in this moment was entirely… irresistible. Had you been working out recently in preparation for the wedding?

You’re halfway through climbing the rock when your engagement ring bursts into a spray of light. It often glows significantly at the surface, but in the blackness of the Underdark, you’re practically a beacon. Your stomach drops. Gods, how had you forgotten to take it off?

“Astarion!” You hiss in a panicked whisper, “Cut it out! Every being in all of the Underdark will know our position.”

Astarion had realized the issue as soon as the light had flared, of course. He was trying desperately to avoid thinking of you and all the delicious things he wanted to do when you two made camp, but gods he couldn’t control it. What in the hells was wrong with him? He wanted to stop, to ensure your safety, but your plump, perfect ass was practically calling his name, begging for his attention, and he wanted nothing more than to bend you over and—

He shakes his head, trying to rattle the lewd fantasies from his psyche, “I’m trying, my love! I don’t know what’s come over me I just—“

Hags. Hideous shoes. Ghouls. Manual labor. Gale.

The pale elf tries to think of all the most grotesque, unsexy things he can and push you entirely from his mind. You continue to climb, hoping to quickly reach the top and take off your ring as soon as possible. The ring is still glowing like a single star in the blackest night.

Ogres. The smell of Araj’s blood. Rats. Gale.

Gods, it was useless.

Finally, you reach the top. You rip the ring off your finger and shove it in your pack as soon as your limbs land on the surface of the cave. Astarion quickly scales the rock behind you, and when he reaches the top, you’re positively glaring at him.

“Darling, I’m sorry! I really tried. It’s just— gods damn these mushrooms!” The vampire is ripping off his shirt and scratching at his skin as the two of you walk into the little cave. Before long he’s down to his knickers and cursing as he rubs desperately at his flesh.

You’re trying to ignore your fiancé and quickly pitch the tent so you can handle whatever the hells is going on with him. A sideways glance to your pack reveals that the ring is still glowing quite intensely… perhaps more than it ever has before. Was that even possible? At any rate, you can’t get closer to the stronghold with it glowing like that.

“Astarion, I don’t know what—“ You spin around, and you’re surprised to see the elf fully nude on his blanket, doing perhaps the most provocative thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Astarion is beaded in sweat by now, and his hands are wandering over himself, chasing the burning tingle as it travels through his body. Gods, the feeling was becoming absolutely unbearable. He kept seeing visions of you and him in the throes of passion in his mind.

He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Did he want to stop? He couldn’t decide. All he knew was the intense tingling and burning coursing through his veins and the wonderful fantasies filling his brain. He needed release from this torture; his limbs were on fire and the sensation was spreading to his groin.

The elf knows by the throbbing pulse in his cock that his erection is at full capacity, and he feels the dribbles of precum slowly sliding from the head, down the shaft. Astarion is, admittedly embarrassed knowing you are mere feet away and witnessing such an erratic show, but he grabs his own cock regardless— gods, it felt like being possessed. He needed release and he needed it now.

As his fingers wrap around his shaft, a burst of relief travels through his body. The tingling ceases for a moment. But then, it flares again and he’s consumed by the burning feeling and vulgar thoughts of the two of you once more. He pumps his hand a few times, bucking into the sensation, and once again the torturous tingle halts.

What in the hells?

Astarion is now rolling his hips towards his own hand, groaning in pure ecstasy at the relief from the burn as well as the delicious sensation of his hands stroking his uncharacteristically sensitive member. His eyes are clasped closed, and his other hand is still wandering over his torso, chasing that burning itch.

Through panting, shaking breaths he murmurs, “Darling, is it— oh gods, is possible that those— fuck — mushrooms contained sex pollen? I’ve never— mmh, fuck.”

You’d been so enraptured by the vision of your lover touching himself in such an uninhibited display of lust that you almost didn’t hear what Astarion asked. The slickness of your arousal was starting to become apparent as you instinctively squeezed your thighs together.

“I’m… I’m not sure, my love. I’ve read of such things but I’ve never come across it… until, perhaps, now I suppose.”

Astarion isn’t really listening. Instead, he’s bucking wildly into his own hand, chasing his own release. He falls apart in front of you, with his limbs tensed and mouth agape in pure, unadulterated pleasure, clasping tightly onto his own length. The gasping, strangled moan of relief that escapes him as he reaches his climax and shoots sticky streams of hot white seed onto his abdomen ignites a fire in your groin. He’s shuddering with the rippling aftershocks of his orgasm and you feel yourself dripping with arousal as you rub your thighs together once more. This display was entirely feral.

For a few moments the vampire is breathing contentedly, eyes still shut. He’s still holding his cock, which continues to twitch insistently despite its significant spend. Your lover brings his unoccupied hand to his hair and rakes it through his disheveled, sweaty curls.

You flick your gaze to your pack and notice that it’s no longer emitting that ethereal glow. But then Astarion groans in dismay and you see light flare from your bag again. When your attention returns back to your fiancé, he’s already grasping wantonly at a second rapidly growing erection.

“Darling, I can smell you,” He hisses desperately, now slathering his own milky juices around the swollen, reddened tip of his thick cock. The veins in his arm and on his shaft are pulsing as he begins to stroke himself again, “Don’t be coy just— come over here and help me with this. Please.”

And by the gods, he asked so nicely, how could you say no?

#astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #bg3 fanfiction #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfic idea #astarion x reader #astarion smut #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #astarion x female reader #bg3 smut #prompt request #prompt response #astarion prompts #smut

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moonlitdesertdreams · 8 months

Text

Thankful

A/N: Everyone wanted more soft Astarion, so how's traumatized instead? Tags: Astarion Ancunin, Astarion, BG3 Astarion, BG3 Imagines, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-typical blood, mentions of grieving/loss. ACT III/ 'THE PALE ELF' QUEST SPOILERS Summary: You comfort Astarion and talk about emotions after the events at Szarr Palace.

Word count: 2.1k+ (GIF credit to @silverformymonsters)

Leaving Szarr Palace is both a weight off your shoulders and the biggest burden you’ve carried since this adventure started. Cazador is dead, and Astarion is free as last. No master, and no more being used as a means to an end.

But it’s never that simple, is it?

Shadowheart and Lae’zel, mercifully, take Astarion’s second wave of heart-wrenching wails, after all the spawn were set free, as their cue to leave. You give him space as he cries and wait until it’s only a soft whimper to approach. He’s on his knees at that point, Cazador’s bloody body inches from his. The daggers still sticks out of the vampire lord’s chest, begging to be used once again.

You come to a stop behind Astarion’s left shoulder and let your fingers barely brush his skin. For once he feels warm, filled with anger, denial, fear and vulnerability. When he doesn’t brush you off, you press more firmly, moving to the front of his body. Astarion’s hands creep up to your hips and use them as leverage to stagger to his feet. It isn’t until he’s upright that he makes eye contact and breaks your heart into two.

Blood runs in macabre trails down his skin and clothes, puddling on the floors around him and his fallen master. His eyes, normally alight with mischief and mirth, are downcast, swollen and dripping with tears. The pain is apparent, tied together with confusion and grief for the end of an era, even if it was depraved and lonesome.

“... I should be happy.” He whispers, pinching his eyes shut. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Oh, Astarion.” You murmur, reaching to envelop him in your arms.

Your vampire crumbles, arms wrapping tight around you to the point you’re fairly certain you’re not getting enough oxygen. Astarion clings to your clothes, to any concrete fragment of reality that can ground him from what he’s been through. His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, hiding the tears from your prying eyes. One hand comes up to cup the back of his head and strokes his blood-stained curls.

“I-I… I feel numb. Empty.”

Keeping him close is the only thought in your mind. It’s not the time to delve into the implications of grieving an abuser. You decide it’s best to get back to your lodgings above the Elfsong Tavern to let him have privacy instead of being surrounded by the exact place causing him so much pain.

And a long journey it is. Past the Gur leader Ulma waiting at the dais, and through the bustling streets of Baldur’ Gate.

Astarion barely makes it into the washroom before he collapses, and you just do your best to keep him on his feet.

“Here, here. Sit down and I’ll draw you a bath, yeah?”

Astarion drops on the floor where you’re lowering him. You think he nods, but don’t stay long enough to confirm it. The other members of your rag tag team are dotted about the lounge area when you walk in and beeline straight towards Astarion’s chest of clothing.

Karlach is the only one brave enough to approach you, tapping long talons nervously against her leg.

“Well? How’s he doin’?”

“As well as can be expected…” You sigh and sit on his bed, fresh clothes in one hand. “It’s a complicated situation. He hated Cazador, but the man was also some of the only constant interaction Astarion had in damn near two centuries.”

“Sometimes I fell empty, not having orders and all. Not having something constant that tells you where to go and what to do.” Karlach rubs her arms and shrugs. “Then I remember freedom and how much that means. I’m done being bound to some wretched leader. But there’s still a spot that feels empty. It’s healing, but it takes time. Hells, mine’s gotten better just having all of you around.”

Her words kick your brain into gear. “Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks, Karlach.”

Much to your surprise, Astarion’s already in a warm bath upon your return. You close the door behind you and slide the lock over, ensuring privacy for you both. The vampire’s eyelids only lift slightly when you drop his clothes onto the fireplace hearth and drag a wooden chair close.

“That was fast.” You observe and nod towards the water.

“Mhm. I caught Gale on his way up from supper. He waved his fingers around and made it work.”

You’re thankful for Gale’s presence and quiet affinity for the vampire, as it would’ve taken you twice as long manually.

“You don’t have to sit here, you know. I’ll be alright.” Astarion says quietly.

“Is that you nicely asking me to leave?”

His answer comes quickly. “No. I just don’t want to be a burden.”

The words are like a shot through the heart. “You could never burden me. No matter what.”

Astarion opens his eyes then. “Not even with a century of fucked up emotions? Trauma, as I’m sure you’re thinking?”

Ah, he needs the direct approach. You begin undressing, tossing your belongings in a messy pile on the floor.

“Fuck off and move over.”

Astarion stares at you and blinks comically before sliding over.

Once naked, you climb into the still-steaming water. There’s not an over-abundance of room in the tub, but enough that you can both put your backs against opposite sides and face each other. His long legs stretch to either side of your bum while yours remain crossed beneath. With both of you inside, the water easily rises above your chest, licking gently at sensitive collarbones instead.

“Talk.”

He sulks, but you can see the redness in his eyes and the swelling beneath. “And what should I talk about? How I’m not feeling as free as I should despite killing my slave-driver? I don’t need a psychic to tell me something is wrong with me.”

Astarion’s anger is familiar and raw, defending the vulnerable emotions swirling like a whirlpool in his gut. You don’t flich at its bite, nor retreat from its bark. It only rolls off your shoulders, dripping like rain right back into the bathwater.

“Yes, exactly that. You’re allowed to be upset. To be sad. Cazador and his necromancied skeleton guard were the only constants in your life for a long time. And now they’re gone. You’re allowed to grieve that loss. Even if it feels wrong.”

He draws in a breath, water rippling around his bare chest. “It feels atrocious. After everything he’s done - I’ve done- killing him should be a relief. Joyous, even. And instead I feel like this.”

You reach a hand onto the table to grab soap. Its smell is a pleasant break from blood and gore, and you start towards Astarion with it in hand.

“You’re still in shock. Everything we saw and did in that dungeon, all those people you knew. It’s natural to be sad and feel guilty.” You lather up your hands and bring them up to his neck, starting a slow and cautious massage. “Releasing them into the Underdark was the best chance they had to survive… and the best way to redeem the sins forced upon you.”

He leans into your hands as they rub the soap into his chest and shoulders. “I suppose it was.”

“Turn.” You tell him softly. He complies, drawing his legs to sit cross legged and face away from you.

Knowing it might be easier to hear your sentimental words while facing away, you lean into his ear. “No matter what, I’m proud of you. You’re a hundred times the man Cazador ever was.”

Astarion heaves a breath at your words, scarred back rising into your hands as you continue to spread the lather across his skin. You pretend the horrific rune isn’t there, doing your best to prevent another angry outburst His shoulders hitch when you start scrubbing at his hair and gently cupping water to wet his curls.

“I think I’m glad it’s over. I just….” He’s at a loss for words and flounders. One hand waves aimlessly in the air.

“Need time?” You supply, gliding your hands across his trapezius.

One of his strikes upwards like lightning, grabbing onto yours and squeezing. “Yeah. Time.”

You use a small cup from the tray to rinse his snowy curls without getting soap in his eyes. He hums at the warm water rolling down his scalp, and spins to face you as soon as you’re finished.

“Tav?”

You’re leaning to grab the soap when you pause to look at him. “Astarion?”

“Will you come to bed with me tonight?” Astarion stops and corrects himself. “Just to keep me company.”

“Of course I will.”

Much to your surprise, Astarion pushes himself through the water until you’re chest-to-chest. The liquid swirls and sloshes, splashing onto the floor and no doubt dripping onto a table at the tavern below. He draws your close, arms winding around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

You smile and wrap your legs around his middle, ignoring the discomfort due to limited space. Astarion’s head finds its place on your shoulder, nose brushing against the delicate side of your neck. His cool skin is a reprieve against the steamy bathroom. You nuzzle his damp curls and rub his back softly.

“I’m glad you didn’t stick to your original plan when we slept together that first night.” You hum, “You’ve become quite important to me on this journey.”

“How could I have? You’re too perfect.” Astarion’s breath sends goosebumps shooting in all directions from the joint of your shoulder. The feeling is similar to that of his bite, but less intense.

It hits you that he’s probably famished, not having fed on you the night before and being partially drained by Cazador’s profane ritual. Not to mention the amount of strain that’s been put on him both emotionally and physically in the last few hours.

You brush your hair away from your neck. “You need to feed,”

Astarion lifts his head. “That wasn’t what I was-”

“I know. But you’ve been through a lot.” You insist, rolling your head to the side. “Humor me.”

“I suppose I could be tempted.” Astarion’s eyes darken, and he shift back in towards your neck

His cool breath washes over your skin, and combined with the water it’s so chilly that it’s almost numb while he prepares to sink his teeth in. You feel his nose brush your skin, seeking out the delicate vein carrying the liquid he needs so desperately. He marks his target with a gentle kiss, and one hand holds your hip as he bites down.

Ice shoots through your veins, spreading slowly from collarbones to belly button, and eventually your toes as he drinks. The freezing quickly turns to ecstasy, shooting arousal into every corner of your body though you know it's not the time. Your hand knots in Astarion’s hair, unconsciously encouraging him to keep going. Somewhere in your brain, you realize this is how people fall so easily to vampires. With a blissful numb that rivals the best Opium and a feather-light sensation overtaking all your limbs, what wouldn’t someone fall for?

But luckily, your vampire would never let you fall.

Astarion’s fangs pull away from your skin but his mouth remains on your neck, lapping at the weeping blood until it stops. You’re woozy for sure, and allow yourself a few moments to be dead weight in his embrace.

“I apologize, darling. I got carried away.”

You shake your head and press a kiss to his chin. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Are you going to be able to navigate back to bed?” He asks, tipping his chin towards the shared space. “While you understand me, I’m not sure the others will be so friendly about my choice of dinner.”

“I’m willing to pay the barkeep for the private room across the hall for tonight.”

And you do, without thought. Anything that provides Astarion with comfort is worth the price for you. So you both trek across the hallway, leaving the bathroom mess for morning. Exhaustion has completely taken over after Astarion’s bite, and you take a moment to wrestle with the sheets until you’re able to climb under them.

“Comfortable, darling?” Astarion asks as he lays down.

“Delightful.” You reply, “Now get some rest.��

Astarion does as you say, but keeps you within arms reach at all times. He might be having trouble with his feelings towards Cazador and the missed opportunity for power, but he’s thankful.

Thankful for his choice, and thankful for you.

As always, if you enjoy please like/reblog and check out my links for more :)

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alieinthemorning · 4 months

Text

Deep Sea Love [Rafayel]

Content: Character Death, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, POV Second Person, Bond: Nightly Stroll Spoilers

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

If Rafayel had to choose between the sea and land, one boring place over another. He’d probably pick the sea. As boring as it was, it hasn’t hurt him as bad as the land has. Yeah, there were things that he found interesting and amusing, but…

“Rafayel, when are you going to clean this place?” You asked him with a frown, a clear sign of your displeasure

“Haven’t you heard the saying: ‘Beauty in chaos.’”

You nodded, but there was still that pesky frown on your face. “Yes, but—”

“No buts! This is how it’s supposed to be.” He grabbed your hand, pulling you further into his chaos.

“You can’t keep checking yourself into the hospital just because you want to see me, Rafayel.”

He looked away from your sharp gaze. “It works, doesn’t it?”

“At the cost of the nurses’ precious time.”

“Then what should I do?”

You smiled at him warmly. “Just be honest. Say that you just want to see me, and I'll come.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to come and find me, Rafayel…” You didn’t look at him, your eyes were glued to the floor. Hell, you didn’t even open the door all the way, just enough that you could address him.

But that didn’t matter, because he had seen enough. “You’re hurt.” Your arms were wrapped in bandages, and with how bad the news said the battle was, he was sure other parts of you were covered in gauze.

“It’s not too bad, not the worse I’ve had.”

“You’ve had worse?!”

You shrugged, gaze finally reaching his.“…Well, of course, I’m a Hunter, after all.”

He sighed as he slumped further against the boulder. Why was he thinking about you now. It had been years since…

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Rafayel. I’m not going to make it.”

He didn’t say anything, however, the hand holding yours gripped it a little tighter.

“So, you’re going to have to take care of yourself from now on, okay? No more all-nighters, and make sure to eat something—”

“You’re dying, and all you can do is nag me. That’s so like you.”

It was quiet for a moment after that, then you placed your other hand on, telling him to look up at you. Once you had his attention, you spoke softly.

“I love you, Rafayel. So, even after I’m gone, please keep my love for you safe, okay?”

“…I will keep your love for me safe”

He didn’t need to look down to know that the vow had been blessed, and he’s glad he didn’t because he would have missed the warmest, brightest smile you had ever given him.

“Thank you, my love.

I’ll be going first.”

He angrily scrubbed his hands over his wet face, then let them rest on his chest.

“I love you, too, you know. And I swear…that I won’t let anything tarnish our love.”

Blue light peeked from in between his fingers, and from that light was birthed another blessing from the ocean.

Another vow of your love.

I am not immune to any of these men.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

#alie ficlets #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel x reader #lds x reader #lds rafayel x reader #tw character death

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pastshadows · 5 months

Text

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 2: Home & Heartache

Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.7K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Longing. Sexual themes. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.

You’re standing on the docks overlooking the spanning vista of Deepwater Habor. A pale crescent moon is reflected in the glassy surface of the still water. Your hair blows in the slight breeze as you stare up at the heavens with tears streaming down your face.

Having to tell Astarion that you could only be his friend had been a kind of torture you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemies. The love of your life was standing in front of you, telling you he wanted to be with you, making all your dreams and fantasies a reality, and you had shied away from him.

It was the last thing you wanted to do. You wanted to be swept up in his comforting embrace and spend the rest of your life with him. A life with him was all you had desired since falling in love with him, but could you trust him not to leave you again?

“Do you always come here at night?”

You jump at the disembodied voice emerging from the inky darkness, nearly losing your balance and plunging into the bay water.

Astarion struts casually out of the murky twilight.

“Do you always sneak up on people?”

“Darling, you wound me.” he says with a dramatic sigh, “If I were sneaking, you wouldn’t have heard or seen me until I was right behind you.”

You know he’s right. You’ve seen in him action more times than you can count. His ability to move silently and blend into the darkness was uncanny and, honestly, a little disconcerting - if you were not his friend.

I am beginning to loathe that word, friend.

You roll your eyes at him, “I come here when I can’t sleep.”

“Which is often, it seems. I’ve seen you standing here every night since… since I saw you last.”

He’s been watching me?

“Astarion,” feigning irritation, “have you been following me?”

“Following is such a crude word,” he shoots you an innocent grin, “I prefer… admiring from a distance.”

“You always did find a way to twist things into a more glamorous light.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my dear.”

You laugh, turning away from him and looking back out at the vast ocean.

“It is beautiful out here.”

When you turn around to answer him, you realize he’s staring directly at you.

Concern spreads over his face, “You’ve been crying. Again. What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean again?”

There isn’t a point in denying you have been crying tonight. You can feel your eyes are swollen and red from nights spent weeping. Trails of tears stain your rosy cheeks.

“Did you truly forget how good my hearing is, darling?”

Throwing him your most innocent smile, “No, I just wanted to hear you admit you’ve been stalking me.”

“Oh,” he tuts, “cheeky tonight.”

Laughing, you hold out your arm, “Walk with me?”

“Anywhere. Lead on.”

You spend the night walking around the sleeping city. Reminiscing about old times and laughing at shared memories.

“Do you remember the bugbear in the barn?”

He chuckles, “How could I possibly forget? I don’t think eternity is long enough to burn that image from my mind and the grunting,” his face twists in disgust, “Gods below.”

You laugh, “You wanted to open the door.”

“Darling, you were going to open that door regardless.”

“I was,” you admit.

“Thank you for allowing me to do the honours.”

Dawn starts to sprawl across the sky too soon.

You try to sneak into the manor, but Gale is waiting for you, pacing around in the foyer.

“Where have you been? I was worried sick!”

“I…I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.”

You still have not told him about Astarion, but you can’t exactly put your finger on why.

I want to keep him all to myself… just for a little while.

“All night?”

“How did you know I was gone all night?”

He looks around as if you’ve caught him with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

“You’ve been entirely too reserved the last few days, even for you. I came to check on you, but you weren’t in your room.”

You feel a light annoyance grate at you, “I don’t need babysitting, Gale.”

“I’m just worried about you, my friend. You look like hell - no offence intended. You barely sleep, barely eat, and barely speak. Something is clearly troubling you.” his face softens, “Let me help.”

You know in your heart that Gale is genuinely concerned about your well-being but having him fuss over you is making you feel entirely too suffocated.

“I’m sorry, Gale. Please just give me space.”

He sighs, “I’ve been trying to give you space for months. It hasn’t helped.”

No matter how genuine Gale’s concern is, his reluctance to give you what you so desperately need drives your anger further. You had felled Gods, an army of mind flayers, countless creatures hellbent on killing you, and he dared to think you could not take care of yourself?

Turning, you grab your coat and open the door, “I can’t do this, Gale. Not right now.”

“You’re leaving again?”

You look back at him, “I’m so sorry.”

The morning air is crisp, and your skin prickles with goosebumps at the chilled, damp breeze. The sun is half-risen, splaying a beautiful blend of yellows, pinks, and oranges high into the brightening sky.

You wearily walk through the increasingly loud and crowded street. Your eyes are lidded heavily as your exhaustion sets in. You pass shopkeepers starting their daily stocking of goods, street vendors wheeling their carts out, and the children selling the daily paper screaming their sales pitch.

Before you’re even aware of where you’re going or what you’re doing, you find yourself standing in front of the Golden Harp Inn.

Fuck it.

You climb up the creaking staircase and stand in front of room 2. Glancing both ways down the hallway, you check for any sunlight peeking through the windows before letting yourself in.

I probably should have knocked.

The room is dark, nearly pitch black, but you hear bare feet pad on the wood plank flooring.

“You’re lucky I can smell you, darling. I very nearly took off your pretty little head.”

A match ignites, and Astarion lights a small candle on the bedside table. He’s shirtless, his trousers hanging loosely around his waist. The candle flickers, and the shadows frolic on his silvery skin.

He stares at you, confused by your intrusion, “What can I do for you?”

The words tumble out before your mind catches up to your mouth, and you have a chance to stop them, “Get in bed.”

He chokes, “I’m sorry. What?”

Your face goes flush, “Sorry, that was brash. Let me try that again - may I please sleep here?”

“You…I mean, of course, but why? What’s wrong?”

You whisper, so low that you know only his ears would ever be able to catch it, “Because I miss my home…”

“Oh, my love. Come here.”

You take long strides, closing the distance between you in a frantic rush. Wrapping your arms around him, you push your body against his as closely as possible, nuzzling your cheek into his cool chest.

His arms wrap around you in that tight embrace you remember well, and you breathe in his scent.

You’re exhausted. So many nights have been spent fretting over his sudden reappearance, wondering what you should do and trying to stop yourself from doing exactly this.

You release him reluctantly and shrug off your coat, throwing it over the chair sitting by the bedside.

“May I?” Motioning to the buttons on the navy dress you’re wearing.

You want to be close to him, as close as possible, with no more barriers between you, as long as he is comfortable with it.

At least, just for today.

You tell yourself it’s just for today. After this, you will have to return to being “just friends” as you requested, but do you truly believe you could ever be just friends with this man?

You know this could be a mistake, but you’re too far gone to stop yourself.

He smiles slyly, “Allow me.”

His hands move to the buttons, and he undoes them quickly. You barely even feel his hands at work before the dress slips from your shoulders and pools to the floor, leaving you in your undergarments.

“Beautiful.” His voice is breathless, with just a touch of hoarseness, and his eyes slither over you hungrily.

Astarion whisks you off your feet in an easy, fluid movement, and you wrap your arms around his neck instinctively. He eases you onto the bed before slipping off his trousers and climbing in with you.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” He eyes you quizzically.

“It’s nothing.”

You don’t want to tell him about your disagreement with Gale.

“Surely, you didn’t come all the way here to break into my room, delight me by letting me undress you, and climb into my bed over “nothing,” darling.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

His eyebrow cocks up, but he nods, telling you he will let it go… for now.

You reach out to him, laying your hand gently on his chest, “Can I come close?”

He replies simply by wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him with a happy sigh.

You lay your head on his chest and slide your leg over his in a careful, slow motion, watching for any of the usual signs he’s feeling uncomfortable. You pray that you haven’t gone too far. He’s deliciously close now, and you want nothing more than to stay like this as long as he will allow.

He doesn’t tense up at all. He seems perfectly comfortable. Dare you say, delighted even at the closeness of your body.

Astarion plants a soft kiss on your forehead and rests his cheek against it, stroking your hair in the same comforting way he used to.

Your eyes feel heavy and begin to drift closed immediately as your exhaustion envelops you. Your mind floats in that dreamy expanse between awake and asleep.

“I’m too cold.”

He tries to shift away from you, but you hang onto him tightly as if he were the lifeboat that was stopping you from drowning.

“No, you’re perfect.”

“Foolish woman,” he clicks his tongue in disapproval, “you’re trembling all over.”

“Perfect,” you repeat quietly.

He chuckles, shifting more blankets over you, “Rest now, my love.”

Astarion blows out the bedside candle, blanketing the room in darkness. He rests his cheek on your forehead and starts to hum like he used to, lulling you into your trance.

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

You can hear sleep starting to permeate his voice.

“I missed you.”

He kisses your temple softly, “I missed you too.”

For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you fall into a deep and dreamless trance.

When you awaken, you’re still comfortably entangled with Astarion. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, but he’s awake with one knee bent, reading a book by candlelight.

You untangle yourself from him and shift away.

“I’m sorry.” you feel suddenly shy, “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

A low laugh escapes his lips, and he smiles happily, “Darling, this sad excuse for a bed has never been more comfortable.”

You can’t help but grin back at him, “What time is it?”

“Hmm, I’m not entirely sure, but from the absolute ruckus coming from downstairs, I assume it’s late evening, possibly early night.”

You’ve slept through the whole day, and you feel like you could sleep through another one as long as your body is intertwined with his.

“Are you going hunting tonight?”

“No, not tonight.”

He typically went hunting at night for dinner of the four-legged variety, or at least he used to years ago.

“What were your plans for tonight?”

“Oh, you know me, darling. I skulk around in the shadows, stalk a charming sorceress until she retires for the night, and then I see how many drunkards' pockets I can pick before I get caught. The usual.”

You giggle and roll your eyes at him. He’s being honest, and you can’t help but wonder how many citizens of Waterdeep have awoken with a bad hangover and their coin purses mysteriously missing.

“Let me guess, you never get caught?”

He chuckles, “You know the answer to that.”

Yeah, he never gets caught.

You remember his deft hands well. They always moved with precision and purpose.

Especially when they were exploring my body.

You flush at your thoughts.

A wicked smile tugs at his lips, “Oh, don’t keep your dirty thoughts to yourself. Do share.”

“I was having no such thoughts.” “Your body is telling me a different story, but I digress. Are you going to tell me what this was all about now?”

You knew he wasn’t going to let it go for long.

You sigh, “I had a… disagreement with Gale. I didn’t want to be there.”

His eyebrows pull down in a slight scowl, “Did the wizard harm you?”

You laugh, “No, Astarion. Gale would hardly swat a fly unless he had to. You know that.”

“Good. I would’ve hated to have to kill him. I’m sure even his death would be boring.”

You nudge his shoulder slightly to show your disapproval of his joke. He merely laughs at you. It was a gesture he knew well, of course.

“Then what did the wizard do that made you come all the way here?”

“He… He was being Gale. He’s worried about me, but his particular style of worry can be so… overbearing.”

His eyebrow cocks, “Why is he worried about you? Did you tell him of my return?”

“No. I haven’t told him about you yet.”

He leans forward, finally closing the book he’s been holding, “Curious. Why’s that?”

You shrug, “I don’t know, Astarion. I just… didn’t want to.”

“I see…” He looks at you skeptically as if trying to read your mind.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

You get out of bed and whisper a cantrip, lighting a small fire in the little fireplace, warming yourself by it for a second. Nights in Waterdeep were chillier than you were used to.

Moving to the little window at the end of the room, you glance at Astarion to make sure he’s far out of the way of any potential sunshine that could stream in if he were wrong about the time of day.

Once you see he’s safely away, you push the heavy fabric curtain out of the way and glance outside. The sun has already set far below the horizon, cloaking the city in darkness. It’s cloudy, and the moon shines brightly behind the thick cloud cover, but that pale light doesn’t reach the streets. It gives the city a rather eerie feel.

“It’s night.”

You glance at Astarion, and he’s eyeing you with a seething scowl.

“What in the Nine Hells are those?”

You give him a confused glance.

What is he talking about?

He jumps off the bed and crosses the room in quick, long strides, grabbing your arm and holding it out for you to see.

“These. What the fuck are these?”

Oh…

He’s looking at the scars that mar the flesh of your arm. The telltale puncture wounds of vampire bites. Similar to the one adorned by his neck.

“They’re nothing.”

You pull your arm away from him swiftly, your hand trying and failing to cover the scars he’s so hawkishly inspecting.

“Those are certainly NOT nothing. Tell me.”

His tone is commanding, almost forceful, and his face is twisted in a rage you haven’t seen on him in some time.

There’s no point in hiding it.

“When you left, after I was sure you weren’t coming home, I tried to find you. I searched for you in every place I could think of.”

His brows slowly rise, softening his expression, and you can see the anger slowly dissolving.

“I returned to the Underdark to see your siblings. I thought maybe you had gone there to help the other spawn we set free, as you had mentioned before. The spawn in the Underdark are... shall we say, less in control of their impulses than you are."

The anger flares back up in his eyes, and his mouth sets in a hard line, but it's anger born from concern.

“Let me get this straight,” he pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “you, quite willingly, wandered into a den of 7000 feral vampire spawn? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is!?” His voice is raised, harbouring a sharp edge.

You square off with him, standing tall, anger pulling at you.

Why does everyone think I can’t take care of myself? Make my own decisions?

You scoff at him disapprovingly, “I was well aware of the risks, Astarion.” you cross your arms over your body, “I would do it again and again and again, indefinitely, if I thought I had even a slim chance of finding you.”

He scoffs back at you. His eyes squeeze shut as he reins in his anger. When he opens them again, his face is softer, with a hint of sadness tugging the edges of his brows downward.

“Gods, you’re stubborn, as you always were.”

He reaches for your arm again, stretching it out and places gentle kisses on every scarred bite before pulling you into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry.”

You hug him back, happy to be in his arms again, “It’s okay.”

A lie. It’s not okay. You haven’t recovered from the first time he left, and now you were setting yourself up for another grand disappearance.

Will I ever recover?

Astarion’s scarlet eyes harbour cavernous regret as they linger over your scarred flesh.

“I should probably tell Gale that you’re back… If you plan on staying in Waterdeep, that is.”

Please don’t leave.

“I’m not going anywhere, darling. Unless… unless you tell me to leave, of course.”

“Then, he needs to know. I can’t keep this from him forever.”

You don’t want to tell Gale. He and Astarion had a tumultuous friendship at the best of times, and that was before Astarion abandoned you in the dead of night.

He sighs, “Allow me to come with you.”

“You want to come with me?”

He groans, “I don’t relish the idea, but you should not have to bear this alone.”

You hesitate, knowing this is probably not a good idea, “You really don’t have to. I can manage this.”

“Beautiful, I have no doubt you can manage it, but alas, if we must tell him, the least I can do is be there for him to scowl at.”

Having Astarion there could make things easier or exponentially worse. It was a coin toss to know which though.

“Fine. You can come, but don’t expect a warm welcome.”

“Hm,” he snickers, “has the wizard lost all of his decorum?”

You give him a disapproving glower.

“I guess I should probably get dressed then.”

You look him up and down, relishing in that glorious view, “Oh, I don’t know. I rather enjoy you like this.”

He chuckles, “Well, darling, we can certainly arrange more… viewings. Although, I do wonder if this is something friends do. It has been such a very long time since I’ve had a friend.”

You realize he’s referring to the fact that you told him you could be his friend but nothing more. Yet you had come crawling into his bed, nearly naked and completely unannounced.

“I suppose that depends on the kind of friends we are.”

“Oh, there is more than one kind of friend? Well, tell me, do you and Gale fraternize in nothing but your undergarments?”

Your eyebrows raise as you redden, embarrassment heating your face, “Gods, no!”

You can barely get the words out fast enough, and they jumble out of your mouth chaotically.

“I thought not. We must be special friends indeed.”

The walk back to the manor is relatively silent as you try to work out what in the Nine Hells to say, how to explain this, and why you hid it.

Upon entering, the foyer is dimly lit, with only a few candles burning. Gale is nowhere to be seen, but Tara notices you and hops down from her resting place.

“Good evening, Tara. Where is Gale?”

“Mr. Dekarios is in the library, pacing about. That oaf forgot to give me my milk tonight!”

You giggle at her vexation. She did hate it when she didn’t get milk. Spoiled little thing she was.

Tara glances behind you, eyeing Astarion wearily.

“I remember you, vampire. Keep your distance.” Tara’s back arches slightly.

Astarion cocks an eyebrow at her and then looks at you, “Charming creature, isn’t she?”

You shake your head. He probably thought of her as an amusing snack.

“I’ll tell you what. If you tell Gale I need to speak with him in the kitchen, I’ll get your milk ready.”

“You will warm it?”

You nod to her, “Of course, just the way you like it.”

“Fine. I will fetch Mr. Dekarios. Be warned, he is in a foul mood.”

With that, she hops off, bounding up the flights of stairs.

Astarion sighs dramatically behind you, “Great. A dour wizard.”

You walk further down the hallway before you hear Astarion’s voice ring out.

“Darling! Are you forgetting something?”

You look at him puzzled for a second, before the realization strikes you.

Right. He needs to be invited in. Does it even work if this isn’t my house?

“Sorry… Wait, can I invite you in, or does it have to be the owner of the house? How does it work?”

It was never something you two discussed in much detail since it had never been an issue before when you were infected with the tadpole.

He looks at the doorway, and his eyebrows furrow, “Shall we find out?”

“Come in, Astarion.”

He takes a tentative step into the foyer and smiles, nodding, before following you down the long hallway.

Astarion sits in one of the lavish chairs, unimpressed, “So, you warm milk now for cats?”

“Tressym.” You correct him.

“Cat with wings.”

“Say it with me, Astarion. T-ress-ym.”

He rolls his eyes at you and looks out the window overlooking the bay, “Quite the view.”

You hear Gale’s footsteps bounding down the stairs at a breakneck pace before you see him.

“You’re back. I was worried. I wanted to apolo-.” Gale’s voice cuts off as his eyes fall on Astarion, stupefied.

“Astarion?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Gale.”

Gale looks between you and Astarion, bewildered. Tara trots out happily from behind Gale as you lower her bowl of warm milk to the ground.

Gale shakes his head and plants his hands on the back of a chair as if to steady himself, “It makes so much sense now.”

His expression is nearly unreadable, pointing to Astarion, “When did this happen?”

“About a week ago, give or take a few days.”

“And you didn’t tell me!”

“I needed time to figure out what it meant, Gale. How I felt about it without external influences biasing my judgement.”

Gale eyes you warily. He would have tried to talk you out of ever going to meet with Astarion in the first place.

“And you, Astarion, what are you doing here?”

Astarion is calm and collected, just staring out the window, not at all perturbed by Gale’s harsh tone, “Looking for her, of course.”

“And now that you’ve found her? Are you planning to stay, or are you just going to run off again?”

Astarion’s eyes narrow, and his jaw tenses at the accusation, “I’m not going anywhere. Not unless she tells me to.”

Gale looks to you for answers.

“I’m not telling him to leave, Gale. If that’s what you’re wondering.”

Gale shakes his head disapprovingly and rubs his face with his hand.

“Astarion, do you have any idea what you put her through? What state she was in when she arrived here?”

A mixture of embarrassment and anger floods you. You had been in rough shape when you showed up here - thin, injured, and haunted. Gale had supported you, fed you, and housed you, allowing you to regain your strength.

“Gale, enough!”

You shout at him a little louder and harsher than you mean to. There were some things Astarion didn’t need to know, and Gale was about to spill it all.

I am going to have to answer for this later.

Astarion’s eyes narrow, “I have a feeling you were about to tell me, Gale. What state was she in?”

You scowl at Gale as his mouth opens, and he immediately snaps it shut again. This information wasn’t his to tell.

“That’s up to her to tell if she chooses to do so.”

Astarion caught the critical glare you shot Gale, effectively shutting him up. It was a feat you were relatively proud of. Not many people could shut Gale up with a look.

“Is that so?” Astarion’s crimson eyes are on you.

Yup, I am definitely going to have to answer for this later.

Gale throws up his arms in defeat, “Well, my friend, if you’re planning to stay in Waterdeep long term, then I think it best if you stay here, in the manor.”

Astarion’s eyes widen, and he laughs loudly, “Thank you for the offer, but I will have to decline.”

“The citizens of Waterdeep aren’t stupid, Astarion. Someone will notice your… nocturnal habits and eventually piece together what you are. It’s not safe for you to stay wherever it is that you are currently residing. I assume a cheap tavern.”

Astarion scoffs, “It’s not cheap.”

Gale rolls his eyes, “Be reasonable, my friend. The last thing she needs is for you to land yourself in a pile of trouble, where she needs to bail you out… again. I can have heavy curtains installed on the windows posthaste.”

Astarion thumb comes to his chin in his usual “I’m thinking” manner before abruptly turning to you, “And what do you think of this… proposition, friend.”

The way he says “friend” is almost seductive. Astarion always did have a way with words and could make almost anything sound as if he were making love to your ears with his voice.

This is a bad idea.

You, Gale and Astarion living in the same place is begging for trouble. Gale had feelings for you once upon a time. You had tried your best to be gentle with your rebuff of his advances, but he had been hurt that you chose the man who admitted to manipulating you over him. Whether those feelings were still alive and well was a mystery to you.

Regardless, Gale was correct here. Astarion staying at an inn was a bad idea. Someone would notice his peculiar schedule and eventually put 2 and 2 together.

You sigh, “Gale is right. You’ve already made quite the impression on the innkeeper from what I gathered from speaking with her. It would be smart for you to stay with people who know about your… predilections.”

He chuckles at you, “That is one word for it, I suppose.”

Astarion runs his fingers through his hair, sighing.

“Well, it appears I have been out-voted. I humbly accept your most generous offer, Gale.” He says in a pompous tone, “It will be like old times, but with exceptionally better lodging by the looks of it.”

You have to hold yourself back from groaning out loud. You wanted to keep Astarion close, but this close?

“Excellent! I shall have the room amended for your particular needs immediately. You should be all set to move here tomorrow night.”

Astarion groans, “Lovely.”

Astarion leaves the manor close to dawn. You retire to your room, hoping to get some rest, but rest is not for you. You toss and turn in your bed, missing Astarion and the comfort his presence provides. Eventually, you give up and move to the terrace to watch the sunrise.

Tara comes to curl up in your lap, and you’re thankful for her company.

“You sleep much less than the other humans I know.”

You gently glide your hand down the soft fur of her back, eliciting a pleasant rumbling purr, “You are quite astute, Tara.”

“I am.” She agrees confidently.

“I have a lot on my mind. Sometimes I can’t get it to rest.”

“Hm,” she thinks for a second, “have you tried warm milk?”

You giggle at her. Warm milk was Tara’s cure for every ailment.

“Is it the vampire that keeps you up?”

She really was astute, smarter than most of the people you’ve met in your life.

“Yes.”

There’s no point in lying to her. She would take your secrets to her grave as she would Gale’s.

“You care for him, yes?”

She eyes you with those large green eyes, the first light of dawn dancing over them.

“Very much so.”

She cocks her head, “And this is a problem for you?”

“I’m not sure I would classify it as a problem exactly. He means well, but he hurt me gravely not long ago. I fear he will do it again.”

“I see. Why do humans fear that which has yet to happen?”

Good fucking question.

“Hm, you know how you avoid sleeping in walkways or being too close to someone walking because you’ve had your tail stepped on before, and it was painful?”

“I do.” She nods her understanding.

“It’s kind of like that, I suppose. We anticipate pain we have already experienced and try to avoid it.”

“Hmmm,” she thinks long and hard, “I’m not sure I understand. I do avoid you humans when you’re walking about. You can be so clumsy with your feet, but I do not lay awake at night fearing it will happen.”

Damn fucking cat… Damn it, Astarion! Tressym.

She was right.

Why am I anticipating pain that has yet to come or may never come at all?

It was a pointless endeavour. Its only use was torturing yourself further. Yet here you were, every night, torturing yourself.

“You’re smarter than I, Tara.”

“I know.”

You laugh at her utter conviction and watch the sun rise above the horizon, casting a brilliant yellow reflection over the water’s smooth surface.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You sense a note of hurt in Gale’s voice, and your heart drops into your stomach. He was your friend, and you had intentionally kept this from him.

“I should have. I don’t have a good excuse.”

“Yes, you should have. We could have talked about it.” He scolds you.

I guess I deserve that.

“Therein lies the problem, Gale. I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I could have at least provided some comfort. Gods know nothing can make you talk when you don’t want to.” He scoffs, annoyed, “What colour do you think the drapes should be in Astarion’s room?”

You shake your head at him, “Honestly, no matter what colour you pick, he’s going to complain about it.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you picked them out when he does.”

Laughing, “Be my guest. If you’re lucky, he might believe you.”

He won’t.

“As long as they block out all sunlight, I’m sure he will live.”

Gale’s hand comes to his chin, and he looks around, assessing the surroundings, “I suppose I should adorn most of the manor with these heavy drapes. I wouldn’t want him to feel confined to his room all day.”

Despite the often-sour animosity infecting their friendship, Gale truly does care for Astarion, and it shows plainly. Although, you weren’t so sure about Astarion’s true feelings on the subject. He could be impossible to read, even to you who knew him better than anyone.

“That’s nice of you, Gale, but I doubt he expects that.”

Gale continues looking around, evaluating the rooms, probably working out how to cover the large stained-glass windows, “Well, you lived with him. What did he do during the day?”

Your mind wanders back to the time you and Astarion shared loggings in your little house.

What did we do during the day?

You can feel yourself flush with the memories. Heat rises to your face, turning you red.

“Perhaps, I don’t want to know.”

The embarrassment only deepens at Gale’s obvious notice of your hesitancy, and you blurt out things in a rush to fill the awkward silence, “He mostly sleeps, reads or fusses over his clothing.”

Gale nods, “I’ll have drapes hung in the library then.”

Gods below.

You excuse yourself, desperate to get away from the awkward mess the conversation has become. You spend the day fretting over useless things just to get your mind off the fact that you will once again share space with Astarion.

Why does it make me… nervous?

You have shared much more than space with that toxically handsome man, yet the prospect of living with Astarion again made your stomach flip around in your abdomen uncomfortably.

Night falls over the city, slowly blanketing it in dim silvery moonlight.

“Should we go fetch him?”

You don’t get a chance to answer Gale before you both hear the knock, heads snapping towards the sound. Gale opens the door, and Astarion is waiting with a small pack slung over his shoulder.

“Darling! I’m home!” He announces in a cheerful, albeit fake, voice that rings with sarcasm.

“Where are the rest of your belongings?” Gale eyes the little pack, glancing around Astarion to see if he’s brought anything else.

“Waterdeep is quite the trek. I had to travel light.”

Gale’s eyes widen, “You NEVER travelled this light before. You always had us hauling around that damn mirror!”

You nearly snort, making the sip of tea you just drank shoot out of your nose.

The mirror. How could I forget?

Astarion always lugged around that clunky, gold-rimmed mirror he loved so much. It had been a pain in the ass to travel with, and almost everyone complained about it at one point or another, not understanding the point of carrying around a heavy mirror he couldn’t even see his reflection in.

It has been one of his most precious possessions, and it was one of the things he had left behind when he left you.

Astarion’s crimson eyes find yours knowingly, “Careful, darling. Don’t choke.”

His eyes return to Gale, “I have relinquished unnecessary sentimental attachments.”

“Certainly convenient timing.”

“What can I say? I’ve grown as a person.”

Gale groans.

This is off to a wonderful start. They are already annoying each other.

“Are you going to make me stand out here all night? Where ever did your manners go, Gale?”

“You’ve already been invited inside, or do you need to be invited in every time?”

Astarion chuckles taking a step into the entryway, “I was being polite.”

“I will show you to your room.”

You follow Gale and Astarion up the stairs. Gale had chosen which room Astarion would stay in, and it just so happened to be the furthest room from yours. He had touted that it was the room that got the least amount of direct sunlight, but you weren’t so sure that was the real reason.

“So, tell me, Astarion, what kind of trouble have you been getting into the last couple of years?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. Naturally, you have wondered the same but refrained from asking because you aren’t sure you truly want to know the answer.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would actually.” Gale’s tone is icy and confrontational.

He’s trying to spur on Astarion.

You stare at Gale with a skeptical look, but he is too busy glaring keenly at Astarion to notice. You had never known him to incite arguments. He was more likely to try and stop them before they started than to actually go searching for one.

Odd.

Astarion stares back at Gale with an easy, relaxed smile. He won’t be so easily enticed into an argument, “You know me, a little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

You know that’s all the information he will divulge. He’s being intentionally vague, giving nothing away.

“This room is yours.”

Astarion walks in, looks around and whistles before smirking, “Nice curtains.”

On cue, Gale points to you, “She picked them.”

Astarion’s eyebrow cocks up in a clever glance, “Oh, I don’t know about that. They scream dull wizard more than draconic sorceress.”

You laugh, and Gale groans loudly.

“She told me a little about what you like to do during the day.”

Astarion eyes you with an amused look, one that screams he’s about to say something he probably shouldn’t.

Don’t do it.

“Did she now?” His finger comes to his chin, and his eyebrow cocks handsomely, “I’m curious. What did she tell you I like to do during the day.”

You feel yourself redden again, and he stifles a laugh, knowing he managed to fluster you.

Ugh.

Gale looks at you with a furrowed brow but continues, gracefully skipping over the awkwardness, “She said you like to read, so I’ve had the library windows draped, as well as most of the lower floor so you can move around freely during the day. I’d stay away from the upper floors unless you would like to be a pile of ash.”

“Your generosity truly knows no bounds, Gale. Thank you.”

Gale laces his hands behind his back and bows shallowly, “You’re welcome, my friend. I shall leave you to get settled then. Make yourself at home.”

Gale strides away and disappears down the hall, muttering to himself under his breath. Your ears can’t pick up what he’s saying, but from the look on Astarion’s face, he definitely can.

“He’s certainly in a tizzy.” He chuckles.

“You goaded him, Astarion.”

His hand comes to his chest dramatically, “I did no such thing!” He mewls, “How should I know what you told him about what, or rather whom, I like to do during the day?”

You feel that familiar flush rush up to your face again.

This Gods damn man!

He snickers at you, “You’re too easy, darling.”

“You should be nicer to him. He did change his home to accommodate you, after all.”

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “I never asked to stay here. I was perfectly content to stay at the inn.”

“It’s dangerous, Astarion.”

“Darling, I’ve spent two centuries learning how to blend in. I can take care of myself.”

You roll your eyes at him, “You couldn’t blend into a crowd if you tried.”

“Is that so? Care to tell me why not?”

He knew why. He was well aware that he turned heads everywhere he went. He thrived on the attention. It had often been a point of contention between you and him. There weren’t many places to go during the night, but you two would often go to the tavern for a drink to get out of the house, and he was constantly being fawned over.

People would “accidentally” bump into him, "trip” in front of him to elicit a response and all other manner of convoluted attempts to get his attention. The most exceedingly brazen individuals would simply try and push you out of the way or wedge themselves between you.

It didn’t phase him, of course. His eyes were always on you, and only you, but you had a fiery jealous streak, and no matter how well he disregarded all advances, it drove you crazy.

“You know why.”

He smiles devilishly, “Yes, but I do enjoy hearing you say it.”

“Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

Your bedroom door closes with a quiet click, and you take deep breaths, trying to steady your frantically beating heart.

Why does he have this effect on me? He barely has to look at me before my heart is trying to leap out of my throat. Worse yet, he can hear it.

You curse your body for being so obvious to read. You’re an open book to him. All he has to do is listen to the racing of your heart, the hitching of your breath, or oftentimes, all of the above, and he will know what you are feeling.

Foolish, foolish woman.

Changing into your night clothes, you crawl into bed and fall into your trance fitfully.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. It really does brighten my day, and I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

Small Notes:

- Thinking about giving Tav a name, and as I don't generally like to use "Tav" (feels too generic, but I suppose that's the point), it would be something else. I can understand that it might be a little jarring at this point in the story though, so let me know how you feel about the idea. Hate it? Love it? Don't care either way? Let me know!

- I promise we are going to start spicing things up soon, but expect a rather slow burn... if I can convince Tav to keep her pants on.

If you're interested, I also write a fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 1: Abandonment

AO3: [Crossposted]

#astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion

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halfmoth-halfman · 6 months

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My MWIII Thoughts

I’ve finally taken the time to get all of my thoughts about the new campaign together and put them in a single post. There are no spoiler tags since the game is officially releasing today/tomorrow, but everything is under the cut with a warning. I have a lot of things to say here, so I’ve tried to organize it point by point. The points I think are most important are first, and I ask that you take the time to read through them. If you want to skip to the points about characters and that death, the beginning of those sections is marked with red, but be prepared to scroll.

I watched the custscenes, with gameplay, all the way through once and I’m not doing it again. I tried to go back to specific scenes to reference in this post, but even that was a lot for me, so if my timeline in here is a little screwy don't fault me too much.

If you just want my quick, overall thoughts: This campaign was two hours of egregiously incoherent, poorly written, shoddily thrown together military propaganda, even more than the cod games usually are, and your money would be much better spent donating to help Palestine - there are links to do so in this review, marked with green, as well as boycott information, and the same donations links are also provided on this shorter post if you want to go directly to them.

(There are spoilers below, and this is long. I'm not kidding. Do not click the readmore unless you are prepared to scroll.)

Military Propaganda/Islamophobia

I spoke about this some already here and here because I felt this was an important enough topic that deserved its own post.

Call of Duty has never been has never been the game where I expected to see proper representation of the Middle East or Middle Eastern politics. It is first and foremost military propaganda. More than that it is American military propaganda. Just like with every superhero and pro-military movie post-9/11, it should be expected that you’re not going to get any kind of meaningful insight or depth when it comes to Middle Eastern storylines and characters, but there is usually more of an effort to hide the Middle East = Terrorist subtext.

To say I was shocked at how overt and blatant the Islamophobia was in this game is an understatement. We get four deaths of named characters in this game. Two of whom are Middle Eastern women, Dena and Samara, from the country Urzikstan, the fictional combination of Syria and Afghanistan and home to terrorist group Al-Qatala (real subtle, right?). Both of these women are associated with the ULF, the Urzikstan Liberation Force, Farah’s group of freedom fighters whose goal is to free their country from foreign subjugation with Samara no longer being an active member. Both of these women are introduced in this game. Both of these women are minor characters. Both of these women, Samara in particular, are trying to live their lives peacefully now that their country has been freed.

Both of these women are given deaths more brutal and more shocking than the other two deaths of two main characters in the series.

We meet Dena at the beginning of the game when we’re first re-introduced to Alex and Farah. We see her have a heartfelt reunion with Farah, and the two have a conversation while driving where Dena expresses her concerns about wanting Urzikstan to remain peaceful but assures Farah that everyone will support her. After, Dena is suddenly shot in the chest, and Farah is forced to take control of the vehicle they’re in, which ultimately flips over and we get Farah’s first death fakeout.

It’s in this cutscene that we see a lingering shot on Dena as well as her corpse being thrashed in the car as Farah tries to take control and as it flips. We are given a Middle Eastern woman showing hope for her country that the peace she has fought for will be maintained only to then watch her die for shock value and a fakeout for another character, and watch her body fly across the car as it flips. We don’t get that with either of the other two gunshot deaths in this game. Soap’s is just as sudden, but we see it coming, and there are no shots of his body being thrown about, no closer views of his face like there are with Dena. Shepherd’s is entirely off-screen and all we’re left with is a shot of him lying face down on his desk - no blood or bullet wound in sight.

Notably, the only other person we see a comparable amount of blood on in this game is Makarov, the enemy of the series.

Samara, who gets the worst death in this game, in my opinion, is a retired ULF soldier we’re introduced to on a plane. I’ll start by saying I was under the assumption this may have been the reboot replacement for No Russian, the mission in which Makarov and Co. shot up Zakhaev International Airport to frame America for terrorism in the original series, and the mission that was teased after the credits in the MW2 reboot. We get the scene of Makarov and his men at the airport before boarding the plane, which could just be a nod to the original mission. However, until there is an official reboot of the No Russian mission, I’m going to assume this was Activision’s new take on it.

In this mission, we learn that Makarov plans to use this plane bombing to frame Urzikstan, Farah and the ULF specifically. The thing is, as Big Mak and friends are in the airport preparing to board, we are shown that the ULF is already being blamed for the missile attack on Arklov Military Base from the previous mission where their missiles were stolen, capped with Konni’s chemical gas, and one was detonated. There’s even a news sequence showing that the world already thinks of the ULF as a terrorist organization, and has not-so-quietly thought that for years. That makes this upcoming scene feel not only unnecessary but like a deliberate choice made by Activision to be extra cruel to a Middle Eastern character.

We see Samara text with her family and are shown a picture of her husband and children before the man next to her begins speaking to her in Arabic. He compliments her family and, I assume as we’re not directly shown, gets the No Russian text - a text, for those who have not played the original games, meaning to not speak Russian to not tie the terrorist act they’re about to commit back to the Russians. The Traveler, as he's called, then reveals that he knows who she is, knows her family, and knows that she is a former ULF soldier and fought the Russians. He then pulls a gun on her and Makarov and Konni take the plane hostage, purposely speaking Arabic and declaring this is for Urzikstan.

We are then forced to watch as Samara fights back, but is ultimately taken to Makarov where a bomb is strapped to her chest. He gives his usual cryptic speech, and over-explains to the audience what’s happening before diving out of the plane D.B. Cooper style.

Samara is then dragged to the back of the plane by a Hijacker, where the remaining passengers are, kicking and fighting and trying to reason with him to stop. He pauses and we then get this exchange:

Hijacker: Are you a terrorist?

Samara: No…

Hijacker: You look like one.

He then puts a gun in her hands, tosses the cellphone that will let her stop the bomb, and shoves her into a crowd where we have to watch her struggle to explain what’s happening to her and that she needs the phone to a crowd of people that are either afraid of or angry with her. She is shoved to the ground by a random man, forced to fight through people trying to tackle and beat her, and, when the phone is finally within reach in the hands of a scared passenger, the plane blows up.

I want to emphasize that most of this is a cutscene. There are a few button presses for the player to try and get the phone, and you are allowed to look around and try to fight back, but that is quickly stopped, and you are forced to sit and watch through Samara’s perspective. The end result? There’s an investigation for who may have done this, and you play as Farah collecting evidence from the crash site so Makarov can’t frame the ULF. The mission succeeds, because it’s a story mission and it has to, Makarov is unable to control the narrative so people can only suspect the ULF did it but can’t prove it, and Samara…died for nothing. All of that was so people could suspect the ULF was a terrorist organization, which the game has previously gone out of its way to establish was already happening before Makarov got on that flight. This entire sequence and the mission after added nothing to the storyline other than the brutal forcing of a Middle Eastern woman to hijack a plane 9/11 style and die a death worse than two of the series’s main characters.

Two side characters, two Middle Eastern women who have never existed before this game, are put in this game solely to die in ways where their deaths are more emphasized and graphic than a character we’ve played as since the series began, and one of the main villains.

There is a genocide happening in Palestine. Islamophobia in the United States, and the West as a whole, is rising to post-9/11 heights. There is already so much propaganda being spread in an attempt to dehumanize the men, women, and children who are being murdered by Israeli forces, to justify the actions - the war crimes - of the Israeli forces. Could this be a sloppy attempt at Activision trying to mirror real-life stereotypes and how quick the media is to jump to the Arab = Bad narrative? Possibly. I don’t think it is. I think this was a deliberate change from the original No Russian mission in which America is framed for terrorism, made by an American company that makes games meant to garner interest and support in the American military, during a time when the American government is being criticized for funding and aiding an ethnic cleansing.

As slapped together as this game was, I don’t believe they couldn’t have changed the campaign in the time since the situation in Palestine escalated to this level. I firmly believe it was a purposeful choice to write that scene, to film that scene, to keep that scene.

It is blatant, it is clear, it is as in-your-face as it can possibly be. It is not something this fandom gets to ignore because they don’t like the campaign. It is not something this fandom gets to overshadow with Soap’s death as poorly written as it was. It is not something this fandom gets to stay silent about while also posting about #freepalestine.

I have never expected the best when it comes to Islamophobia from the Call of Duty games or its fandom. I’ve never expected anything beyond mildly okay. Call of Duty is military propaganda, I know. The fandom is known for its racism and it’s not getting better, I know that especially. But I don’t see how anyone, in the times we’re living in right now, would be able to look at this and not acknowledge it for what it is.

It is the purposeful brutalization of Middle Eastern characters.

It is propaganda.

It is racism.

It is Islamophobia.

It is wrong.

Engaging Critically/Acknowledging Privilege

While I may be stepping back from the CoD fandom, I understand that not everyone is going to. For some people, these games are a comfort or an escape. I’m not here to call for a boycott of Call of Duty or Activision while there are more important boycotts to be focusing on - and you can find more info on them here & here.

What I am asking, particularly of those of us in the fandom that are not being directly affected by what’s happening in Palestine, is that there is more acknowledgment of the level of privilege that we have and that people learn to engage more critically with the media they consume.

It is a privilege to play a game like Call of Duty and not have to think about the propaganda. It is a privilege (and ignorant) to say “it’s not political”, “it’s just pixels”, or “it’s not real”. It is a privilege to be able to just turn the game off and never have to think about war, and the impact of the representation of the characters, and the real-life events that these games base themselves on. And this isn’t just a CoD issue, this is something that should be considered with every piece of media you engage with.

There is no such thing as a “politics-free” book/movie/game/show. Everything carries the biases - conscious or subconscious - of the person or people who created it. There is no such thing as media or fiction not having an effect on real life, especially in a fandom for what is essentially War Crimes: The Game.

I’m going to take a quote from this post by @yeyinde.

"It’s incredibly egregious to pretend that the media you consume isn’t based, in some part, on real life or has no repercussions outside of it just being fiction. And it’s especially dishonest to say this isn’t the case within the COD fandom when people have said that the erasure of Gaz from the fandom in favour of a white character is traumatising. The portrayal of the Middle East is traumatising. The portrayal of Makarov in fiction as an uwu-sympathetic babbie is traumatising. The portrayal of the military as heroes is traumatising. These are real people expressing real emotions and bringing up important matters that impact them long after they’ve logged out of tumblr. Just because they stop being relevant to you after that does not, and SHOULD NOT, matter. Their trauma, their feelings, and their interpretations shouldn’t be ignored in favour of some catch-all excuse to limit your responsibility as a consumer to think critically about the media you’re devouring just because it has no consequences for you."

Fiction mirrors real life whether you want to admit it or not. It shows real biases, and it affects real people. Participating in fiction and the surrounding culture does not magically absolve you of consequences. It does not suddenly mean you get a free pass at things like sexism, racism, ableism, colorism, romanticization of abuse and sexual assault, etc. just because your escapist fantasies are conveniently free of people who are different from you.

It may be your fiction, but it is someone else’s non-fiction, and you do not get to decide that it isn’t or that the impact doesn’t matter because it’s about fictional characters.

I'm going to link another post from @yeyinde with another quote here.

"It’s easy to get swept up into something when you have no tangible ties to the effects of what’s being portrayed, which can lead to making dismissive or hurtful statements out of pure ignorance. My biggest gripe was the excuses being laundered out and (either unintentionally or intentionally) giving the creators a pass for what they created and the harm they caused other people to experience. Just because they did not experience the same trauma, it does not diminish its impact on others. This is a very important distinction, which I think was being missed."

Does this mean you can’t ever write or read about traumatic things, or that you can’t enjoy the CoD games ever again? No.

But I need you all to understand that you can criticize the media you enjoy. You should criticize the media you enjoy. Criticism does not mean never letting yourself enjoy a piece of media again. Criticism does not mean trying to get a character or creator “cancelled”. Criticism does not automatically equal hate.

Criticism is an act of love, and it is necessary when deconstructing and confronting biases - both yours and other people's.

Resources To Support Palestine

The lovely @moondirti provided some organizations where you can donate to support the humanitarian aid in Gaza with the note:

It's important to acknowledge that, while limited aid is being allowed through, recent negotiations have allowed your charity to reach the people of Palestine.

DOCTORS WITHOUT BORDERS

PALESTINE CHILDREN RELIEF FUND

UNITED MISSION FOR RELIEF – PALESTINE EMERGENCY

ANERA

Onto the actual game.

The 141

I don't know what happened during development between this game and MW2, but the relationship between the members of the 141 is severely lacking. We get the usual Soap and Ghost banter for one mission, because, let’s be real, that's what got a lot of people into the last game, but that's about it? There’s nothing new, nothing added to their relationships, and the game sticks to the same duos (Ghost/Soap & Price/Gaz) that we’ve had for the past two games. Even Soap and Ghost’s banter during the attack on Milena’s private island doesn’t have the same impact on the characters as their banter during the Alone mission in MW2. They get a few lines about Soap admiring Milena’s cars and Ghost taunting him about marrying an Oligarch, and…that’s it until the cutscene where they interrogate her.

There’s maybe a few quippy lines here and there, but overall the 141 gives off the same feeling as a group of semi-friendly co-workers that sometimes work on the same project rather than an actual team that has shed blood, sweat, and tears with each other.

This would’ve been such a great time to explore deeper into the team dynamics, show us pairings we don’t get to see as often and build on those relationships, make us really feel for these characters on a personal level. In the original series, you got a feel for every character and their team dynamics, and the player felt the impact of each death as they watched the other characters react (something I’ll talk about later). With this game, we get…what? Four men that desperately need a lozenge throwing a few sassy one-liners at each other and giving each other a harsh pat on the back like a bunch of dads at a barbecue?

I feel like so much of the heavy labor regarding the 141 in the reboot is done through fanfiction at this point because this game especially gives us barely anything to go on, and that’s such a missed opportunity on Activision’s part considering how so much of MW2’s popularity came from the relationship built between Soap and Ghost. It all just feels so hollow and surface-level; there’s no depth here, no attempt to build a connection from the player to this group as a team. In my opinion, Activision relies too heavily on the older fanbase’s connection to the original series, and the newer fanbase’s self-created characterizations, to fill in the blanks so they can leave these characters as empty and vanilla as possible in order to appeal to a broader audience.

And they’ve still somehow managed to fail at that. Speaking of failing...

Graves and Shepherd

Graves should’ve died in that fucking tank, and I will stand by that opinion even after I die. It was such a cop-out to have him live, and for him to suddenly come back with the excuse, “Well, I wasn’t in that tank, blah, blah, blah.”

This is supposed to be a game series where characters die and stay dead. The characters die. Some die heroically, some die horrifically, some die quickly, some die painfully slow, most die bloody, but they die. It’s a staple of the series, like Game of Thrones pre-season 5. I don’t know if Activision didn’t know what to do with his character, or if they realized he was semi-popular with the fans and decided to magically bring him back via deus ex remote-controlled tank, or if they were trying to “subvert expectations” and give us all a little surprise plot twist, but it sucked.

Also, no one checked the tank for a body? That seems to be something everyone has a problem doing in these games, and I don’t know what Activision thinks that does for the 141, but what it does do is make these elite military officials look incompetent as hell because their “dead” enemies keep coming back.

There was nothing different that Graves did in this game from what he did in the previous game. We get the same air support mission from him that we got last game, and really that’s it. Okay sure, he’s working with Farah now, that’s a little different, but what did he do in that mission? Give her vague instructions on where to find some GPS trackers and then give her more vague instructions on where to find the missile containers to slap the trackers on? He could’ve easily been replaced with one of Farah’s people who scouted ahead, or Alex, or a decorative cowboy hat, and the mission would have gone the exact same.

Other than that he spends the entire game hiding behind Shepherd like a scared child up until the end when he ultimately turns on Shepherd, and even that felt so blah. He faces no consequences for his (racist) actions in Las Almas other than Gaz refusing to shake his hand, he faces no consequences for betraying the 141, going so far as to lie that it even happened in front of Congress, and he gets off completely free as far as we know. There was no point to his character, no point to bringing him back, no point to him being in this game at all, and if I find the Activision employee who decided to keep him alive I will be throwing hands expeditiously.

Shepherd was…there, I guess? I’m sure he was meant to be a menacing, sly, back-stabbing character, but he came off as more irritating than anything. His rescue mission felt akin to being forced to babysit your annoying younger sibling who questions everything you do. They give you a cute little nod to the OG series with his cutscene with the 141 in the snow (because Activision has to rely on nostalgia and easter eggs since they know this game is emptier than the promises of an absentee father), but most of it is spent with Shepherd preaching about how great he is and threatening the 141 like he’s been doing the entire game. I’m sure he’s supposed to come off as clever, outsmarting the 141 and tricking them into rescuing him - this big, bad, battle-hardened General - but all of that is undercut by him getting captured to begin with.

The General Shepherd in the original series killed two of the player characters. How am I supposed to be intimidated by this nagging grandpa briskly jogging through the snow behind me in his ugly pajama jumpsuit? Even his ending is lackluster. He’s outwitted in front of Congress by Graves of all people, and then we get a cutscene where Price shoots him off-screen. That’s it. There was no satisfaction like in the original series, no triumph, no sense of vengeance, only a tired feeling of thank god I don’t have to deal with this anymore. This constant attempt at build-up in this reboot series of Shepherd being this looming figure over the 141 ends not with a bang, and not even with a whimper.

Makarov

I’m going to start this off by saying I mean absolutely no hate to Julian Kostov, Makarov’s actor, he definitely did his job.

Unfortunately, that job was playing a random Russian man that happened to have the same name as the Vladimir Makarov from the original series. He’s literally just a dude. There’s nothing particularly menacing about him, nothing that really screams Leader of an Ultranationalist group, nothing that would set him apart in a line-up of kind-of-gruff white men. I wasn’t expecting him to be some over-the-top supervillain, but he feels too normal, too regular, too everyday. Maybe that was the point Activision was trying to make - that having a villain with too-sharp features, eyebrows with in-your-face arches, and two-toned eyes is realistically too much - but it feels like they leaned too far in the opposite direction to compensate.

How am I supposed to take Makarov seriously when they gave him such big, brown, babygirl eyes? Though I realize this may be a character model issue because everyone in this game seemed to have huge doe eyes at one point or another (looking directly at you and those unblinking baby blues, Soap).

The first time we get a proper cutscene with Makarov, he shoots one of his own men – one who had questioned his plan in the rescue mission – and he gives some passionate Make Russia Great Again speech that involves a lot of big gestures, promises of showing the world “true power”, and him being weirdly touchy with one of his men. It’s not a bad scene, and I think Julian really shines here as Makarov. It’s a little in-your-face for me, but overall not a bad introduction to what is supposed to be the overarching big bad for the rest of the series. It gives you a good enough sense of danger, and just enough worry for the main crew as they get ready to go up against this guy.

Unfortunately, the rest of the game doesn’t really follow through on that. Makarov spends more time monologuing, asking his men “philosophical” questions about prisoners and guards, and cryptically foreshadowing at the 141 than he does doing…anything. We are told about all of the bad deeds he’s done. We are told how evil he is. We are told that Makarov needs to be stopped at all costs. The only problem is, we aren’t shown any of that. We see the aftermath of Verdansk, a distant explosion after Makarov has been captured, but we never see Makarov do any of that. When we do get to see Makarov, his men are doing all of the dirty work while he stands around and looks evil. It’s his men fighting and killing guards to get him out of prison, his men attacking Farah and her soldiers, his men launching missiles topped with biochemicals, his men forcing Samara to blow up a plane, his men guarding Milena and his finances. The most he does during any of these scenes is order his men around and give evil villain speeches to give the audience exposition about why he’s doing all this.

We probably see more of Makarov’s shirtless Tinder pic than we see him in action.

In the original series, we see Makarov being at the forefront of his movement, unafraid to get his hands dirty. He is part of the group that commits the massacre/terrorist attack on Zakhaev International Airport, he kills the two FSO agents protecting President Vorshevsky, he’s the one who shoots and kills Yuri, and that’s only part of what we see in-game. Sure, we’re told about his other crimes, but we’re shown enough to back up the claims that he is evil. In this game, he kills two people himself, one of them being his own soldier that I mentioned earlier, and the other being Soap (and we’ll get to that later). Two extremely lackluster deaths that are over before you get the chance to really digest them. Maybe he kills more people during the intro mission when you rescue him, but it’s during gameplay and easily missed when you’re too busy trying to fight your way out of this Arkham-esque prison. I think I could look past it if he wasn’t also present during some of the scenes where his men are carrying out his atrocities for him, but instead, Activision chose to have him in the background standing there…menacingly.

I don’t want to say Makarov was a bad villain; he was certainly better than Shepherd and Graves. I just think Activision made very strange choices with his character that resulted in him becoming this weird mishmash of an average monologuing movie villain and the micromanaging boss that stands over your shoulder, and it took a lot of the “oomph” out of his character for me.

Soap's Death

I hope whoever made this decision at Activision has to live the rest of their life constantly feeling like they have to sneeze and are never able to. What the fuck happened here? In what world did Soap’s death make any kind of sense here? This felt like they knew fans were expecting someone to die (and they already retconned the yeehaw war criminal) so they put a bunch of names in a hat and had some poor unpaid intern pick one out.

I have not been quiet about how much death I wanted in this game. I expected at least two deaths, with one of them preferably being Price. Going into this I was prepared to lose characters, and I was prepared to lose them to a heroic sacrifice, to an exhaustingly epic gunfight, to an explosion in a clocktower, to literally anything, but I was not prepared to lose a character to bad writing. And that’s what Soap’s death was. There is no build-up to it throughout the game other than a cryptic, “I’ll see you again, MacTavish.” from Makarov in a flashback scene. There’s no exploration of Soap’s character arc, his background, his family. There’s nothing.

Price and Soap try to defuse a bomb, Makarov shows up and his men overpower them, Makarov goes for the kill on Price, and instead shoots Soap when Soap tries to stop him. The entire cutscene can be summed up as A Series Of Conveniences. Makarov conveniently gets to Soap and Price just as they’re about to defuse the bomb, the officers they have with them are conveniently incompetent to stop any of Makarov’s men, Makarov’s men conveniently don’t notice Soap getting up to stop him from shooting Price, Ghost and Gaz are conveniently one second too late save Soap, and a train conveniently passes by to let Makarov make his escape. It’s over in less than a minute, and there’s little to no reaction from the surviving 141 members before the game starts shoving in your face that there’s a bomb you have to defuse that has conveniently not gone off yet and was conveniently missed in all of the gunfire.

Aside from the bullshit way it happened, the most disappointing thing here was the cutting of Soap’s arc and the lack of reaction from Price, Ghost, and Gaz. There was no growth for Soap in this game, no building of his story that would make his death feel like a satisfying conclusion. We just got the same Soap we’ve had in the rest of the series, and then he was gone. And the fact that we got absolutely nothing from the team in that moment was so…frustrating. Yeah, Ghost kneels by his body, and gives a brief, “Johnny!” but that’s…it? Price says nothing. Gaz rushes to the bomb and says nothing. After that moment in the cutscene, Ghost says and does nothing. There’s not even a hitch in their voices as they finish disarming the bomb. In Soap’s original death, we got Price screaming and begging over his body. We got to see his grief and pain and hurt at losing someone so close to him. Here we get…them standing over the body, a cut to black, and then a funeral cutscene that doesn’t feel earned full of commiserations that feel empty, hollow, and generic.

Maybe I’m too nostalgic for the Captain MacTavish we had in the original series, and the death they gave him that was impactful enough that people still talk about it to this day. Maybe there’s something meaningful here that I’m not seeing. Or maybe Activision can’t write for shit and rushed Soap’s death without a care just like they rushed this game as a quick cash grab to ride the hype of MW2.

Whatever the reason, these characters deserved far better.

Soap deserved better.

And I deserved to see a rebooted Captain MacTavish.

Gameplay

This section is going to be short because I didn’t spend money on this game to actually play it, I only watched gameplay. The general consensus seems to be that this game is nothing but glorified DMZ, and I can’t disagree with that. Supposedly, at least two of the campaign settings were ripped straight from Warzone, the Gulag and Verdansk Stadium, and I think that really shows how much of this game was slapped together because Activision wanted to hurry to release so they could capitalize off the CoD hype as much as possible. The combat is the same in every mission, the air support mission is as boring as ever, the NPC AI is all over the place, and the character models constantly shift from being really good to mobile game bad within the same cutscene.

I’m not saying I could do better, but I don’t think I could do worse. You can take that however you’d like.

The Writing/Storyline

Starting off, I’m going to say this with my whole chest:

Main story content should be in the main story, and not in optional or additional content.

Look, I don’t mind an easter egg here and there in DLC. I don’t mind the mention of a big bad in an extra, paid quest to build up hype. What I do mind is when the understanding of the main storyline of your game is dependent on things that happen in content that players are required to complete outside of the main game.

Do you know how we found out Alex was alive? An optional Raid.

Do you know how we learned Graves was a little bitch and wasn’t in the tank? An optional Raid.

Do you know how we–

You get my point. These kinds of reveals should have been in the main storyline because they pertain to the main storyline. Otherwise, you have people reacting with confusion because the main campaign was all they played, and they were left under the assumption that Alex may or may not be dead, that Graves burned in that tank in Las Almas, that Farah’s brother (Remember him? Activision doesn’t.) was alive and out there somewhere, etc, etc. It feels like they’re trying to do what Marvel does when they interweave their cinematic universe with their television shows: leave references to things only the more committed audience - the audience who will watch every show, play every game, see every movie, buy every DLC - would understand while punishing everyone else. It feels lazy on Activision’s end, and cheapens any kind of suspense they may leave us with going forward.

I wouldn’t even be surprised to see something like “Oh, Soap died and Makarov escaped at the end of the main campaign? Just kidding! They revealed in the newest Raid that Soap actually survived, and Makarov got hit by that train at the end.”

Outside of that, the whole storyline just feels unnecessary. This whole game feels unnecessary. I know there are rumors that this was meant to be a DLC for MW2 that got extended into a full game because Activision wanted more money, and if I didn’t already believe that, the writing would confirm it for me. Nothing feels fleshed out. Not the story, not the plot, not the characters. It all feels very surface-level and shallow, like more of the exact same thing we got in the last game, but somehow worse. The banter between the 141 is just not there, the tell don’t show when it comes to Makarov, the rapid POV switching, it all feels so thrown together, so last minute, like the writers had no idea what they wanted to do up until release.

One thing that really bothered me was the constant death fakeouts. It felt like every mission something awful would happen and one character would be left with their fate unknown in a dramatic cut to black as a cheap way to build suspense…only for that suspense to be immediately undercut by showing them alive in the very next cutscene. This happens with Farah (twice), Price, Alex (partially, there’s no cut to black, but there is a fakeout that he has been captured), and Laswell all within the first half of the game. At some point, it starts to get irritating and kills any and all suspense going forward. I was spoiled on Soap’s death, I knew it was coming before I watched the cutscenes, but by the time I got there, I was almost expecting Soap to show up in the next sequence without a scratch on him. Up until that point, I had stopped caring when characters were in danger because the writing led me to believe everyone was safe. There’s a way to build suspense, and every writer understands that, a majority of the time, less is more, so I don’t get how this went so unbelievably wrong.

The characterization is also so weirdly off. In what world would John “Somebody has to make the enemy scared of the dark. We get dirty, and the world stays clean.” Price not immediately take a kill shot when he has Makarov in custody? Soap was ready to kill every person he talked to in this game, so why did he let Makarov live? Why would Gaz advocate for giving Shepherd a gun after his multiple betrayals that he shows no remorse for? Why would Farah continue to begrudgingly work with Graves after learning about Las Almas? Why is Makarov over-explaining his plans to his victims?

I’m not saying I expect Shakespeare-level writing from a Call of Duty game, but I expect something better than whatever this is.

I don’t know who Activision hired for their writing team, but there are so many instances here where I almost have to believe that they may not have hired one at all.

Overall Thoughts

I wish I had a time machine so I could go back to who I was before I watched this campaign. This whole game was nothing but a DLC lazily stretched to two hours with assets taken from other games and a storyline that was slapped together using blindfolds, a dartboard, and too much alcohol. Please do not use your money to buy this game. Your money would be much better spent donating to help Palestine.

#moth talks #game got me so heated i'm using proper grammar and punctuation and shit #call of duty #modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare 3 #modern warfare iii #call of duty mw3 #call of duty mwiii #cod mwiii #tw: racism #tw: islamophobia

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kittycatlukey · 4 months

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“I Love You.” — L.K.

Tagging @alespov ✨

Leon Kennedy x Fem Reader

Part 1/1

Warning: mild language, violence, usage of weapons, death, angst, and some RE4 spoilers!

You and Leon were good friends. Replace good with best. You two confided in each other, protected one another, and were in love but it was left unspoken. But it was obviously felt. There was a pull between you that couldn’t be denied. And anyone with a pair of eyes could see you and Leon cared for each other. You would die if it meant keeping the other alive. That’s what love is supposed to be, right?

“I’ve been waiting for you, rookie.” Krauser flipped his knife in the air and caught it. “Oh, worried about the girl, is that it? Hmm, that’s just like you. You always had poor judgment. You’d better be worried about the one beside you too.” He chuckled, taunting Leon. “But if you think I’m going to let both of you out of here alive… you’re even more naive than I thought. You can’t save them. You can’t save anyone!”

Your heart was pounding against your chest as you stood beside Leon.

“Give it up, Krauser!” Leon yelled at him. “Being a lackey for these maniacs… won’t bring your men back. And what the hell for? Revenge on the government? You think they would want that?”

“Revenge? You think I’m doing all this… for revenge?” Krauser asked Leon, looking down at him.

“Isn’t that what this is all about?” Leon questioned.

“You see, in that jungle, I had a revelation. The most important thing in this world is pure, unadulterated power! Los Iluminados have given me that.” Krauser stated.

Leon responded in retaliation, “You know, you were always an asshole. But at least you had some kind of code, some honor! And look at you now.”

“Enough reminiscing. Move out and draw fire, soldier.” Krauser did a backflip and drew on Leon with his assault rifle.

And for some reason, time didn’t slow, it felt as if time quickened. As soon as I seen Krauser had his gun aimed at Leon, I moved in front of him. I had moved just at the right time.

And I had been shot, taking not one but three bullets for Leon. One hit my left shin, another hit my left thigh, and the last one hit the right side of my stomach.

In that moment, I felt my entire body go numb. I couldn’t feel anything as Leon dragged me behind cover. He then ripped parts of his t-shirt off in an attempt to stop my bleeding, but we both knew it would be futile.

“Y/N, why would you do that?! Taking bullets for me?! Are you crazy?!” Leon had shouted, tears evident in his now reddened eyes.

“I would never let you die, Leon.” I murmured, feeling light headed already. “Get up and kill that sick son of a bitch. I’ll be fine for now.”

Leon nodded, the color had already left his face.

“And hey.” I grabbed his hand, staring into his ocean blue eyes. “I love you, Leon.”

“Y/N… I love you.” Leon spoke, his voice wavering. “I’m sorry.”

And with that, he had went to fight Krauser. The last thing I heard before I passed out was Krauser’s voice.

“Better run, rookie!”

~~~~

My body was shaken until my eyes opened. My eyes fluttered openly slowly; they felt so heavy. At first, my vision was blurry. My eyes took a long time to focus but once they did, I noticed Leon was the one above me.

“You have to stay alive. Please. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.” He pleaded before his bloody, calloused hands released my shoulders and cradled my face.

I wasn’t sure if the blood on his hands were mine, his, or Krauser’s. Maybe even a combination of the three.

“Goddamnit, stay awake!” His loud voice forced my eyes open again that I didn’t realize I had closed again.

“L-Leon. I don’t know how much longer I can stay… Just know… that I’ve loved y-you for a long, long time.” I told him weakly. “I’d do anything for you.”

Leon had tears rolling down his face. “I know. And I’d do anything for you… I’ve loved you for a long, long time too.”

I smiled when he said that. Even though I was dying from blood loss, I was the happiest I’d ever been knowing he felt the same way about me, and that he was getting to live. I didn’t care if it costed my life. I had nothing left to lose.

“You killed Krauser?”

He nodded.

“Good. I knew you could.” I replied before closing my eyes again. At this point the numbness had worn off and I could feel each bullet where they were lodged inside me. It felt like my whole body was on fire. “G-Go save Ashley. P-Please.” I spoke but it was barely a whisper. I don’t even know if it was even audible.

“No, no. Please stay with me, Y/N.” Leon pleaded once again, caressing my face. “I love you.”

It hurt me that he sounded so helpless and sad.

“Don’t die on me!” Leon shouted trying to wake me up again.

And this time, I had no choice but to let go…

~~~~

This was a sad one… Sorry about my writing being rusty. I haven’t written anything in about six months. Hope you all liked it though! Love you all! 🫶

If anyone is wondering, college is going great! It’s hard and stressful, but so fun. Just turned 20, and I start clinicals in May. I made the President’s List (4.0 GPA with at least 12 credit hours) each semester I’ve been going. I have some good friends, and have been staying very busy with homework and studying. I have a very important exam that I’ll have to start studying for so send me some positive vibes! They’re very much appreciated. Then my boards will be coming up. But it’ll all be worth it in the end! I graduate this year: December 2024! So excited about that! 🤍🩺🫀

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randomyuu · 1 year

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A JJK GoYuu fancomic... of a fanfic (read right to left)

You know… despite me getting into JJK fandom this year, I’ve never drawn any JJK characters. (cue me drawing 9 whole-ass comic pages-)

This wonderful fic is titled (you'll whisper, serpent tongue) what you fear you have become by @voxofthevoid. This comic covers chapter 1 scenes.

Beware of the tags, as the fanfic is NSFW. Oh, and also, manga spoilers! Major character and arc spoilers! I’ve read until chapter 4 and no NSFW so far, but still, beware!

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43446157/chapters/109219954

I hope you enjoy reading this comic and the fanfic if you decide to!

Update: Chapter 6 scene fanart

More of my random thoughts and an early drawing of GoYuu below:

Have I told you I’m not used to drawing manga as well? Manga panels are pain. PAIN, I tell you. I shouldn’t have done this, but I did. I did, because every time I read the synopsis of this fic I keep picturing manga-like scenes. You should blame me for reading those AllYuu doujinshis.

It was… interesting experience. I was struggling a bit with the balloon consistency, like, do I use white boxes or just italic words for thoughts? Or maybe a balloon with a cloud-like border?

And there’s GoYuu (YuuGo? Idk honestly, don’t care lol) themselves. As I said, I literally have never drawn JJK-related content before. So when I started thinking about the panelling, I realised that I don’t really know how to draw Gojo, even more a thousand-year-old Yuuji. A whole day is spent researching Gojo, Yuuji and Sukuna’s appearances lol. Sukuna’s markings are a problem since I can’t find a full view of his markings. I know I can just finally watch the anime (yes I haven’t watched the anime, only some short clips; yes I know the animation is good, and I really want to watch it but my brain doesn’t want to) or re-read the manga, but I don’t want to ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

After going through Google images, Twitter and Reddit, I whipped up a front drawing of GoYuu as my reference:

Gojo’s is easier because he hasn’t changed from the official (I blatantly eyeballing the character sheet I found haha), but Yuuji is different. Yuuji’s hair is longer; if I recall, there’s no exact description of his clothes. I assume he’s topless due to this description: Messy pink hair, long enough to cover the creature’s nape but not to hide the segmented dark markings running down his back, shifts in the wind.

And halfway through storyboarding, I realised that I have no experience using screen tones. Whatsoever. So off I go searching for a screentone bundle I can freely download and slowly figure my way out after fully lining the page.

And we haven’t even touched perspective, background, achromatic colouring, non-human characters—man, I really bite more than I can chew lmaooo

Ah, the things you would do to satiate that drawing mood ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Also, I hope I’ll have time to draw more fanarts of JJK GoYuu fanfics because they live rent-free in my brain and I need them to get out. Maybe other pairings as well? I like quite a lot of pairings that involve Yuuji. He’s precious, and I love having it shown to me over and over through fanfics.

#Yuu's art #jjk-fic-fanart #jjk-ship #goyuu #fan comic #omg idk what to put here #attempting at manga-ing #is that even a word #jjk ship #fanart #unrelated to this but I was so tired that I didn't notice two mistakes in the title lol #fixed them though #jjk fic #五悠 #5u #gojo x yuji #gojou x yuuji #gojo x itadori #goyu

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commander-krios · 6 months

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Long Rest

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: f!Tav/Rolan Rating: General Summary: The final long rest before the battle with Ketheric Thorm brings a lot of fear and doubt, but there might be something worth hoping for. Or maybe someone. Words: 2000 Additional Tags: Act 2 spoilers, Flirting, Banter, Friendship, Tiefling Tav, Bard Tav, Developing relationship

Read on AO3

The night was the clearest it’d been since they’d entered the Shadow-Cursed Lands, the air feeling less oppressive, the mood much less grim. The rescue of both the gnomes and tieflings was successful, happy reunions making what was to come a little easier to bear.

Her nails plucked at the strings of her lute, the sound reverberating through her bones. A soft and sad melody was the only song she was capable of. Closing her eyes, she let the tune carry her mind far away from the Last Light Inn, from the troubles of her companions, or the threat of her tadpole. A cool breeze shifted her hair over her shoulder, the strands soft against her skin.

Her ears picked up the sounds of the night, of the clinking of goblets, of the laughter of friends and lovers. One last night before reality brought them to heel, before the fear they all hid behind smiles and soft caresses undid them.

She needed to rest soon. The impending battle against Ketheric was going to be difficult, she was sure of that, but with the Nightsong on their side, with his invulnerability reversed, they finally had a chance. But if she was being honest at all with herself, she doubted there was much of a chance of her sleeping.

Chatter drifted to where she sat, her legs dangling over the edge of the inn’s second floor deck, a world away from the merriment of the night before a battle. It was comforting in its own way, normal. She hadn’t enjoyed normal in so long.

“You look as bored as I feel.”

Juniper glanced up, a smile already on her lips when her eyes settled on Rolan standing awkwardly a few feet away, watching her through the dark with glowing yellow eyes. “Is that so?”

“Unless I’m interrupting something important, I was hoping to speak with you. Before you run off to save more unsuspecting people, that is.”

The sarcasm was not lost on her, but the familiar drone of his voice was comforting in a way she hadn’t expected. The feeling was not unwelcome.

Patting the empty spot beside her, she waited for Rolan to sit, adjusting his robes as he did so. When he finally looked in her direction, she grinned at him conspiratorially, enjoying how quickly his eyes slanted in suspicion. “What can I do for the magnificent Rolan?”

He huffed a laugh, hands resting flat against the wooden deck. He was silent, studying the people gathered. He struck a lovely profile, strong nose and jaw outlined in lamp light. Juniper found she couldn’t glance away. For all he complained about everyone, especially his siblings, Rolan cared for the people around him more than he was willing to admit.

After another moment, Rolan released a sigh. “I was an insufferable ass. Thank you, again, for letting Lia know how awfully I behaved. I’m sure to never hear the end of it.” His tone was chiding, but the small upturn of his lips was enough for her to know he was only teasing.

Strange. She didn’t think he was capable of such lightheartedness. Another pleasant surprise.

“You clearly care about them, Rolan. Deeply. Grief and fear make people act irrationally. There is no need to apologize.” She bumped his shoulder with hers gently, watching as his body swayed with the movement.

“You’re the most irritating bard I’ve ever met.” He muttered before returning his gaze to her, taking in every detail of her face in seconds. She could only imagine what he saw when he looked at her: dark freckles over lavender-grey skin, a deep scar across her cheek, strange blue eyes that she didn’t even know how she’d inherited.

Even among the tieflings, she felt like a stranger.

Juniper averted her eyes, trying to distract herself with her lute, but no song would come.

“But-” He continued, suddenly softer, almost as if he sensed the direction of her thoughts. “You’re also my favorite, if that means anything. You’re much too kind to me after how I acted.”

Her cheeks warmed and she realized, perhaps a little late, that she was blushing. She hadn’t done that in years. With a breathless laugh, she reached out before thinking, resting her hand on his arm and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Alfira won’t take offense to that?”

“To what?” His eyes were focused on where she was touching him. It took him a moment to realize what she meant and he let out a laugh, a real smile finally curling his lips. “Ah, well, let’s just say that Alfira will be glad to know that I find someone else more bothersome than her.”

“I can’t tell if I’m supposed to be flattered or offended.” Juniper released her hold on his arm and immediately missed his warmth. She ran her fingers across the strings of her lute, the sound calming her nerves. “And where do I rank in regards to Cal and Lia?”

“Getting closer to the top of the list the more you speak.”

A bark of laughter escaped her mouth before she could stop it. “Oh! Was that a joke?”

Rolan chuckled, but couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “It’s not a good place to be if you ask my siblings.”

“I don’t know, Rolan. I like the idea of being on your mind.” She paused in disbelief at the words that came from her mouth. Trying to cover the slip, she blurted out the first thing that came to her. “I… someone should remember me after all of this.”

She felt his gaze on her even as she turned to stare out over the inn’s grounds. Halsin and Jaheira were in the midst of a deep conversation, most likely about the upcoming battle. Astarion was drinking something with Shadowheart, the two of them laughing about something that had caught their eye. Karlach was standing outside the forge with Dammon and Wyll, the latter trying testing a new saber in his hand. Juniper didn’t see Gale or Lae’zel among them, but they were most likely preparing for battle in their own ways.

Rolan cleared his throat, but she refused to look at him, heat burning her cheeks again. “I’m sure many people out there will remember the woman who saved their lives.”

“None of them know me.” She muttered and for the first time since she came upstairs, Juniper felt sad for how things had happened. The tadpole in her head was only getting stronger, the fight getting more desperate, the fear that had gripped her at the start of her journey feeding upon itself. But the tiefling beside her didn’t need to hear any of that. It wasn’t his burden no matter how much she wished it was. Instead, she forced a smile, plucking the strings of her lute in a silly tune that only made her heart hurt more. “It doesn’t matter. We do what we must for those we care about, don’t we?”

Rolan shifted, tilting his head towards her, those eyes of his burning in the dark. “Yes, we do.”

The two of them sat in the following silence, Juniper watching her friends enjoy their evening, Rolan lost in his thoughts as he sat beside her. Her fingers plucked her lute again, the music and her strange new friend’s presence the only solace she had in these last moments. Maybe, this small slice of peace was all she deserved, after everything.

If so, Juniper would treasure it until the end.

The melancholy mood must’ve pierced him too because Rolan tapped his fingers against the wood, a drumming that almost made her smile again. “Speaking of those we care about… Since you wouldn’t accept coin for rescuing my wayward siblings, I got you a gift.”

“Your presence is gift enough for me, Rolan.”

Ignoring her, which she supposed was fair, he reached into the bag at his side, digging around as if searching for something. She watched him, lute silent as she wondered what in the world he was looking for. “Of course it is. I realize that, but I will never hear the end of Lia’s incessant complaints if I didn’t give you something.” Rolan produced a small disk of tempered metal from the bag before holding it out to her. Taking the object from him, the metal was cool against her skin, parts of it raised while other sections were smooth. Tiny sapphires glinted in the torchlight and she turned it to study the shape it formed in the center. A tree of some sort, tall and strong with bunched branches.

Her heart thudded against her ribs as she realized what it was. A Juniper tree.

“I couldn’t find anything that fit you. Not in the way you deserved. So I commissioned Dammon to create something different.” He paused as she turned it in her hand, the lanterns bathing the iron in a golden glow. “It’s a brooch for your cloak. I… uh… placed a warding spell on it. To protect you when you go with the Harpers to Moonrise.”

No one had ever made her a gift before. With a laugh that sounded a bit breathless even to her own ears, she glanced away from the beautiful gift to only find an even more lovely sight watching her through the darkness.

Rolan was smiling.

“Can’t have the savior of Faerun die on us, now can we?” His fingers plucked the brooch from her hand, raising an eyebrow expectantly. He still exuded his usual arrogance, but there was something softer in those molten eyes as he waited for her to respond.

Juniper nodded her head once, tongue tied, unsure of what she was agreeing to but she doubted she’d be able to find her voice even if she wanted to. When Rolan moved closer, her heart rate increased, the heat from his body comforting, almost like a warm hearth on a cold Baldurian winter day. She resisted the urge to touch him, her fingers digging into the wood of her lute, nerves and something else stilling her.

Rolan easily removed her current pin, something that she’d picked up in the Grove a lifetime ago, before dropping it on her lap. With a flourish that was definitely him showing off, he readjusted the cloak around her shoulders, fingers deftly securing his gift there instead. She felt the cool magic of the warding spell against her skin, and her heart felt lighter at the sensation.

When he pulled away, he was still grinning, and she felt something stir in her chest at the sight. “I hope you like it.”

“I like it when you smile.”

The words tumbled from her mouth before she realized, but she refused to take them back. Rolan wasn’t always to get along with, and maybe she did tease him more than he deserved, but she saw the man beneath the mask. He had more to lose than she did and she was proud of how much he was willing to do to protect that.

Rolan’s mouth dropped open slightly, brushing his hand against his neck nervously, eyes darting anywhere but her face. “Oh, thanks? That’s considerate of you to say.”

Juniper’s fingers brushed against the iron brooch at her throat, the magic there tingling against her skin. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Rolan. I’d like to see you smile more.”

Rolan coughed a laugh, finally managing to meet her eyes. “Once I’m in Baldur’s Gate, I will. But… you should visit me once you arrive. If you have time, of course. It’d be nice to see you outside of a life or death situation.”

She didn’t know if he understood what his words meant to her, but Juniper returned his words with a grin, hands refusing to stop touching his gift. It would bring her comfort in these difficult times. “I will, Rolan. It’ll be nice to see you in your element.”

She found she couldn’t wait for that day.

#my writing #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #rolan #bg3 rolan #tav #bg3 tav #rolan x tav #tav x rolan #tav: juniper #juniper x rolan #tiefling tav #bard tav

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iluvmissmaximoff · 5 months

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I don’t understand us

This is part two to “I’m confused about us” tho it can be read alone,

Tags: fem!reader oral(f) receiving, spanking as punishment, crying reader, no real spoilers to the show, mean!billy, no use of y/n (I can’t do it! 😭) also this is kinda short but I’m writing two other stories rn. (Also this is not proofread)hope yall enjoy!

I’m still… confused about us. You thought as the cowboy bellow you ate you out like a starving man. But as good as it felt you couldn’t help thinking about how much your ass hurt since he had just smacked the shit out of it.

Your relationship with Billy made you torn. One second he was absolutely mean to you, pulling you over his knee for doing literally nothing. didn’t fold your panties? that did it. Didn’t do your homework right? That did it. Cussing when you stumped your toe? That fucking did it,

Sometimes it made you mad how he acted “is he not man enough to just ask me to be with him?” You thought, no he’s probably the manliest man I know. Than what is it?

Knock knock knock.

You heard as Billy hit your door, he usually just opens it but yesterday he walked in on you changing, he blushed so hard, you laughed thinking about that moment. Yes? You said as you opened your door. I’ve got to go out tomorrow so I won’t be back till early morning. You sighed internally. Billy was always going out at random times. But I guess that’s better than him having a real job and being gone every day.

The first time he went out he told you

“Don’t even think about sneaking out because I will know about it” he said dominantly. You laughed it off thinking there was no way he could actually find out about it. You didn’t go far. You actually just went down to the edge of the fence like 10ft from the house and pet the horses. Sometimes you wonder why the horses were always coming and going. Never seeing the same one more than twice usually.

But of course, the minute he got home he came up to your room. Hey when did you get back- you tried to ask but were cut off.

As he grabbed your face, not harshly enough to hurt you but it wasn’t pleasant. Why can’t you just listen?! He said with a bite in his tone.

I told you to stay inside. But no. only good girls listen. Your a bad one. ain’t cha? He said, letting go of your face. His words brought tears to your eyes. While your still defiantly a ‘’brat’’ as billy calls it. Sometimes your just not in the mood to have someone upset with you.

You sigh. Looking him in the eyes. Billy I-ugh its not a big deal. I was basically 5 ft from the house.you said sighing. Not a big deal? Little girl.

I decide what’s a big deal or not. He said darkly. And I say you disobeyed me. And since you did that you earned your self a good longgg spanking. He said with a condescending smile on his face.

I- billy your so damn mean, you said slightly pouting. Mean? Oh honey, ill show you mean. He said in a scary dark tone.

And boy did he. He made you sob over his lap by using your hairbrush. When you first started crying you heard him laughing. Above you. Is this his idea of fun? Making me cry? You asked yourself. The thought of it made you mad. So you rebelliously kicked your feet, something you had never done before. This… did not make things better for you. He just started smacking your ass a bit harder.

When it was finally over he gently picked you up and put you on your bed. You were still sobbing because your bottom hurt. And you were still upset billy had laughed at you. The whole spanking thing was embarrassing enough without him laughing at you. (you were also incredibly wet)

You had turned away from him as he sat on your bed. Usually billy tried to console you a little bit. Even though he wasn’t very good at it.

But you shrugged his hand off when he placed it on your shoulder. Stop that honey. He said in a much sweeter tone than before.

No go away. you said ,your voice muffled by the fact that you had your face shoved in your pillow. Sweetheart non of this would happen if you would just obey me. I shouldn’t hav to obey you! You said shooting up from your spot on the bed. You don lemme do nothing. You said with a slight lisp in your voice from crying so hard. I- I can’t even go outside. You said in a whisper. Ugh honey. Everything I do is to protect you. I’m not exactly a loved man around these parts, and I and can’t have anyone thinking they should use you to get to me. Ok? He asked.

You sighed, ok .you agreed. But quickly turned back over into the pillow giving the illusion you were still upset at him.

Now girl. He said in a laughing tone. What is it gon take for you to forgive me?

And that’s how we ended up here. With you grinding your face down on his nose like there’s no tomorrow. He didn’t mind, he defiantly didn’t mind

But you still didn’t understand your relationship. Some nights he had his face buried deep in your cunt, and sometimes he scolded you like a child or yanked you over his knee if you upset him. I don’t understand us. But oh well.

Ok that’s part two! I really like writing for billy but I really want to write for my true love. ✨Finnick✨ I’ve been in love with his character since we first saw him. Tho I write him kinda ooc and like to go a darker route so be prepared for that lol. But comment if y’all want anything else to be added into the next part. Love y’all! #-lanawrites<3

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #tom blyth #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #no y/n #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #save a horse ride a cowboy

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 1 year

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Theory: Eldred is not Cardan's father

Listen. I don’t know if anyone has said this before, but I’ve been mulling this over for a while now, so I’m going to throw it to the void before The Stolen Heir comes out, for posterity.

Buckle up, folks and Folk. I’m monologuing.

(PLEASE DO NOT INCLUDE TSH SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS/REBLOGS/TAGS AS I HAVE NOT READ IT, AND WILL NOT BE ABLE TO READ IT UNTIL 8th JAN 2023!)

A big caveat of this theory is that I have basically no solid evidence for this apart from a few faint dots vaguely connected through a strange fog. But I am nothing if not someone who will scrounge around in the dirt for answers. So let’s get some filth under our fingernails.

(I promise it will maybe make sense. Eventually)

I. EPISTOLARY SEMANTICS

Much of this theory centres around the note Jude steals for Dain from Hollow Hall in The Cruel Prince. It reads:

“I know the provenance of the blusher mushroom that you ask after, but what you do with it must not be tied to me. After this, I consider my debt paid. Let my name be stricken from your lips.” (TCP, p.115)

There are so many layers to this note, but I’ll start on the surface level before digging deeper.

When Jude gives the note to Dain, he reads it, then says, “So he’s blackmailing Queen Orlagh” (TCP, p.123). During a first read, one would think Dain is implying that Balekin is blackmailing Orlagh, since Jude stole the note from Balekin’s study, and that Orlagh is the one who wrote the letter to the eldest Greenbriar child.

And no one questions it, because Jude even makes this supposition herself.

But my question is this: Why would Balekin be blackmailing Orlagh? We learn in The Wicked King that they are very much allies, and as far as I’m aware, blackmailing isn’t something you typically do to your allies.

My other question is: Why do we assume that Orlagh is the one that wrote the letter? Because Dain said so? We know him to be unreliable at best, manipulator at worst.

During a second read, one might realise that Dain is in fact being tricky here. He knows exactly who and what this note is referring to. But he’s deliberately trying to lead the Court of Shadows to the wrong conclusion, because the right one would reveal his guilt, as shown in the latter part of The Cruel Prince when Jude figures out Dain poisoned Liriope with blusher mushroom.

The way Dain is able to lead us off track without lying is through implication alone. This is why he’s not specific about who is blackmailing Orlagh. He just says someone is (a likely statement, considering Orlagh’s title) and that someone might be a man (plausible enough).

Thus, the sentence “He’s blackmailing Orlagh” can still be a perceived truth, and we are only ascribing it to the note because it is the closest context.

But we find out later that Dain’s statement has nothing to do with the note, since the note is about Liriope’s poisoning.

After having read TCP [redacted] times, one might begin to think: Is Orlagh even the sender of this correspondence? And if not, who is? And what does the note mean if we’re giving it a different context/sender?

For this, we have to peruse the parts of the sentences written in the note.

A. “Provenance”

For me, this phrase has always seemed a bit strange when referring to blusher mushrooms.

The word “provenance”, as most people recognise it, is used to describe the place from which a particular thing or subset of things comes from (i.e. the provenance of “Champagne” is Champagne, France, and the provenance of “Iranian rugs” is Iran, etc.).

So when we put it in the context of blusher mushrooms, as the note does, it seems to be saying there is a particular place where one can find blusher mushrooms, and the recipient is trying to acquire them for one reason or another.

But Jude, when first dabbling in mithridatism, describes picking blusher mushroom in the palace gardens (p.148-150, TCP). So if Balekin was planning on acquiring the poison, he needn’t look farther than the palace itself.

Which says, to me, that acquiring blusher mushroom for his own purposes wasn’t the subject of Balekin’s original inquiry, since it is common enough for a seventeen-year-old girl to find on her walk to school.

Additionally, the sender says “the provenance of the blusher mushroom”, when “the provenance of blusher mushroom” would be more grammatically correct if the sender was indeed informing Balekin about where he could get the poison.

Implying that they are referring to a single specific blusher mushroom. Perhaps, the very one which poisoned Liriope.

Which means, “provenance”, as it is used in the note, could be referring to the less common definition: “record of ownership”.

My guess is, Balekin asked the sender of the note if they knew who killed Liriope with blusher mushroom. The sender, wanting to remain cryptic in case the message was intercepted, phrased their confirmation so only the person who knew the full context of the message would be able to understand it.

Leading me to believe the sender may be saying, “I know who owned/used the blusher mushroom that you’re asking about”.

B. “It”

Here’s another tricky thing about English grammar: sometimes the subject that “it” refers to can be a group of things.

We might assume right off the bat that “What you do with it” means “What you do with the blusher mushroom”. But, given the previous specification, our sender might actually just mean “What you do with this information must not be tied back to me.”

Essentially, “Don’t tell anyone I told you this but I know who Liriope’s murderer is.”

C. “Let my name be stricken from your lips.”

To me, this last sentence of the note wreaks of faerie bargain.

The sender mentioned they had a debt to pay Balekin, and after divulging who poisoned Liriope, they would consider that debt paid.

But why not just leave the message at that? They already basically said, “Don’t tell anyone I told you this”, so this sentence seems redundant if not included for an ulterior purpose.

It could be a dramatic sign off. More likely, though, it’s a final clause of some bargain made previous to this message. Such as, “You owe me. Tell me who poisoned Liriope and I’ll never speak your name again.”

Either way, it sounds like the sender does not want to be tied to Balekin in any way (understandable tbh).

***This line is important for later, so remember this.***

~~~

So, after these specifications have been made, the note reads:

“I know who owned/used the blusher mushroom to poison Liriope, but what you do with this information must not be traced back to me. After this, I consider my debt paid. As per our bargain, you’re not to speak of me again.”

II. THE SENDER OF THE LETTER

There are many people who could’ve sent this letter. So let’s narrow it down.

Since the letter is in Balekin’s study, we could surmise that it is something Balekin has written and plans on sending. But Jude describes it as being written in “an elegant, feminine hand” (TCP, p.115).

Which doesn’t necessarily rule Balekin out as the sender, but I’m thinking it is much more likely he is the recipient, and that the sender is a woman.

The sender also knows who killed Liriope, so they probably know why Liriope was poisoned, as well. Meaning, they would have had to have ties to her—whether in proximity or in intimacy.

Oriana mentions in TCP that she and Liriope were close friends. She also tells Jude that she knew about Liriope and Dain’s affair.

However, in this same conversation, Jude asks Oriana if she knew Dain was the one who poisoned Liriope, and this is her response:

“Oriana shakes her head. ‘Not for a long time. It could have been another of Eldred’s lovers. Or Balekin—there were rumours he was the one responsible. I even wondered if it could have been Eldred, if he had poisoned her for dallying with his son. But then Madoc discovered Dain had obtained the blusher mushroom. He insisted I never let Oak be anywhere near the prince.’ ”(TCP, pp. 294-295)

Since faeries cannot lie, the truth must be that Oriana is not the one that knew who poisoned Liriope.

And since the letter is left unsigned, Dain attributes its origins to the Queen of the Undersea.

Here’s why I don’t think Orlagh sent this message:

Orlagh is seen in cahoots with Balekin plenty throughout the series. Yet, the sender of this message implies they want nothing to do with the eldest prince, and furthermore explicitly tells Balekin to never speak their name again. If Orlagh were the sender of this note, we would not have much of the scenes which take place in the Undersea during Jude’s kidnapping in The Wicked King.

Orlagh is the Queen of the Undersea. Why would she know or care about the details of a murder of one of the High King of Elfhame’s lovers?

Orlagh also has no ties to Liriope, or Dain for that matter, so why would Balekin go to Orlagh for information regarding Liriope’s murder?

But do you know who does have ties to Liriope, who might also have reason not to want Balekin to speak their name ever again?

Lady Asha.

So how exactly does Lady Asha have ties to Liriope?

It is common knowledge that they were both lovers of the High King. Asha could’ve known of Liriope’s affair with Dain because of their proximity at court. She was also known for being a lover of gossip and secrets. It’s not too surprising that she might know of Liriope’s secret.

But how does Lady Asha know that Dain specifically poisoned Liriope? And why might she want to sever her ties with Balekin?

Let me back track for a moment.

III. EMERALDS FOR HEIRS?

In the prologue of The Queen of Nothing, Lady Asha receives a heavy necklace of emeralds for her “contribution to the Greenbriar line”.

In The Cruel Prince, when Jude is dressing in Liriope’s clothes for the party at Locke’s estate, Locke offers her his mother’s jewels, specifically a heavy necklace made of emeralds (TCP, p. 168).

At first, when I noticed this connection, I thought emeralds must be Eldred’s standard gift given to any mother who births a Greenbriar heir.

But if you recall, Locke wasn’t born to Eldred, and Liriope would have had to receive the necklace while she was still alive, meaning Oak had not yet been born.

It is significant that both of these women have necklaces of emeralds, for the meaning of emeralds—amongst loyalty, love, and strength—is truth.

“A revealer of truths, emerald reputedly could cut through all illusions and spells, including the truth or falsity of a lover’s oath.” (International Gem Society)

Indeed, it’s curious that the only other person known to possess a string of emeralds similar to the one Lady Asha receives in QON, is Liriope.

Liriope, who, to common knowledge, never had a royal child with the High King. Liriope, who, through the events of TCP, we know to have been having an affair with Dain while still in the High King’s favour.

Liriope, who, like Lady Asha, met an unfortunate fate.

If emeralds represent the falsity of a lover’s oath, and Liriope possessed such a necklace before her passing, it could be that the emeralds Asha received were less a gift as much as they were a warning.

One that Asha was either too arrogant or too oblivious to figure out when she first received them, but that she might've pieces together after Liriope's death.

IV. PUNISHMENT BY PROXY

In the prologue of Queen of Nothing, the narrator informs us that Cardan’s punishment for “killing” a mortal man was that his mother was locked in the Tower of Forgetting.

It’s unsurprising that a mother should shoulder the blame for the crimes of her royal son, but this seems like a steep price to pay for the death of someone only tangentially related to the High King’s concerns.

It wasn’t even a lover of Eldred’s own who was killed. It was the lover of his lover/seneschal.

Incarcerating Asha because her son allegedly killed the lover of the High King’s lover feels like an overreaction. Why not simply cast Asha from the court? Or send her to the mortal lands?

Unless…

The High King suspected (or knew) that Lady Asha had committed some other serious offense against him, but had no sufficient evidence to lock her away. Or perhaps he did not want to risk the humiliation that would ensue if everyone at court found out that Lady Asha had been dallying with his son at the same time as she was his own lover.

And, to give her what he thought she deserved without inciting speculation from the court, used the excuse of Cardan killing the mortal to finally serve justice.

Furthermore, we know Cardan and his mother were not close. We know Asha did not raise Cardan as normal mothers do. Why is sending Cardan’s mother to prison a punishment to him?

Other than a small blot on his reputation (upon which, there are many, much larger blots), Asha’s punishment by proxy largely shouldn’t effect Cardan.

It seems as if Cardan’s true punishment was being virtually disowned by his father, and banished from living in the Palace of Elfhame.

Meaning, Asha’s punishment wasn’t really Cardan’s, but her own.

V. THE DEBT

In the letter Jude stole from Balekin’s desk, a “debt”, which has been paid through the information provided, is mentioned. If Asha sent this letter, what debt could she possibly owe Balekin?

Well, for starters, he did raise her son when no one else would.

Though, it’s unclear to me when in the timeline Asha wrote the letter and when she was imprisoned, if this is the aforementioned debt, Asha would’ve had to have written the letter after she’d been sent to the Tower of Forgetting. Because her being sent to the Tower was the catalyst for Balekin raising Cardan.

This debt also begs the question: Why would Balekin offer to raise Cardan?

Surely having Lady Asha, an incarcerated ex-lover of the High King, in his debt isn’t so valuable as the immense responsibility of raising a child he has no obligation to.

Which points to a motive that indicates perhaps Balekin does have an obligation to this child.

When Madoc kills Eva and Justin in the prologue of TCP, he takes Jude and Taryn in, claiming it as his “duty” after he rendered them parentless. We know the fae value their honour, and so even someone as opprobrius as Balekin might be subject to upholding duty in the face of a faerie child’s mother being sent to prison.

But as we know, he did not cause Lady Asha’s detainment (Dain did). So where is this sudden sense of duty coming from? None of the other Greenbriar siblings seemed to have the same moral inclination.

Balekin taking Cardan in could be purely out of selfish motives. Such as, being able to shape Cardan to his will, which he might then use in a potential coup.

But it could be that, through everything, Balekin has an inkling of an idea that Cardan might not be his brother, but his son.

There is another debt which is possible in relation to the letter if it was sent prior to Lady Asha’s imprisonment. But for this, we must consider why Lady Asha would want her name to be stricken from Balekin’s lips in the first place.

The most obvious answer to this which I could think of is that Lady Asha knows she has committed treason by sleeping with Balekin, the High King’s son, and claiming their child as one of the High King’s own, staking her place at court as higher than is deserved, while also playing the High King for a fool.

So the debt could simply be that Lady Asha, seeing what happened to Liriope and knowing what happens to lovers of the High King after being found adulterous, wanted Balekin to never be able to speak of their affair ever again.

Balekin, not being of the sort to do things for other people without a price, might have said that he’d agree to this if she offered him information that he wanted. After she gave it to him, their bargain would be complete, and Balekin would henceforth never be able to speak Lady Asha’s name.

Regardless of which debt is the truth, indeed, I do believe we do not hear Balekin utter Asha’s name once throughout the course of the series. Despite the fact that it is almost certain they knew each other before.

VI. PRIOR ENTANGLEMENT

How do we know that Asha and Balekin knew each other well enough to be sending letters like this back and forth to each other, if we are not yet certain that they had an affair?

In the prologue of TCP, Madoc states that he didn’t believe it when Balekin told him his wife and child were not dead, but living in the mortal world. This indicates that Balekin had knowledge of how Eva faked her death.

Now, we could owe this to the presence of spies at court. It’s likely that Balekin has his own hoard of spies, as do most of the prominent figures in Eflhame.

Or we could consider that perhaps Lady Asha, who is the other person confirmed to have known that Eva faked her death (TWK, p.129), was Balekin’s informant on this matter.

After receiving this information, he was then able to pass it on to Madoc in order to gain his trust (with the ulterior motive that Madoc might trust him enough to help him with his coup).

But then, we must also consider why Lady Asha would tell the eldest prince of her friend’s plan in the first place.

One thought I had was that perhaps Balekin, having a slew of mortal servants under his roof, was the person who offered Eva the unidentifiable mortals left in Madoc’s house as “proof” of their death.

He’d have to have motive to do this, however. Which indicates he either had some sort of attachment to Asha, who was trying to help her friend escape Faerie, or Balekin valued the knowledge of their plan enough to help them carry it out.

Another less complicated motive for Lady Asha telling Balekin of Eva’s escape would be that Asha and Balekin had a history of being in cahoots with one another, which would point to a connection deeper than a passing acquaintanceship due to proximity at court.

VII. AN UNCANNY LIKENESS

It is a truth in The Folk of the Air series that children look very much like their biological parents.

Oak, biological son of Dain, looks an awful lot like Dain:

Oak is described as having deer legs, little horns on his head, and brown hair with streaks of gold.

Dain, in turn, is described as having deer legs, little horns, and golden curls.

This striking resemblance is what initially got me thinking on Cardan’s parentage. And it is further backed by the many other child-parent resemblances in the series:

Vivi is described as having inherited her father’s golden cat eyes and fur-tipped ears.

Locke has obviously inherited his mother’s “sunrise hair”.

And it could be argued that Oak inherited Liriope’s “starlit eyes”, as his are an amber-gold colour that might resemble an old star.

Lady Asha even states that Jude resembles both Eva and Justin greatly (TCP, p.129).

And in kind, Jude thinks that Lady Asha and Cardan look very alike, though she does not admit to this out loud.

These likenesses do not necessarily indicate anything other than a pattern, which could be total coincidence. But it does mean that we could reasonably conclude that faeries, as with humans, often take on characteristics of their parents.

Balekin is described as having black hair, pale skin, and silver eyes.

Cardan’s description in the series is quite similar:

He is said to have black curls, pale skin, and metallic-rimmed black irises.

When we compare that to Eldred’s description—golden hair and bronze owl-like eyes—it doesn’t seem like Cardan inherited many traits from the High King at all.

Now, this could be because Lady Asha’s characteristics were more dominant in Cardan’s inherited genes.

She is described as being pale, with raven hair, and black eyes. She also clearly passed her tail on to her son.

But the similarities between Cardan and Balekin go beyond the obvious. When Jude is hiding under a chair in Balekin’s study, she notices the following:

“In two strides, Balekin is in front of his brother. They look so alike standing close. Same inky hair, matching sneers, devouring eyes.” (TCP, p.119)

Indeed, this resemblance is echoed across the series. In The Wicked King, when Jude goes to visit Balekin in the Tower of Forgetting, she states:

“As I ascend, I glance back at Balekin’s face, severe in the green torchlight. He resembles Cardan too much for my comfort.” (TWK, p. 26)

And again, in the Undersea, when Balekin comes to interrogate her, Jude thinks:

“They have the same black hair. The same cheekbones.” (TWK, p. 240)

There is also the matter of Cardan’s name, which bears resemblance to Balekin’s physicality.

Balekin is described as having thorns on his forearms. Cardan is a name which is derived from Cardon, which means thistle. Thistles are a prickly flower that grow from stems of thorns.

We know Holly Black is very intentional with her descriptions and words. My question is, why would she go out of her way to draw these physical comparisons, to echo the sentiment that the two are strikingly similar, if Cardan and Balekin were merely brothers?

She could have said that Cardan, being raised in Balekin's household for much of his formative years, was moulded to adopt his brother's mannerisms and propensity for cruelty. She could have said the way that they talk, walk, carry themselves, etc. were extremely reminiscent of one another, and we as readers would've gotten the point: that Jude thinks Cardan and Balekin are alike in many ways.

But this isn't what Holly Black does. Which leads me to believe there is something else to the constant parallels she chooses to include.

VIII. IN CONCLUSION

I’m aware this entire post reads like a conspiracy theory. So to those of you who stuck it out this far, congratulations and welcome to the circus.

I’ll be the first to admit that it is a big reach to say that this is fact rather than the speculation that it is. There are a lot of holes, which I can only hope might be filled in the coming duology.

That being said, this theory brings many questions to light.

How would Balekin know of Eva’s escape without having a more intimate relationship with her friend than previously thought?

Why would Lady Asha want her name stricken from Balekin’s lips so desperately as to make a bargain with him?

How could Lady Asha possibly be indebted to Balekin?

Why would Liriope and Asha be the only two characters with heavy necklaces of emeralds on their person if it didn’t mean they shared a similar history with the High King?

Why would Holly Black continuously compare Balekin and Cardan, indirectly pointing out that neither look much like their father or other siblings, but look undeniably like each other, if not to draw a deeper connection between the two?

And finally, and perhaps most importantly, if Lady Asha’s dalliance with Eldred was so brief—as is confirmed by Oriana in chapter 12 of QON— how did she come to be pregnant by him? We know faerie menstrual cycles don’t happen as often as mortals’.

Is this as simple as good luck, or does it speak to an affair no one knew was happening?

–Em 🖤🗡

more theories & analysis

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sixosix · 10 months

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IT WAS ALL BY DESIGN | KAVEH

tags second chance, angst and fluff, time-skips, DARK HUMOR, lovers to exes to lovers again, profanity

written for art @aanobrain, who i made a bloodpact with saying that if i were to write this they’d write me xiao, so here we are. hope u like it art

a/n wc 4K kaveh lore spoilers but i didn’t follow the canon timeline. kaveh meets al-haitham BEFORE the palace of alcazarzaray. also this has two parts

next part

kaveh first saw you when he was presenting his nth draft proposal to his fellow group members.

it’s stressful, it’s a mess, kaveh is lost, and so, so tired. this group is certainly the worst one he’s had yet, but he’s too far deep to back out now.

tamara sighs deeply, like a tired mother, and kaveh’s temper flares, “i understand your need to express your love for aesthetics, but don’t you think that it’s unwise to sacrifice practicality?”

kaveh’s jaw ticks. “sacrifice? i’ve already explained that i’ve thought of every detail to consider. give me something to work on, actual criticism, without just slandering my ideals.”

tamara enjoys insulting his beliefs because she is nothing like kaveh. or maybe it’s because he is nothing like her.

it always is like this. snobs treat his proposals—bursting at the seams with unique ideas yet never neglecting quality—like a joke, and they never get past getting called drafts. he never gets past calling any of his first proposals a success.

“the outside world wouldn’t be as lenient as we had been to your designs, you know,” another of them says. one of his mentors. “tamara is right. we don’t have to get too detailed. here, listen, what if you just change up the strange curve of this wall? and this pillar you…”

outside world, kaveh thinks bitterly. he had already dealt enough with the outside world, but keeping him cornered against a wall he had been building against them was far worse than that.

yet he can’t say this. he’s said enough already. if tamara’s face were to get any redder, he’d lose the opportunity for the materials collectively funded by these people.

kaveh sighs, defeated. “i know. i’m sorry i snapped. i’ll take in your suggestions. what did you say must be removed first?”

“hold on,” one of his group mates speaks up. anis leans her chair over to another table, tapping the shoulder of someone kaveh is sure he’s never damn seen before. “hey, what do you think?”

you squint at kaveh’s work, unfazed by anis interrupting your studies. kaveh doesn’t want to, but he can’t look away. “i don’t understand some of it, but it’s nice. this building would look beautiful in the jungle.”

anis returns the front of her char’s legs on the floor. “ahh, you think?” she muses, handing the paper over to you. “well, an outside perspective is just as important.”

with a pen in your grip, you point at somewhere kaveh can’t quite see, blocked off by the back of the paper. it’s blocked off your face, too. “could use a bit more ornamental flora. too little over here if you’re going to already add it. life doesn’t just come from bright colors, but other forms of life as well.”

“spoken like a true amurta darshan.”

you huff proudly, lowering the paper and revealing your smile. kaveh stares, and stares.

knowing how to appreciate beauty as he does is a trait he has always admired. he secretly takes your suggestions to heart, planning to pull another all-nighter for a few sketches. this is the beauty of the akademiya; why he never gave up as soon as he was first brought down—he learns so much every day.

his heart races just at the thought of it. it’s been days since he felt this.

kaveh wonders if he’ll see you again and doesn’t get much time to think about it again when he’s pulled back to reality, back to yet another proposal that’s been erased so many times, it looks more like a smudge of ink than something kaveh would proudly call his.

kaveh sees you again in the house of daena hunched over a book with your face pinched, sitting next to someone, and he thinks that might’ve been when he fell in love.

but no, that can’t be right. that’s not how love works. it takes time, courage, long nights, restless mornings—this is just him a few feet away from someone whose words he admired.

this must be more like passing by a picture that caught his interest. this must be more fleeting, more like what he deserves, like how the yolk is shaped perfectly on his breakfast for the first time in weeks, how the weather is perfect for smooth construction without disaster, or how his mother did not at least cry too much in a day.

he had only been trying to pass by and continue annotating the book he promised himself to get back to, which happened to be slotted on the shelf in front of your table. it’s sheer luck. and he might’ve taken advantage of it.

the student next to you is speaking. cyno, kaveh recognizes belatedly. “do you get it? because wave could refer to the motion of your hands, but it could also refer to an ocean’s wave, or what is the result of the wind blowing over the surface of—”

you clutch your head. with your eyes off the books scattered across the desk, kaveh sees this as a sign to turn away, a small smile on his face as he listens to your voice. it’s pleasant, much more than the ones he hears all the time around him. “please, cyno, have some respect for your senior and have mercy on the bags under my eyes.”

“i am,” cyno says sternly. “i am cheering you up. perhaps it’s because you aren’t under-sand-ing my jokes.”

when kaveh risks a glance, you throw a crumbled paper onto cyno, which he catches with unblinking ease.

“don’t make me call tighnari here,” you threaten, holding a pen to his face.

“is he going to give me pun-ishment?”

“cyno…”

kaveh gets his wits about him again and realizes that he had been picking more books than he needed, just in time to hear more of cyno, unfortunately.

“did you not understand? you see, the word punishment has pun in it, which is what i’m—”

“that’s it.” the sound of a chair sliding across the smooth floor echoes in the quiet halls. “you sit there alone. think about your actions; i’m going to get lunch without you.”

kaveh takes a step forward, you do so backward, and you catch each other’s eyes from the synchronized movement.

somehow, meeting your eyes makes his heart jump to his throat. he can’t tell if this is better or worse than when you were just at a different table and he didn’t have the chance to speak with you.

it becomes a moment too long: kaveh gets nervous, spinning around on his heels and pretending to look for more books. this is unlike him. his head aches trying to think about it.

once you leave, kaveh approaches cyno.

“cyno,” kaveh says with a smile.

“kaveh,” cyno acknowledges. “why were you just watching us? was there something wrong?”

kaveh’s blood drains from his face. “was it that obvious? was it?”

cyno nods. “you’re terrible at acting casual.”

kaveh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ugh—whatever. cyno, hey, listen. that person you were with…”

“y/n?” he tilts his head. “did you need anything?”

“no, no.” kaveh repeats your name in his head, and files it away for later. “do you want to get lunch?” he asks, which he later realizes is an unspoken invitation for a new side of cyno he wishes he didn’t know. the puns hurt his head more than frustrating clients.

kaveh sits by himself in lambad’s tavern, lazily rocking his glass back and forth.

he’s made friends. plenty. but he’s not sure if he can confide in them if he were to go to them in this state.

he thought could consider al-haitham as one, but that blew over on his own face some time ago. it was a mess. kaveh’s not sure which hurt more: when he felt his own spite with how he trembled in spitting al-haitham’s name, or the fact that someone he almost considered a best friend seemed unfazed at all when they both knew that they wouldn’t talk to each other the next day.

al-haitham removed his name from the thesis, and kaveh tore up the copy he had of it. but unlike al-haitham, kaveh couldn’t bear the guilt and pieced them back together.

now they haven’t spoken for a while.

and he sits here, frustrated to the point of near tears.

he’s never felt as lonely as he feels right now, burdened by the stress accumulated from all those years with no one to tell him that he’s doing something right, that he’s going in the right direction. it feels childish, but when he closes his eyes, he can vividly imagine someone patting his shoulder, telling him he’s proud to call him his son, or someone pulling him close, kissing his forehead, telling him that she’d come back for him.

kaveh picks up the glass and takes a long sip.

“are you even allowed to drink?” someone says, too close to him.

kaveh inhales sharply, unfortunately breathing his drink along with it. he chokes on it, and some dribbled past his lips as he turns to the sound of the familiar voice.

you quirk an eyebrow. kaveh wants to gape.

“it’s coffee, and i’m allowed,” kaveh mutters hoarsely, flustered. how long have you been there? were you just watching him?

“but you’re pretending it is alcohol?”

kaveh looks away. he was hoping that no one would notice his dramatics.

“it’s funny,” you tell him. kaveh wasn’t really hoping to appear funny in his sorry state.

you call for lambad and tell him you want your usual. when lambad returns, he hands you a half-full glass of what kaveh could smell as alcohol. maybe he should’ve done the same, but his goal was to feel awake enough to finish his due project, not intoxicated and slurring his words together.

“well?” you turn to him, your cheek against your palm as your arm rests against the counter. “are you gonna act like it and bemoan your regrets?”

students of the akademiya have started to become familiar with the fact that kaveh is a one-of-a-kind genius. names like light of kshahrewar started to circle the halls loud enough for kaveh to hear it from rumors and to his face when they asked to collaborate with him or when they ask for too much of his time.

he was expecting you to do the same. he wouldn’t even blame you if you tried because he wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. yes, yes, i want to.

there is no liquid courage here, just the presence of you and his muddled mind finding it far too comfortable.

“my mother remarried,” he says.

you blink, pausing mid-way through drinking your fill. “oh…?”

“i’m happy for her,” kaveh says, confident, firm.

“here’s to that.” you clink your glass against his.

you weren’t taking it as a happy statement. he doesn’t want sympathy, but he knows that whatever you’re thinking is the irrefutable truth. perhaps you were mourning with him because he, too, knows that there’s nothing content about him when he has to reassure himself out loud.

kaveh wants to ask so many questions. he wants to pull out the stacks of papers shoved in his briefcase, ask you what you think of it, listen to you tell him that you understand its beauty, but it’d be more beautiful if he weren’t so afraid and confined in someone else’s ideals. he needs to hear you say it because he knows you’d say the exact same thing as he wants.

instead, he sits quietly, watching you from the corner of his eyes, entranced.

and kaveh—he’s longing. or maybe he’s just starting to feel loneliness.

“so, what happened between you and al-haitham’s group project?” you ask, wearing a smile that spells out you know exactly what you’re getting into.

“oh, don’t even get me started,” kaveh groans.

the night ends with his heart a little lighter than it was before. (this is still fleeting, right?)

it seems like after that, you’re just everywhere and always by his side. kaveh loves it. especially when he’s too caught up with the world and needs someone to distract him enough to remember that the world is splendid.

despite his desperate attempt at drowning himself in coffee in hopes of being able to remodel at least three rejected drafts, he doesn’t get anything done at all.

he knows that giving in and offering to help out everyone who asks him for it isn’t healthy. he knows it, and he sees the effects on his face, the paleness of his skin, and the mess of his hair.

when kaveh stares his paper down, he can almost see himself on it. not a reflection, but a shadow. it looks like a bird’s nest. he might as well get feathers to go with his hair and complete the look.

someone taps his shoulder, and kaveh somehow doesn’t feel like reacting accordingly. “kaveh, is that you? are you kaveh?” the stranger asks, all in one breath.

it takes him a few seconds. breathing in and out deeply. he turns around, hopes the eyebags on his face aren’t as heavy as they feel, and smiles.

“yes?”

“ah!” he recognizes the student. a few years younger than him. he can’t quite come up with a name right now. “thank goodness. they told me that you could help me with this, i knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

“oh,” kaveh says, quiet.

if any of his friends were here, they’d glare him down, tell him that he’s going to bleed himself dry if he even thinks about saying anything aside from no. but they aren’t, and kaveh’s heart is bleeding out instead.

“what is it?”

“kaveh!”

you come stumbling in between him and the younger student, whose eyes bulge out of his eyes. he seems to be shaking, if kaveh were to look any closer.

without warning, you throw an arm over kaveh’s shoulder, leaning down to press your chest against his shoulder blade. kaveh’s breath hitches.

you tilt your head to appraise the cowering junior. “oh,” you say, as if not realizing he had been there all along. “daneh. did you need anything?”

“no. no, no, i don’t,” daneh splutters. “i’ll take my leave, i think— i think i should— please excuse me.”

while daneh runs off, kaveh tries to recall his breakfast and the procedure he did in his head to calm down and give himself the boldness to meet your eyes. what is happening to him?

dried fish fillet pan-fried until crispy, served in creamy, white sauce, sprinkled with mint—

“kaveh,” you say. your voice is too close to his ears, which he is sure is turning red.

—kaveh, kaveh, kaveh.

“y/n,” kaveh says, defeated, the grip on his quill faltering. “what was that about?”

he thinks he can feel a grin, and he badly wants to see what it would look like on your face. “i don’t remember telling you my name.”

curiosity wins. kaveh can’t help but smile along with you when he sees it. “you did it on purpose?” then, “cyno told me.”

“you asked around about me?”

“yes, i did,” he says, almost petulantly.

the way your mouth tips to one side more makes your beam come off more smug. “is that so?” you say, and kaveh feels like he’s bared himself to the world. “what’s this?”

kaveh follows where you’re pointing. it’s a mindless sketch he was practicing with; he doesn’t remember drawing half of it. “i was… oh, i don’t know, i just needed a break.”

“this is what you do on your break?” your fingers hover over the page as you trace the curved columns and drooping roof. “green. they look like leaves,” you tell him quietly.

kaveh’s smile turns softer at your sincere awe. “i know.” he wonders what’s going on in your head, then wonders if he’s worth knowing. “what do you think’s missing?”

“i’m no architect, but it could use a bit more of a… splash, you know? color. maybe some—”

“ornamental flora?” kaveh finishes for you. “you’re right. there’s no need to worry about this, though. i must have been on autopilot creating this.”

“straight to the bin it goes? what a shame. it’s stunning.” there’s a seat right there, yet you insist on being pressed against him, bent over, still too close to his ear. you talk about beauty, and kaveh asks himself if you’ve looked at yourself. “i suppose i don’t understand how geniuses work. you are one of a kind, light of kshahrewar.”

then he is suddenly so aware of your hand having trailed upwards, resting on his nape. as you move, your skin rubs absentmindedly on where the hair fades. he shivers.

he hates that title. he feels like he doesn’t deserve any praise he receives at all. yet when you say it—

“you blush a lot,” you point out. kaveh wants to dig a hole and lay there forever. “it’s cute. your expressiveness is charming.”

“don’t—just say that.” his face is so, so red.

al-haitham finds him alone at the same table that night, unable to focus on anything but his racing thoughts. something is wrong with him, he’s sure. he’ll have to pay tighnari a visit and retrace if he’d picked the wrong mushroom.

al-haitham—and kaveh doesn’t know how he’s managed to figure it out so easily—makes a face that would be the closest thing to a smile. “i like y/n,” al-haitham says, out of the blue.

“what,” kaveh says flatly, coiled up like a cat prepared to pounce.

“smart enough to pull you back down and smart enough to make you listen.”

“it’s—” kaveh wants to say it’s not like that, but he goes silent thinking about it. “fuck off. you wouldn’t get it.”

al-haitham tilts his head to the side. “you’re the one not ‘getting it’.”

thankfully, al-haitham leaves him be. they are still on awkward terms, after all.

“oh,” kaveh says intelligently one morning. oh, no.

tighnari’s ear twitches. “the star of the show is here, finally.”

“everyone,” kaveh starts solemnly as the door slams shut behind him. the wind blows, and kaveh’s hair flutters, looking like he came straight out of those films.

“how has dealing with your recent client been looking?” tighnari asks with a smile. cyno and al-haitham nod because they probably didn’t think of even asking that. it’s why tighnari is kaveh’s favorite.

but he is not here to talk about that.

kaveh slams his briefcase on the table, rattling their glasses. “i’m going to confess.”

al-haitham makes a face. “who are we confessing to?”

“not we, al-haitham. stay out of this,” kaveh says. al-haitham’s expression doesn’t change. “i’m going to confess, and it’s going to be so romantic. no one can say no.”

“i would say no.”

kaveh glares, snatching his glass. “al-haitham, just be quiet. the adults are talking. this isn’t about you.”

“you invited us out here,” al-haitham points out.

cyno tilts his head. “to y/n, right?”

“about time,” tighnari sighs.

“yes, to y/n. and what do you mean about—” kaveh huffs, getting red in the face, flustered. “hey, aren’t you guys going to stop me? tell me this is a bad idea and that i’m going to ruin this meaningful friendship i have with y/n?”

“everyone wants you to confess already,” al-haitham says, as if kaveh is stupid for not realizing that. maybe he is.

cyno hums thoughtfully. “if i stop you, i think y/n will murder me with bare hands.”

“oh,” kaveh says, pleased. whatever that means. “alright, then, thank you.” he downs the glass of water—it was al-haitham’s, most likely, judging by the incensed expression on his face—and grabs his briefcase again.

“where are you going— kaveh, hey, where do you think you’re—” tighnari smacks his hand on the table, yelling after kaveh, who’s already by the door.

kaveh’s confession is messy, quick, and probably not as romantic as he had hoped, stumbling over his words and feeling as brave as an infatuated schoolgirl.

“pinning me against the shelf like this is quite the move, kaveh,” you say, and kaveh snaps back to reality. “why are we hiding?”

“sorry,” he splutters, backing off a bit but not enough to have you far from touching him. “i don’t want—someone could see us.”

“now, why are you afraid of that?” you grin, sly enough to make kaveh comprehend that you know exactly what he’s called you over here for. you do the—the thing again, where you trace shapes on his nape, and he shivers helplessly.

“i like you too much,” kaveh says, his face too red to be passed off as sunburnt.

suddenly, all the confidence he thought he had when he left the tavern dissipated. “you know what i mean. can you—no, will you… ugh, i’m not doing it right—”

you meet his gaze, and you don’t look away, the long silence starting to grow distressing for kaveh.

“kaveh,” you say softly, and that’s when kaveh’s expression crumbles. it could be because of how you said it, carving his name with your mouth so tenderly, but really, it’s because he feels like you wouldn’t look at him the same way ever again.

“yes.”

…wait.

you cup his cheek, pulling him closer to you by his hips. “yes, yes.”

“wait,” kaveh says, “really?”

you bristle, tilting your head down. are you embarrassed? kaveh feels a thrill run down his spine. “yes. about time—we finally did something about the unbearable tension between us. so, if you’re willing to have me…”

“yes, yes,” kaveh says, to all of that. “god, yes.”

embarrassed, you bury your face on his shoulder. kaveh can’t hide how fast his heart is beating when you’re directly on top of it. when you’re in it. “but listen, kaveh, i don’t know if i can stay here in sumeru forever. and i know it will be hard. so if you aren’t—”

kaveh is too happy to think too hard about that.

“no,” kaveh says, “no, i still want to try. please, let’s try.”

“okay,” you breathe, smiling brightly. “kiss me already, will you?”

kaveh prays and prays and thanks their archon that this isn’t fleeting. don’t let it be, not when he has you, and he has already found out your lips meld perfectly with his.

lord sangemah bay commissions him.

in the first few minutes after dori told him that she could care less about what he wanted to do with the place, kaveh didn’t know what to do with himself. he wanted to do everything, but when all of it comes rushing at once, he’s frozen in place instead.

he takes a step in the direction of the house of daena, then another, and another, until he’s sprinting and his heart is racing enough to have a smile crack across his face.

he spends the night in there. he feels crazy; other students can sense madness in his eyes. they all leave him be, as if they know that once they ask, kaveh will never stop talking.

kaveh feels his wrist sore, but he can’t stop. he wouldn’t be able to if he even tried, not when he thinks of a sinking leaf for a roof, windows shaped like petals, and your words—

kaveh pauses, glancing at the clock that has definitely been spinning faster than he remembered.

it’s sunrise. he gets back to work.

“you’re grinning ear-to-ear,” you say, poking kaveh’s cheek. “you’re not telling me something.”

kaveh isn’t. but only on purpose. he takes your hand and uses it to kiss the back of your palm as he blinks up at you, the embodiment of innocence. “what are you talking about? i told you about it. dori commissioned me, and she said that i’ll be in charge of the approval of the design and the construction process…”

while kaveh explains all this, gesturing wildly with his hands, he trails off when realizing you had just been staring at him fondly. his heart skips a beat or two.

“why—why are you just staring like that?”

“it’s hard not to.”

he kisses you square on the mouth, the blueprint of the palace of alcazarzaray hidden beneath his palms, and he thinks he’s never been happier.

(and under the same stars, the withering slithers in, and everything crashes down faster than kaveh could even say please, no.)

a/n art if you’re reading this i didn’t tell you but this is actually a second chance fic cus i remember you saying it’s one of your favorite tropes 🤧 but anyway ty for reading!

#606:GENSHIN #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you

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