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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Everything's all fun and games until everyone assumes you're just being a Horny BardTM when you have, in fact, actually been kidnapped by a dragon.

🌶️ Obligatory Warning for Mild Spice

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

“Wow,” Ace whistled, long and low, and you fought a twitch in your jaw.

He and Deuce were certainly beat to shit, but not quite ‘hurled dozens of feet through the air and a roof’ level of shit, so your spell must have cushioned at least a little of the fall. The pair of idiots stood at the entrance of the cavernous room, shifting back and forth on their heels and faces twisted up in varying degrees of horror.

“I mean, I know there’s a stereotype about bards and whatever,” he continued, aghast. “But, really? Really?”

You grit your teeth. The pointed chin resting atop your head shifted and you felt claws flex at your hips.

‘My friends will probably be coming back here soon to find me,’ you’d entreated, not five-minutes prior.

‘Your friends?’ the dragon had repeated, slow, like the concept of comradery was something completely alien. And then his eyes had narrowed. ‘Ah. They intend to steal you away,’ he’d said with all the indignation of someone who’d clearly forgotten he had literally just proclaimed his intent to the do the exact same thing.

Sparks had shot out from between his teeth, and the already too-sharp black nails tipping his fingers had curled into talons—ashy darkness trailing up his arms like a seeping stain.

‘What? No,’ you’d lied. ‘They would never. I’m sure they’re just curious. Whether I’m still alive or not, I mean.’

‘Oh,’ he’d blinked, that venomous ire seeping from his gaze as if it’d never been there to begin with. ‘I suppose that does make sense.’

So when your loveable idiots had eventually stormed in—swords drawn, banners flying—you schooled your countenance into something as placid as possible. Something that perhaps conveyed ‘I would love for you guys to help me out here, but also I would really like not to see the three of us become tonight’s entrée. So like. Maybe sit this one out.’ But whatever expression you ended up making clearly wasn’t doing what you were aiming for if Ace’s first instinct was to accuse you of Horny Bard Shenanigans.

Or maybe your face wasn’t the problem. Maybe it was just the nearly seven-foot-tall, naked, dragon man draped across your shoulders. Who’s to say.

“This has nothing to do with that,” you snapped, ears burning.

“Do with what?” The newly dubbed Tsunotarou rumbled. He was pressed close enough that you could feel the worlds roll through his chest—annnnd you were going to stop yourself right there and focus very, very, intently on getting through this conversation alive.

“Human things,” you spluttered frantically.

“Ah,” he hummed, his chin shifting from the crown of your head to dip down and instead rest atop the curve of your shoulder. “You’ll have to explain it to me later, then. I do find our cultural differences very intriguing. You humans are so… new age.”

“Explain it to you later…?” Deuce frowned, and you could see the words zipping around behind his eyes to slowly put themselves together into a cohesive thought. He shot ramrod straight and whipped his arm out accusatorily. “You’re staying?!”

“Of course,” you said, with all the enthusiasm of someone with a knife held to their throat. You locked eyes as obviously as you could—hoping he’d get the message. “It’s in everyone’s best interest.”

You could see the pinched look on his face, the heavy weight of discontentment tugging at his brow. There was a war being waged in that man’s head—a battle between what lingering, frail, shreds of rationality and comprehension remained, and the desire to be a good friend and save our bard! Because mama said I should be good to my friends! You stared him down hard, silently begging, pleading, to just let it go. The fingers gripping his axe tightened and you could hear the leather of his gauntlets creak with strain. Tsunotarou hummed, something like amusement coloring the throaty rumble, and it tingled all the way from the tips of your toes to the cheek he was tucked up against. The claws at your side flexed—not deep enough to hurt, but firm enough to know that funny as the notion of a teeny, human, barbarian hurling themselves at a dragon was, it wasn’t going to be a good enough joke to earn said dragon’s mercy.

“Well, duh, you’re staying!” Ace interrupted slickly, sliding in front of Deuce and his burbling rage like a fox finally skulking from its hole. “Look at what a great new friendyou’ve made! You can’t just leave him here all on his lonesome, now can you?”

The low rumble skirting along your back melted into something that was very nearly a purr. Your eyes flickered to your captor’s face—or as much of his face as you could manage to make out, considering he had plastered himself to your side like an overgrown cat. His lips were curled back into that smug, contented, smirk—the tips of his sharp canines just barely peeked out over his bottom lip.

“We’ll come back and check on you, of course,” Ace continued. He waved his hand at the dragon, like they were old chums shooting the shit over a pint of ale in a tavern. “You know how it is. Gotta make sure they’re settling in all right—make sure you’re keeping with your honorable intentions and whatnot. How’s two weeks from now sound?”

“Two weeks?!” you wailed.

Tsunotarou grumbled, clearly also displeased. “I agree. That seems far too soon.”

“Two months?” the ginger countered easily.

“Ace!”

The dragon seemed to consider this new proposal quite thoroughly. You could feel his long lashes flick down against your cheek as his eyes went hooded, heavy—slipping back into his thoughts to ponder upon this newly proffered timeline. After a long, long, moment, he lifted himself from your neck and plonked his chin back down atop the crown of your head.

“That is acceptable.”

Deuce looked entirely unimpressed. You had a feeling you looked like you were about to shit yourself. Ace, naturally, seemed more or less content.

“Well then!” the traitor chirped. “We’ll see you when we see you then, yeah?”

You grit you teeth, but your gaze flicked to your other, kinder, friend and you bit back the slew of heinous insults brewing on your tongue. Deuce still looked more than ready to jump into the fray, consequences be damned. And you were not going to let your terrible, horrible, no-good, rotten luck end all his valiant attempts at redemption when he inevitably attempted to go toe-to-toe with the business end of a dragon.

“…Are you sure you’re gonna be alright here?” Deuce asked, face twisted up in distaste.

There was a pissy rumble from over your shoulder.

“Do you doubt my abilities as a host?”

“Of course he doesn’t!” Ace cut in, ever the bootlicker. “And besides,” he drawled, elbowing his companion in the ribs. “You know how bards are. I’m sure this is right up their alley.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Deuce went pale—then green. Ace turned on you with a smile that was all vinegar. “Right?”

‘I should not let them be murdered horribly,’ you repeated to yourself past the crimson rage leaking into your vision. ‘I should not let them be horribly murdered—’

“Righteo!” you forced yourself to spit. And if you somehow managed to survive these next two months, you were going to string that red haired traitor up by his pinkies and feed him to the crows that lived outside your window.

Your friends slipped away slowly, hesitantly—Deuce looking like he’d been struck down by a horrid case of food poisoning or something else equally as stomach churning. Once they were gone, Tsunotarou lifted his chin from your head so that he could crane his neck over your shoulder and look at you more directly. Not that he had to try very hard, seeing as he was gigantic, whether on two legs or four.

“What was the small, ugly, one referring to?” he asked curiously. “About your profession?”

Your life flashed before your eyes.

“Bards are known for their hearty curiosity and drive to experience new situations,” you repeated, verbatim, from the little adventurer’s handbook you’d been gifted by Lord Crewel all those years ago.

“Oh,” he hummed, nodding into your hair. “Of course.”

The first major hurdle cropped up barely two hours later.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

The dragon blinked slowly, as if mentally tallying through a list of human bodily functions to try and figure out just what on earth you were talking about.

“Ah,” he said after a moment. And then he began to melt away—limbs stretching and cracking, and porcelain complexion bubbling up with inky miasma so thick and dark it may as well have been tar. It was both horrifying and awe-inspiring to watch, like some great creature of old emerging from an arcane cocoon. And not two minutes later, a familiar, ebony, dragon was standing before you in all its glory.

He lowered his snout and nosed around your shoulders for a moment, snuffling and searching. And then he pinched your collar between his teeth and hauled you into the air.

You tried not to scream. Really, you did. But humans just weren’t meant for flying, let alone while suspended between the jaws of a beast that could swallow them whole. By the time you landed, you were so wobbly and windswept that you nearly collapsed to the ground then and there, bladder be damned. Tsunotarou warbled something deep in his chest, and you glanced up past the thin veil of icy sweat dripping into your eyes.

He'd placed you into a blown-out enclave that had probably once been a very nice hallway. And in the corner was the remains of what indeed looked like a bathroom. You straightened yourself as much as you could and began hobbling woozily towards what you hoped was a proper, enchanted, toilet and not just some block of stone with a bowl at the bottom.

There was an echoing thud from behind you and you jumped, startled, and turned to see what the ruckus was all about. Tsunotarou had sat his massive head at the entrance. And he continued to sit there. Watching.

“Uhm,” you mumbled. “Thank you.”

He stared, unmoving. You sighed and squashed your fingers into your temples.

“…We’re going to have to establish some boundaries,” you said. The dragon’s gigantic, neon, eyes closed and opened—like a question. “Boundaries,” you repeated. “Things that we do on our own.”

The beast’s lips flattened into a grumpy line and he grumbled something unintelligible at you, spitting loose sparks from behind his overly long canines.

However, mouthful of razor-sharp teeth in your face or otherwise, everyone had to draw the line between pride and self-preservation somewhere. And having to piss in front of an audience was apparently yours.

You waved your hands in a shoo shoo motion and those amethyst crests flattened irritably atop his skull. He settled in further, the structure of the terrace groaning beneath the weight of his scaly chin. You worried your lower lip between your teeth. It wasn’t exactly like there was a door or anything that you could just, like, shut in his face. And beating him off with a broom or something like a stray cat was out of the question—just out of sheer impossibility. You were going to have to get creative here…

An idea popped into your head and you leaned forward with a charismatic little smile that you’d unleashed on so many traders, and shopkeepers, and unsuspecting bakers that it ought to be considered a weapon in its own right. You’d practiced it in the mirror for weeks.

“I’ll tell you a story,” you offered, and his slitted pupils rounded a bit—intrigued. “That’s what I was before all this, you know. A storyteller.” You had his full interest now, those purple crests rippling behind his horns. “But you have to close your eyes,” you said. “It makes it easier to imagine that way.”

He stared you down curiously for a heartbeat or three, and then Tsunotarou’s gigantic, luminous, eyes slipped shut.

You sighed and plopped yourself down on the decrepit, stone, toilet.

“Once upon a time,” you began, sweeping your cloak out in front of you to give yourself at least a little bit more dignity. One of those crests twitched at the sound of swirling fabric, but his eyes remained dutifully closed. “There was a bard who made some very terrible life decisions—"

The next bump in the road came the following afternoon.

“People tend to wear clothes,” you said.

He canted his head at you. “I am not a person.”

Oh for fucks sake.

Tsunotarou was stretched out along one of the many, grand, banisters lining what you assumed had once been a ballroom—lounging in the dim light like a lizard sunning itself on a rock. Apparently, before your arrival, he’d very rarely, if ever, shed his wings and scales for this more compact form. And he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying spreading himself out across all the new surfaces that the change in size allowed him. Part of you would have thought it was a bit endearing—seeing this eldritch monster merrily falling into the ‘if I fits, I sits’ way of life. The other part was sick of nearly collapsing in cardiac arrest every time you caught sight of his very naked self reclining across some new piece of furniture.

“Yes,” you intoned, deadpan. “But you look like one.”

He blinked slowly, as if putting together a thought. “I see. The dissonance of observing a vestige of humanity which does not actually fit the mold of a human must be disconcerting to you.” He rested a knuckle lightly against his chin as he pondered. “In the same way I may feel uncomfortable if you took on the form a dragon with no teeth or tail.”

“Sure. Whatever,” you bemoaned. “Just. Pants? Please?”

He observed you quietly for a moment, amusement dancing across his features. And then he grinned, putting the pointed tips of those impressive canines of his on full display.

“Well I suppose if you’re going to ask so sweetly.”

He sat up with a stretch that was outright spitting in the face of your plea for modesty, and then spread his hands. His black-tipped fingers twisted gracefully, artfully, and the cavernous room filled with the scent of packed earth and ozone. Soft puffs of emerald light glided along his arms, and in their wake sprouted tendrils of sheer, silken, sleeves. Those dancing lights traveled merrily from his shoulders to his hips, and then back again—spinning magic into fabric like little, ghostly, seamstresses as they went.

The soft glow faded and the silk settled around him with all the delicacy of a cloud. It was stunning, certainly. A true work of beauty. With billowing sleeves that cinched neatly at his wrists, and swept into an open window across his front. The fabric wrapped itself snuggly at his waist and draped low enough to offer at least what should have been the bare minimum of modesty. It pooled across his shoulders, splaying out into a split cape that looked eerily similar to the wings he dawned in his other, scalier, form.

But this lovely new ensemble—as gloriously shiny and magical as it was—was still nearly fucking transparent. And yeah, the shadows curling along the spiraling silk did a decent enough job at obscuring what ought to be obscured. But at the same time, somehow this impression of cloth, of loose fabric that dipped below his collar bones and hung uneven and open across his pale chest, was worse than the outright fucking nudity. Scandalous. Like walking in on a seduction scene in a trashy novel.

“…maybe you should just do whatever makes you comfortable,” you managed to cough out, gaze slipping downwards of its own accord. And then more down. You gulped. “D-Don’t feel the need to change yourself on my account.”

He stared grumpily at his swanky new outfit. And then back at you. His lips pursed into a pout.

“You don’t find it pleasing.”

Your eyes rolled up to stare miserably, tormentedly, at the ceiling, and you began reciting every religious verse you could think of. Thou shall not steal or covet. In the name of the Mother, the Crone, and the Hallowed Throne. Head, shoulders, knees, and toes. Aye, Macarena—

“It looks perfectly nice. I just think that you have as much of a right to be happy in your skin as I do,” you reiterated. “I—I mean, you’re already keeping yourself human more often than not just so we can talk.” Which was true enough, but also mostly an attempt to make it seem like your concern was genuinely aimed at him and not your steadily rising blood pressure.

“…you’re incredibly strange,” he grumbled after a moment, his brow tugging low on his forehead. More pouting. “And impossibly frustrating to read.”

The heat radiating off your face like a fucking active volcano felt ‘possible’ enough to you, but what did you know.

“That’s why you’re keeping me around,” you reminded him.

Ten minutes later, he was sprawled out with his head in your lap, the ridges of his horns bumping your hips and inky black hair spilling over your thighs. Naked as a jaybird.

“Tell me another story,” he hummed, eyes slipping closed.

“Sure,” you agreed, gaze once again firmly locked on the hundreds of cracks in the ceiling. You’d probably have them all memorized by this evening, or at the very least have managed to count them all up a dozen times over.

You were halfway through some yarn about armies made of playing cards and worlds beyond looking glasses when Tsunotarou sighed, heavy and bone deep. Content. And then he turned to bury his cheek into the rough fabric of your traveler’s pants with a rumbling drawl that was not unlike a purr. His nose pressed itself into the inseam of your thigh and your brain fuzzed out like you’d been shot pointblank with a Wand of Lightning Bolts.

“Child of Man?” he huffed after a moment—one, neon, eye flicking open to glare up at you grumpily. “What happened then? To the cat that smiled too wide and the man with the mad hats?”

“R-Right,” you squawked. “Uhm—so as I was saying—”

You stared back at all those cracks and started counting again from zero.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 2

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echo-bleu · 2 years

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Okay but. Geralt with auditory processing issues.

The mutations wreck havok on the senses. Sure, they make his hearing range incredible, but they don’t help with the processing, and he’s constantly hearing everything at once. It’s worse for Geralt than the other witchers because he’s had the Grasses twice. (Or because he’s autistic, duh.)

It’s half the reason he communicates so much with grunts, because most of the time he’s only got half of what the other person said and he just lets them interpret his grunts however they want.

And sure, he’s heard Jaskier sing so many times in taverns and courts and his songs are catchy enough, but he’s never actually managed to catch the lyrics. It’s just all gibberish to him. As soon as there’s the lute, and noise, and they’re in a city or a town so there’s people around, he just doesn’t understand any of it. It doesn’t make his “fillingless pie” comment any less insensitive, but it does give it some context.

Every winter the other witchers will make comments about the songs they’ve heard on the Path, about this or that adventure, and Geralt is just like. That. That’s what the song was about. Oh. Eskel isn’t great at auditory processing either but he’ll ask the bards to play over and over until he’s got most of it, and since they’re songs about witchers, the bards usually comply. It’s nice to hear good news of his brother. Then he’ll tease Geralt mercilessly all winter about it. That’s the only reason Geralt even knows so much of what Jaskier sings.

However, he likes hearing snatches of song while Jaskier’s composing, when they’re camping out in the open or in a forest and there isn’t too much noise around. Then he can actually understand the words, sometimes.

He’s very, very good at pretending he can hear just fine, and he’s been doing for so long, but he does feel a little guilty about making Jaskier think he doesn’t like his music. He just doesn’t know how to explain, doesn’t think Jaskier could get it, because no one ever has. Then while they’re all in Kaer Morhen after the mess with Voleth Meir, the other witchers start asking Jaskier to sing, even though he doesn’t have a lute. They’re all completely quiet during his performances, and every time Ciri or Yen or anyone makes a noise and they miss a line, Eskel will ask Jaskier to start over. (Eskel isn’t dead, obviously.)

And one day Geralt finds Jaskier hunched over a desk, with a pile of parchment beside him and his notebook open in front of him, frantically copying something.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m making copies of my songs,” Jaskier answers. “I’ve actually published the whole songbook in Oxenfurt, you know, but we can’t get it here, and Eskel said that having the lyrics would help, so I’m trying to make enough for everyone.”

Geralt’s mind is boggled because yes, having the lyrics written down would help immensely but he would never have thought to ask, let alone that Jaskier might actually be willing to write them down for him, and what’s that about a songbook? He almost just grunts and leaves him to it, but he remembers that he promised himself to at least try to communicate better with Jaskier after the mountain, so he asks in a very small voice, “Can I have one?”

And Jaskier’s jaw hangs slack for a moment before he coughs and hands him a stack of parchment. “I wasn’t sure you’d want it,” he mutters almost to himself.

“I always want to know what you’re singing,” Geralt says.

Jaskier’s eyes are wide and shining when he hugs Geralt, and his voice cracks a little. “I wish I’d realized sooner that you couldn’t hear it.”

That night he sings his entire song cycle a capella in front of the fire, his eyes boring into Geralt the entire time, as Geralt follows the lyrics along for the first time.

And Jaskier’s songs are really fucking good, actually. Geralt is hardly an expert, but he can see the way he bends and stretches language to make it flow and how he weaves the stories together and he can feel the love in how Jaskier sings about him, about them, and---

Is that what he’s been missing this whole time?

Brought to you by: the long-ass time it took me to get into The Amazing Devil’s wonderful music because I couldn’t fucking hear the words until I sat down and listened to every song while following along with the written lyrics.

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #echo's fanfiction #sort of

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thefreakandthehair · 6 months

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@eddiemonth prompt, oct 19th: Scifi/tech | Electric Eye - Judas Priest | Bewildered a/n: eddie pov, eddie & dustin friendship, dustin & steve friendship, and an excuse for me to weasel one of my favorite steve headcanons into something. un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

After his release from the hospital and the unfortunate news that his trailer had been destroyed, Eddie goes from functionally homeless to having multiple spaces that feel like home.

He’s been all but adopted by Claudia at this point, an offer extended immediately after hearing the version of the story everyone’s agreed upon— that the ground split open and Eddie nearly ate it pushing Dustin out of the way. It’s not quite the truth, but the theme is the same and anyone who’s willing to sacrifice themself for her son is welcome any time.

Especially when he’s been called upon to help with Dustin’s science fair project. It’s out of Eddie’s league a bit, the actual science part, but he and his mechanical brain prove helpful. Kinda nice, actually, to use those hotwiring skills for good.

Of course, it also helps that the government set him and Wayne up in a modest two bedroom house down the road, and that Eddie can practically smell Claudia's cooking when the windows are open. Like Garfield, he’s drawn to the Henderson house with the scent of a fresh lasagna.

Bellies full and completed project sitting confidently on the kitchen table for tomorrow, they’re watching Star Wars movies in Dustin’s living room, one after another, and he feels just a touch like a traitor. Star Trek will always have his heart and Wayne can never know.

“How’d you get into Star Wars anyways?” Eddie asks, sprawled across Dustin’s couch.

“Can you believe Steve actually got me into them?” Dustin replies, curled up on the recliner.

There’s an infinite number of ways a child might be introduced to the Star Wars franchise— a parent, a trailer before another movie, a carrier pigeon dropping a flier at their fucking feet— and they’re all more believable than Steve Harrington introducing Dustin Henderson to the sci-fi epic.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie turns with wide eyes and a crooked grin to face Dustin. “What?”

“I know, right? It was uh, okay this is a little embarrassing.” Dustin cuts himself off, justifying some secret Eddie somehow hasn’t been told yet.

He knows about the Mind Flayer and the Russians, and all the other Dungeons and Dragons lore that’d lived beneath his feet for years. What could possibly be left to make Dustin cringe like that?

“Oh, do tell.” Eddie raises an eyebrow and gestures with an arm towards the expanse of space between them. “Floor is yours, young Bard. Spin the tale.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and throws popcorn at him. He tries to catch it in his mouth but he’s never been that coordinated.

“It’s not really a tale. A few years ago, there was this school dance, the Snow Ball. I got all amped up, Steve helped with my hair, and then the night was a total fucking dud. Nancy danced with me which was like, super awesome of her, but I felt like shit after anyways.”

Eddie listens with rapt attention, pissed off that Dustin had such a relatable middle school experience and intrigued at this new sliver of Steve lore. Not that he cares. Obviously. Why would he? The idea of Steve helping Dustin get ready for the Snow Ball doesn’t conjure up words like adorable at all.

He nods him on.

“And uh, I called Steve the next day. He came over and we had pizza and he brought some of his favorite movies he thought I’d like. Star Wars had spaceships so obviously, easy choice. And here we are now with Return of the Jedi.”

Okay, yep, that’s gonna be hard to tamp down the next time he sees Steve. Stomping his ill-advised crush into the ground beneath his Rebooks has been hard enough but now? Motherfucker.

It’s also not lost on him that Dustin chose these movies today. Eddie feels like he’s stepping into some tradition that doesn’t belong to him, but he can’t squash the kid’s enthusiasm with his own insecurity.

Instead, Eddie goes for the low hanging fruit.

“Wow. Gotta tell you man, that’s maybe weirder than finding out about the monsters and shit. Steve’s favorite movie is Return of the Jedi?”

Dustin snorts and laughs, toothless and free. Happiness isn’t new for Dustin, not anymore, but it’s still nice to see after all they’ve been through.

“Well, that’s one of them. He always calls it ‘the ones with the teddy bears’, so people assume he means Return of the Jedi. But I know the truth. That dork loves Caravan of Courage.”

Eddie flips through his mental catalog of sci-fi movies and lands on a VHS cover: a couple of humans, a few Ewoks, and something that looks like a machine gun. If he remembers correctly, it has something of a cult following but wasn’t touted as a high point in the series.

… And it’s Steve’s favorite. The one with the teddy bears.

“Wait… what?!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie month #eddie month prompts #dustin henderson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs

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talizoraa · 8 months

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Some early game Baldur’s Gate 3 tips

- Once you’ve rescued Shadowheart from her pod on the Nautiloid, you can press K on pc (idk about controller) to see her spell list and change her prepared spells. Swap out one of her spells for Command. Now you can use command to make the devil drop his sword and easily go and pick it up. Even if you can’t use it, this is a very strong early game sword even for your party members and there’s no reason not to do this. Once he’s dropped his weapon it’s easier to kill him, but still very tough. He gives a lot of xp though, so it’s your choice. (Thanks to my gf for this she’s a genius)

- Long rest as often as possible. Especially if you care about your companions personal stories and your relationships with them. As you progress the story and recruit your party members, camp events get added to a queue with different urgency attached to them. If you don’t long rest enough, you will miss a lot of these. Some of them are important for quests, some are just for learning more about your companions, but you can get a lot of approval if you do them, if that’s something you care about. The majority of the time there is no downside to long resting frequently, with camp supplies being very easy to come by. There are a small number of quests that will change after you long rest, but by far fewer than I thought there would be. If you’re worried, you can f5 to quick save before long rest. On my earlier saves, I used long rest very sparingly and missed a lot of events I would’ve liked to have seen. (Also obviously restoring spell slots and hp and stuff)

- If you are not playing a cleric or a druid, and don’t feel like constantly having Shadowheart in your party, you can go here to loot a necklace with Guidance on it. Guidance is extremely good for dice rolls and I absolutely recommend picking this up.

- This last ones mostly just for fun, once you reach the Emerald Grove, head up the path to the east from the entrance and you can meet Alfira the tiefling bard. Talk to her and offer to play with her, pass all the difficulty checks and you’ll learn to play musical instruments. There’s also a chest here with an item for bards inside. Head north east from her to fight some harpies and rescue a tiefling boy, who will give you access to the kids hideout. Again these aren’t super important, just helpful, and the instrument proficiency is fun. These will NOT be available after you complete the main quest for the zone. (Image is from google, don’t know what the other markers are)

- Oh also, these are pretty well known but just in case. As I said, F5 to quicksave, F8 to quickload. Hold ALT to see almost all lootable objects. Hold SHIFT to see enemy’s cones of vision.

These are just a few tips that would have helped me out had I known them sooner, that I’ve hardly seen mentioned anywhere else. There’s more obvious ones, like making sure you recruit Wyll and Karlach before moving on to act 2, as they’re easily missable, and fully exploring the crash site to find all the available companions. Feel free to let me know if there’s any more I should add or reblog with your own!

#baldurs gate 3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #alfira #bg3 tips #long post #bit of a long one sorry

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sunshine-zenith · 1 year

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I have work tomorrow so I don’t have time/energy to bang out a full well thought out analysis, but have this — I was thinking about Raine’s storyline involving them faking mind control only to be mind controlled for real later, and I was also thinking about how when they were a kid, they had to attend events on behalf of their school even though they hated it because they’d lose their scholarship. And I thought to myself “what could this have in common with the rest of their arc?”

Control, power, and calculates trade offs of one for the other

As a teenager, Raine had to make a school they didn’t even like look good, for the sake of their education. The fact that their scholarship relies on them making the school look good and not their academic performance (as made clear with how they lost it after publicly rebelling against a leader figure, even though the leader figure praises them for it) is pretty messed up when you think about it.

On the other hand, they’re clearly passionate about Bard magic, and even though it seems like their peers don’t respect Bards, St. Epiderm is presumably a prestigious school. Having attended it would probably look good on whatever the Demon Realm’s equivalent of a resume is.

As an adult, they spent months faking being under a mind control spell, even though it clearly costs them emotionally — not only do they have to push Eda away, they can’t reach out to Hunter, an obviously mistreated child, because that would blow their cover. Their fellow BATs spend months imprisoned before they can bust them out, too, something that probably caused them no end of guilt. And they had to endure Terra’s condescending attitude throughout it all — she talks to them like they’re still a child, and a child she enjoys manipulating at that.

In return, they remain part of Belos’s inner circle, and they’re able to make plays to take him out from within, all while doing what they can to keep their loved ones safe in the long run.

Now though. Now, they have nothing to sacrifice, no power to gain or lose, no control at all. Before, they were able to make the best of a bad situation and had plans to come out on top. They’ve essentially been treated like a puppet for several parts of their life. And now they are one

#raine whispers #cy meta #the owl house #spoilers #broke 100 #broke 500

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brabblesblog · 4 months

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Ch 13: Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Astarion makes plans to rescue Ban.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

“A bard!” Astarion thundered as he burst through the doors to the ballroom. The servant cleaning nearby jerked in surprise at the sight of his master; Astarion snapped his fingers irritably.

“They took her. Get me a bard. Now!”

He marched towards his throne, refusing to take a moment to breathe. He could not pause, could not panic. He could only act.

The ornate throne greeted him, as large and imposing and worthless as ever. He collapsed onto the cushioned seat, glowering at the ballroom as he waited, his composure hanging by a thread.

Don’t think about what they’re doing to her. Don’t worry. Just do.

He was unable to feel her mind, silence was all that met him whenever he attempted to reach her. But she was alive, he surmised, hoped, prayed - something he knew to be futile, given how much futile praying he had done when he was Cazador’s.

But he couldn’t help it.

Fingertips rapidly tapping on the armrest, the Ascendant’s head snapped towards the doors as a servant walked in with a jovial, rotund man.

“My good saer,” the man began, bowing to Astarion in a respectful, if overstated, manner. “Would you like to hear some-“

“Can you cast a Sending spell?”

Astarion’s eyes bored into the man. The bard noted the demeanor of the man, the way his hands gripped the armrest, the way he leaned forward, as if he was his only chance of salvation. The smile was wiped from the bard’s face.

“Yes, saer. I am able to,” he replied, standing a little straighter.

“Ever heard of a wizard named Gale of Waterdeep?”

The bard considered for a moment, then nodded in assent, “Yes, saer, he was one of the heroes-”

“Good.” With the bard familiar with Gale, the Sending spell would succeed. “Send this to him,” he snapped, not caring to let the man finish his sentence. The bard hurried to take out his journal and quill.

“Gale. This is from Astarion. Ban has been taken by the covens in Waterdeep. She needs your help.”

He paused to think. Eighteen words. What else should I include?

Pushing past his pride, he continued.

“I need your help. Please. For her.” Twenty-five.

Astarion watched, jaw clenching as the bard cast the Sending spell; his hands gripped the armrests of his throne tightly.

The reply came quickly.

“Hello. This is Gale of Waterdeep. If this is indeed you, Astarion, you will have to prove it-” the bard reported.

“It’s me!” He growled, the rising irritation in his voice unmistakable, “Tell Gale - tell that ass I sent it. Astarion sent it. Tell him- for gods’ sakes, tell him I know he tried to fuck my wife, how about that? He’ll know it’s me!”

“Saer-” The man hesitated. He counted on his fingers, carefully. “That’s… okay.” He cast the spell and transmitted the message in his mind, too afraid to alter the Ascendant’s words.

Astarion sent it. Tell him- for gods’ sakes, tell him I know he tried to fuck my wife, how about that? He’ll know it’s me!

That seemed to successfully capture Gale’s attention. The bard swallowed as the response came back. Gale wanted to know where Astarion was.

“He’s asking where you are, saer.”

Astarion wanted to snap both the bard’s and Gale’s necks.

“In my godsforsaken home, obviously!”

“Saer,” the bard gulped, “Gale says he will be here shortly.”

Astarion waved a hand; his chamberlain moved forward. “Pay him.” He dismissed the bard with another flick of his wrist, his mind already on far more important matters.

He would have to retrieve Woe. Rhapsody as well, he thought. Cazador’s old weapons, turned on him at the rite; Astarion had them stored in chests in one of the spare rooms. During the worst nights after the reunion with their former companions, when seeing Ban had been an impossibility, he would go to that room and look at both weapons. Cradle Rhapsody, the dagger he’d used to carve into Cazador’s back.

A reminder of what it had taken to acquire his current position. A reminder of the price he’d paid: seven thousand souls, those of his siblings included, along with what little had been left of his admittedly very limited integrity.

He knew he’d need them for the fight to come. They had worked in ending his master, in creating wounds that had stayed open and had not healed as was normal for his kind. They would suffice.

Astarion headed for the spare room where the weapons were kept while he waited for Gale’s arrival.

Woe, the staff, sat where he had left it, but Rhapsody was missing from its container.

He felt bile rise in his throat, a mixture of fear and outrage filling him. Who had taken it? Only he entered this room - even Ban had refrained from doing so, knowing exactly what was - had been - here. He picked up Woe with trembling fingers, absently testing its heft.

His thoughts swirled around this new problem, trying to discern who the culprit could be.

None of their guests could have done it. They had always been restricted to certain areas of the palace - namely, the ballroom and its surrounding rooms. This room was out of the way, kept from prying eyes by an illusory wall-

Undead. They were much less susceptible to illusion magic.

Astarion let out a low, frustrated groan. Vel. At the party.

After he had saved Ban from the vampire’s lecherous grasp, they had been so wrapped up in each other that they had failed to keep track of the other vampires. They had snuck out to make love and his summons had been released when he’d been consumed by his passion. It would have been painfully easy to slip into this area and…

Enraged, he stormed out, Woe in hand.

Astarion turned the corner, walking briskly, berating himself for never checking on his weapons after the party, and almost collided with his chamberlain. The man bowed, beginning to stutter an apology.

“My lord, I apologize, but-”

“What?”

“Saer.” The chamberlain cleared his throat. “Gale of Waterdeep is here.”

Gale sat in the dining room, his hands clasped around Markoheshkir. He fidgeted, a little nervous to be back here after all this time. Especially after what Astarion had said in the Sending spell. He hadn’t been all that surprised when Ban had written to him about reuniting with Astarion, but meeting the Vampire Ascendant again was definitely not something he had wanted, nor expected, to ever do.

He looked up as the doors flew open and Astarion marched in gripping Woe so tightly his knuckles were noticeably white. Gale had never seen fit to be afraid of Astarion before, but in that moment the Ascendant looked terrifying. Gale stiffened, defensively tightening his grasp on Markoheshkir.

“Astarion,” he said carefully, watching his former companion take a seat across from him, Woe placed on the table in front of him. “Before we discuss Ban’s plight, I would like to shed light on-”

The Ascendant scoffed, a short, pained sound.

“On your pathetic attempts to convince my wife to leave me and then seduce her?” He took a deep breath. There were so many things he would like to say. He felt betrayed by the wizard, felt betrayed by all of his companions. They’d abandoned him after the ascension, hadn’t even tried to help him. They’d helped Ban leave him; he knew she had wanted it and that it had all worked out in the end, he couldn’t help feeling resentful.

“You were my friend. You all were,” he spat out, then forced himself to stop there. He needed Gale’s help, even though he deplored the thought.

“She deserved better, Astarion,” Gale countered “She always has. You and I both know that.” His hold on Markoheshkir tightened even further; he braced himself for a possible attack.

Astarion sucked in a breath, gearing up for a tirade about wretched, two-faced so-called friends, but the words died in his throat.

Do you want his help or not? The voice in his head laughed a little. Besides. He’s right.

“Fine.” The statement was meant more for himself than for Gale. “Let’s let bygones be… bygones, I suppose.” He clicked his tongue, more to express his pique than anything else, then exhaled.

“To ease your concerns,” he finally said, “Ban and I have reconciled.” That was all he thought his former companion deserved to know - that she had chosen him again. That they were together, and no one would ever come between them again.

It was a far cry from the insecure, distraught person he had been just a few hours ago. He sat tall, hoping Gale saw him as the epitome of quiet, proud confidence.

But Gale perceived a man with frayed nerves, barely clinging on to his facade as his heart worried for his spouse. The clasped fingers shook a little, his eyes were frantic, his breathing too fast, brows pinched with stress. Gale felt a wave of empathy towards the Ascendant.

Gale sighed. “All I really desire is her happiness. If that is with you, then I am glad.” He thought for a moment, contemplating whether he should continue.

“Just don’t hurt her again, that's all.”

The Ascendant’s eyes flashed with fury, but only for the briefest moment. The second look that passed across his face was quickly concealed, but Gale caught a glimpse of it: guilt.

Astarion cleared his throat. He hadn’t summoned Gale here to be lectured on his relationship, but he knew that Gale and the rest of their former companions only mean Ban well. They weren’t entirely wrong for holding poor opinions of him. At his core, he wholeheartedly agreed with them.

“Acknowledged,” he replied tersely. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and considered the man sitting before him.

“I… invited you here-” not summoned, yes, good, “-because Ban needs help.”

Of course Astarion needed his help too, but saying that was too much for his ego to manage.

Gale nodded sagely. “The Stedez coven, I presume? They’re an open secret in Waterdeep. Nine vampires, a few loyal mortals and various other lackeys. May I inquire as to why they have taken an interest in Ban?”

We don’t have time for this, you idiot!

Astarion’s hands left his chin to rest atop the table. As close as he was to losing his temper, he knew he needed Gale’s help.

“Ban went to Waterdeep, to your tower, in your company, and they noticed.” He wanted to blame Gale for being careless with Ban, for unintentionally allowing the Waterdhavian vampires to see her out and about in daylight. But if Astarion hadn’t been so cruel to her, she would never have left in the first place.

“They saw my gifts, heard about my ill-fated attempt to retrieve her, and realized she… that there were issues in our marriage.” He fixed his gaze on a point past Gale, and continued.

“I invited them here for a party, to establish the fact that she is mine and under my control.” Astarion was aware of how that sounded, and he winced internally. “Vel took a liking to her, and things may have escalated.”

He wasn’t sure if Vel had abducted Ban in an effort to actually acquire her for himself, or to lure Astarion out. Lust was a strong motivating factor, but wounding a vampire’s pride? That was unpardonable. And Astarion had grievously wounded Vel’s.

Gale watched Astarion intently, divining what the Ascendant refused to say. He protected her, he realized. Of course Astarion would hide under his guise of practiced indifference; he always had, since they’d first met. Gale was all too content to let him keep up the pretense, though, nodding at his words.

“I understand. And now Vel has abducted her, and likely taken her to his mansion in Waterdeep.”

A sharp nod from the Ascendant was the only reply, his eyes still firmly avoiding looking at Gale.

Gale let out a small chortle and Astarion’s head whipped around to glare at him.

“To think they kidnapped the hero of Baldur’s Gate out from under her husband, the Vampire Ascendant, and her best friend, the wizard of Waterdeep. Foolish, at best.” Gale smiled and Astarion scoffed in agreement, his face softening marginally.

“I’ll help you, Astarion. Not for you though, mind.” He added, wagging a finger at him playfully.

Astarion scowled at the gesture, irritated, and for a moment Gale was reminded of their adventuring days, bickering and competing for Ban’s affections.

“I know.” Astarion picked up Woe as he stood. “He also stole Rhapsody, the utter prick. They could kill her with that weapon.” Rage and fear warred in Astarion’s trembling voice.

Gale offered the only kindness the Ascendant was likely to accept from him. “But they will not. We will see to that.”

The two men stood as they were teleported into Gale’s tower and Astarion grimaced at the memory of the last time he had been here. They walked out of the teleportation circle; Gale clapped his hands awkwardly.

“Welcome to my most humble abode,” he said with a small bow, “Feel free to wander about and make yourself at home.” He pointed to the guest room, the same one Ban stayed in. “That room is yours until we head out.”

Astarion gave a nod and wordlessly headed into the offered room. He and Gale had taken the carriage to Sorcerous Sundries, where Rolan had allowed them to use his teleportation circle. The two wizards had spent almost half an hour catching up; half an hour that to the Ascendant had felt like a century.

He leaned Woe against the door and sat in the chair by the window. He knew this room, had seen it in Ban’s mind the night the two of them had…

Gods. I can’t think about that right now.

Astarion fought back the tears that threatened to well up yet again, staring out the window at the sprawling city below, focusing on nothing. He’d been to Waterdeep before, to seek out Ban, but seeing it in the light of the setting sun made him wistful. He and Gale had decided to plan and rest tonight before heading out tomorrow. Confronting them in the daytime would ensure that they had the advantage over the Waterdhavian vampires.

We haven’t even been anywhere since the Netherbrain, he thought sadly.

He remembered Ban telling him she wanted to travel, the day after they had defeated the Absolute. He had sold her his empty promises, and then whisked her off into the bowels of the Crimson Palace. He had barely allowed her out.

Remorse filled him then, a sensation he’d been growing more and more acquainted with as each day passed. He’d merely wanted to protect her, cherish her, and he’d thought they would have all the time in the world to travel. Perhaps in the next century, he’d thought. The renovation and the scheming had needed to come first.

How wrong he’d been. How cruel, to keep her under lock and key under the pretense of ensuring her safety, when he’d simply feared her abandoning him at the first chance.

Oh, but the moment she was out of your grasp, she ran, didn’t she?

Yes. But he had deserved to be left. What he had done was contemptible.

The Ascendant tried again.

Well then, how about this? The moment she was allowed free rein around the city, she was taken. She was hurt!

He scoffed to himself. That one was valid, and for a moment he was tempted to let that thought win out. But, no. Vel had been drawn to Ban because Astarion’s behavior had made her run away, for one, and besides - she had been out on her own plenty of times before today.

He knew there was always danger to this kind of existence. Cazador had bleated on and on about this exact topic - the innate competition and envy amongst vampires, their covetousness, their endless scheming against one another. Ban had just been caught in the crossfire.

All this power, all the things he’d given up, all the grief he’d caused her, and for what? He had failed her. Again.

Undeserving. Unworthy. Never enough.

If he could be enough for only one thing, he hoped it would be saving her.

He cast his mind out, searching for hers once again. The now-familiar silence greeted him and was almost comforting. Better that than feeling something like her pain as Vel put his hands on her, or her dying thoughts-

No. She’ll be fine. She has to be.

He needed to keep telling himself that, if he was to keep functioning.

He made a promise to himself to take her everywhere, once this was over.

Ban awakened when the stake was pulled from her chest. She watched in abject horror as it slowly retracted from her body, feeling every inch of it drag in her flesh. It took some time to fully regain consciousness, the wound taking its time to stitch closed. She was dumbfounded. How am I alive? They staked me! Her thoughts were interrupted by the laughter of her captors, and the clanking of chains. A large iron door creaked as it slammed shut.

She realized she was sitting on the floor, manacled to the walls of what seemed to be a dungeon. Her wrists sizzled within the metal bands and it dawned on her that they were pure silver. Biting back the scream of pain that threatened to erupt from her throat, Ban made an attempt to tug on the manacles. Her skin burned, red-hot and blistering, and she immediately stopped, adjusting her posture to ensure the silver no longer touched her skin.

Stuck, without any means of escape, her thoughts turn to Astarion. Does he think I left him again? That I smiled and lied and snuck away at first chance? No. Surely not. He’s looking for me. He must be insane with worry.

Her concern for him was so strong, it broke through the haze of her panic and fear and it finally occurred to her to expand her mind outwards, letting tendrils of thought reach out for him.

She touched his mind, softly, like a caress.

He was about to turn away from the window when he felt her. The touch of her mind was tentative and she was in a great deal of pain. He rushed to envelop her mind with his, to shield her from the worst of it.

Ban? Are you alright?

For a moment, silence. And then, I was staked.

Astarion had thought as much. He’d presumed the extended silence meant she had been incapacitated somehow; a stake would do the trick.

I thought I was dead. But then they pulled it out, and I’m alive, but I can’t get out.

A stake can’t kill you, my love. It can only incapacitate you until it is removed.

Astarion shared his vision with her, showing her the city beneath him, attempting to supplant her feelings of pain with something, anything else.

Ban’s agony inevitably bled into him; he could feel the bite of the silver manacles against his own wrists. He ignored it. He had felt much worse, and he would gladly carry as much of her pain as possible.

Where are you?

Ban sent him an image of a dingy cell. He could smell the odiferous surroundings, could make out the dark, damp dungeon walls. She must be in Vel’s mansion, then.

She winced a little as her arms began to tire and she sagged against the manacles. He wrapped his mind more tightly around hers, hoping sharing the pain might somehow lessen her burden.

I’m coming, he vowed.

I know, love.

Her faith in him flooded their connection, unyielding, carrying no hint of uncertainty. The revelation made his heart swell with joy.

He didn’t sever the connection, holding her throughout the night.

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sammy-deserves-better · 4 months

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Hey people who definitely didn’t follow me for my AUs here’s another AU I thought up on the spot!!!

Fantasy/Royalty AU bam lets get into it

Julia and Bowie are the princess and prince of the kingdom, as you do, it’s gay and lesbian hostility in that castle every day

Axel, Wayne, Raj and Emma are knights with Axel being the head of the knights, Emma is also secretly a florist because why not

Priya is the head of the guards while Caleb is the personal guard/advisor to the king

Chase is a travelling bard who loves to talk about his ‘amazing’ adventures of ‘helping’ people

Nichelle is still a famous actress but instead of movies she’s like, famous from plays and all that jazz

Ripper’s a barbarian that’s pretty good at his job, unfortunately he is not taken very seriously

Millie is a famous writer but she’s so damn difficult to find at times and only a few people know where she actually lives

Damien is a wizard’s apprentice, he’s still learning but he’s got some real talent within him

Zee is the court jester, he didn’t even like try out for the role he just started talking one time and the king thought he was hilarious

Scary Girl is a famous necromancer because she is, funnily enough, scarily good at her job

And MK, silly ol’ MK, is a master thief who is wanted all over the world, but can never be located, always managing to escape at the last moment

Alright here’s some more details yippee

Raj and Bowie are like, in love, obviously, knight x prince romance! Forbidden love that isn’t really forbidden but like it’s super cute and Raj is so smitten and Bowie just loves this handsome knight that would do anything for him

Wayne and Emma are friends here because I also think they’re silly, Wayne’s the only one who knows Emma’s secret florist job because she trusts him enough and also he accidentally found out but it’s fine!! But he also nearly gives away Emma’s secret so many damn times because he’s just a little bit stupid

‘Man I wish I could get Bowie a nice bouquet…’

‘Oh well Emma is actually a fl-‘

And then Wayne gets elbowed so hard he can’t breath for 2 minutes

Emma also definitely has a thing for the cute court jester but she has no idea on how to actually approach Zee so she just sends him flowers anonymously and sighs while looking at him lovingly

Julia and MK meet because MK climbs up the damn castle walls at 2am and sneaks into Julia’s room just to rob her, gets absolutely slammed by the princess, wakes up and is tied to a damn chair with Julia right up in her face about to rip her to shreds and all MK can say is ‘you are REALLY attractive oh my gods’

This throws Julia off, they start talking, Julia realises that despite the fact she is holding one of the most wanted criminals hostage in her room, she wants to keep seeing MK because she’s entertaining and mean and just slightly pathetic, so she lets MK go on the promise that the thief will come back every night and so she does and yadda yadda lesbians toxic yuri wins

Millie’s stories actually come to life because shocker she’s actually a wizard in disguise and she needs to be really careful about what she writes so that’s why she hides herself away and is so hard to track down because if the wrong people knew about her magic capabilities oh no that’s a lot of blood and injury and angst and 10k words every chapter

Millie’s parents also had this ability to create anything from mere writing, they shared this ability with the kingdom, and so if an important figure asked them to say…make a protector of the kingdom, they would do so, and they did, and that’s where our villain/antagonist comes in but that’s a story for another day

The older gens are also involved in this one way or another as well, most are just backgrounders but some hold important to the story

Damien is the wizard apprentice to Leonard and Tammy, two great and powerful sages who spend their time helping the world

DJ is the one who taught Emma how to be a florist, he’s kind and understanding and always helps Emma choose the right flowers to give to Zee

Eva trains Ripper under her watchful eye, she’s proud of how far he’s come, but feels he can do just a bit more

Aleheather are the king and queen of the kingdom, Bowie and Julia are their adopted children

And that’s all I got for now uhhhh add whatever you want to this it’s just a silly time

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what-even-is-thiss · 1 year

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Historically a lot of storytellers have been women because they’re generally the ones in most cultures who have the children with them all day and are doing things that involve sitting down like sewing, cooking, weaving, etc. so to entertain the children and the men who might be resting nearby and keep themselves from being bored they’d tell stories.

Men told stories as well. Obviously. Dads have told their kids stupid exaggerated stories around the campfire for as long as there’s been dads. And adults of all genders tell each other gross, violent, and sexual stories to gross each other out or make each other laugh.

So women were just as likely if not more likely to be storytellers. But men have historically been the ones to become bards and scribes. And very few of them credited the people they took their stories from and what they personally changed in the story.

For a refreshing exception to this rule, read most things written by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. They did annoyingly take a lot of the sex out of their retellings of German fairytales but at least they were honest about it and wrote a bit about the women they collected stories from.

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branches-of-time · 2 years

Text

I Lost a Friend

“Something’s bothering you, Venti.”

His eyes dart to your reflection in the left corner of the mirror and they stay on you for a long moment. He still doesn’t blink. His lips are pressed together in a stoic, straight line. He parts them, and speaks.

“Barbatos.”

His eyes flick back to their prior position, glaring back into his reflection.

“It’s Barbatos. No one-" he pauses for a moment, seemingly searching his face for something recognizable and failing to find it, “-no one else.”

Pairing: Venti x Reader - Established Relationship

Word Count: 2,120

Synopsis: You come home to a mess and a very upset God crying in your bathroom.

Contains: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Reverse Comfort, Drinking, Identity Issues, Crying, somebody pls give this sad bard a hug

A/N: ehehe here’s a little #ventober drabble that I got slightly (very) carried away with

prompts from @ LunASMR_Voice on Twitter

Days 1 (Wine) & 16 (Friend)

When you first materialized in your serenitea pot, you noticed it immediately. All of the trees were completely bare. Like a tornado had ripped right through and took every single leaf and twig along with it. You knew it couldn’t have been from the natural falling of leaves that happens this time of year, it’s not like trees drop all of their leaves at once, and even so- the leaves aren’t on the ground either. They’re just gone. Not to mention, so is half of the outdoor furniture. Either tipped over, blown across the yard or just plain missing, it really looked like the aftermath of a storm out here.

Now, the only person allowed inside your teapot that would be capable of making a mess such as this would be Venti, however, knowing that still doesn’t settle your nerves all that much. This isn't normal. It’s quite unlike him to behave like this… unless something has really upset him. Regardless, you take a deep breath and make your way in through the doors of your shared home intent on asking him why it looked like a storm rolled through the teapot.

You call out to Venti as you step inside, but instead of a response you’re greeted with dead silence. No music playing, no singing, nothing at all. Save for the panting of one of your several dogs that followed you in through the front door.

Odd. Venti isn’t the type to just sit in complete silence very often. Even when he’s sleeping, he always leaves soft music playing in the background, almost as if he’s trying to avoid the silence.

You make your way into the kitchen, and begin to catch on to what must have happened here while you were out. Six empty bottles of various wines sit scattered around on the counter, and a seventh bottle has obviously been smashed to pieces on the floor. Venti doesn’t really drop things on accident. He’s got reflexes like a cat. Besides, there’s no wine on the floor, just glass.

It doesn’t take long for you to put two and two together and realize that a particular type of storm really must have rolled through.

You find him in the bathroom. There’s no way he didn’t notice you opening the door, but he makes no move to acknowledge your presence either. You take in his appearance. Hair hanging loose and messy where his braids have fallen out. The tips are glowing, just like his eyes and his archon marks are. Well, what you can see of them from between the parted fabric of his unbuttoned shirt, at least. They fade from a bright blue to a soft teal, in and out along with his breathing.

He seems half dressed, his vision, cape, corset, hat and accessories all gone. Standing with his back to you in just his shorts and shirt, you can see his tense expression in the mirror. He’s obviously had a bad day. His thin fingers are gripping the edge of the counter so hard you were surprised that it wasn’t crumbling underneath the force. Though, as usual, even when pushed to his breaking point, he was never one to forget his own strength. Not nowadays, at least.

He didn’t like having to use it, didn’t like it when others would look at him in fear after seeing even a fraction of what he’s truly capable of, so he keeps it reigned in. Tries to make himself look the least imposing he can. He wants to appear approachable. Friendly, warm, and safe. He usually does his best to mirror the way his friend had always carried himself, and tonight he seems to be having trouble doing that. He’s upset about something, that much is obvious… and you know him well enough to know that he’s not letting himself feel it. Not fully.

You attempt to break the staring contest he’s having with himself in the mirror. It’s a little off-putting, honestly, given the fact that he can go a concerning amount of time without blinking. Or moving.. at all. Standing here in the bathroom, as still as any one of the statues carved in his image that decorate the peaks and valleys of the City of Freedom. He’s actually kind of unsettling when he’s angry, and you’re willing to bet that’s exactly what he’s mad about in the first place. He doesn’t like himself like this.

You’re not truly afraid of him, though. Never have been. Venti has never once raised so much as a single hand against you in anger. You can’t even recall the last time he raised his voice around you. He doesn’t want anyone to see him when he’s upset… when he’s angry. Least of all, you. But you’ll be damned if you’re going to just walk away and let him try and deal with these emotions on his own. He’s had to do that for long enough. You’re here now and you’re going to do what you can to help him work through this.

You try to keep your voice as soft and gentle as you can when you break the silence.

“Something’s bothering you, Venti.”

“Barbatos.”

His eyes flick back to their prior position, glaring back into his reflection.

“It’s Barbatos. No one-" he pauses for a moment, seemingly searching his face for something recognizable and failing to find it, “-no one else.”

Just like you suspected, he’s struggling with his identity again tonight. It doesn’t happen often these days but it certainly does still happen. Your heart aches for him every time, watching him look upon his own form with such disdain. You attempt to talk him down.

“Okay… that’s okay.”

You make your way further into the bathroom and lean back against the door frame.

“Then, Barbatos, is there any particular reason you’re not Venti tonight, love?”

He closes his eyes and lets his head quickly drop forward to press his forehead against the mirror. The impact sounds like it hurt but if it does he doesn’t show it.

“I can’t be Venti. Not tonight. Not when I’m like… this.”

He takes a deep breath, and it comes out shaky like he’s trying to steady himself. When he turns around and looks up at you, you notice the pale blue tear tracks running down over the apples of his cheeks, and you feel a pain in your chest. There are few sights more upsetting than looking your very own God dead in the eyes and watching them cry. It’s.. it’s painful. Seeing how much he’s struggling to keep himself together. You want to rush towards him, wrap him up in your embrace and put the pieces of him back together. You also want to give him space if that’s what he needs right now. So you settle for something in between. You cross the floor and hold out a hand, giving him an invitation, a choice- and watch as he takes yours in his and starts tracing the lines across your palm, trying to calm himself enough to speak. His breathing is so unsteady, like he’s holding back tears.

“I can’t disrespect his memory by behaving so recklessly. It’s not becoming of anything that he stood for. He wanted freedom, and I loved him so much that his dreams became my own. He died fighting for it, for this future of free will and peace, and what did I do? I created myself in his very image and kept fighting. I rearranged the very earth with the power that came from my grief. I took life. I… I took many lives. Everything I’ve done since… I did it all in his image.”

Guilt is a hell of an emotion, with its way of eating away at you from the inside.

He’s still tracing the lines across your palm, over and over like he’s trying to memorize them. It’s easier for him to speak this honestly when he has something else to focus on. You slowly bring your other hand up and begin to ghost it along his arm, from shoulder down to wrist and then back up again. His thoughts continue to spill out.

“I have a very bad feeling that he wouldn’t be very proud of the things I’ve done. I mean- it’s been so long, how can I even be sure that he wouldn’t hate the person I’ve become? I was a wisp when he knew me, and now I’m this God that’s done so many things in the name of freedom that I just… I-I don’t know if the ends justified the means.”

He looks up and to the side, still unable to meet your gaze, and you watch fresh turquoise tears pool in his eyes.

“What if I could have done things differently? What if I had thought clearer… and taken more careful, controlled steps on the journey to freedom? How many lives could I have saved from becoming casualties of the storms I created? What if…”

His voice cracks on the last word and you pray that he doesn’t notice the tears threatening to fall from your own eyes. He takes one more shaky breath and looks directly up, speaking his final question to the heavens as much as to you.

“What if all that I am is a storm?”

Feeling something akin to relief from the weight of his long-unspoken worries being lifted now that he’s voiced them, he lets himself fall forward into you and you immediately reach out to catch him. He cries into your shoulder, and you bring one arm down to circle around his waist. Your other hand reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, keeping him as close to you as possible. You don’t even need to think to find your response, the words sitting ready on your tongue, waiting to spill out the moment you part your lips.

“Barbatos, you are the breeze that carries dandelion seeds across Mondstadt, imbued with the hopes and prayers of your children. You were the constant updraft that kept me from falling when we fought Stormterror. You dry the clothes hanging out on the lines. You keep the windmills turning in their perpetual motion. Cecilias can only grow on the cliffs where your energy blows freely, without restraint. You are the oxygen that fuels the life-saving campfires that burn on Dragonspine. You bring love, and the scent of apple blossoms towards the city in the spring. You are the warm gusts of summer air that wrap around every single traveler that steps foot into this land, letting them know that they are welcome here. You are the soft whisper in the fall breeze that tells every single child of yours upon returning to Mondstadt that they are safe, and that they are home now. You carry the passionate voices of the bards performing in the street. You have carried the voices of every single citizen of this nation when they cried out for freedom.”

You have to pause and take a deep breath of your own, running your hand up and down his back, slowly, gently trying to calm both of yourselves down. He holds you tighter. His crying has slowed to a halt, nothing more than a soft and quiet whine of protest emitting from him in response to your honest words.

You aren’t so presumptuous as to think that your words can completely lift the centuries of guilt that he carries, but you’re sure as hell going to try. Over and over, no matter how many times he needs to hear it, you will be there to remind him of all of the good that continues to exist in this world because of him. To remind him that he is so, so much more than the storms he has created.

You break the silence that has fallen over the two of you once again.

“Can you look at me for a moment, love?”

Pulling back just enough to slip your hand under his chin, he doesn't resist when you gently guide him to look at you. You wipe a stray tear from his cheek.

Catching his gaze, you hold it. Neither of you blink as his watery, blue eyes look up and meet yours.

God, you wish he could see himself the way you see him. He's something far beyond holy to you.

“Barbatos, you are not just a storm. My love… you are the wind.”

#venti #venti x reader #genshin impact #ventober #lunasmr #genshin #venti genshin impact #venti genshin x reader #genshin venti #genshin fic #venti fanfic #venti angst #venti comfort #genshin drabbles #genshin scenarios #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #title is from the song of the same name by FINNEAS #obviously #this is just me shamelessly projecting my desires to comfort Venti #is this even appealing to read to anyone else i have no clue #my target audience is me. if u like this then congrats we are the same. how's the Venti fixation going #this is more angst than comfort isn't it #why do i always do this #Weinlesefest really did a number on me. emotional damage. but also new inspiration for fics so. it's ok #anyways aaaaaaa my first post here. lmao will this even show up in the tags. lets find out.

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muffinmiri · 5 months

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My personal Hatchetfield theories/head canons

Spoiler warning for all musicals and Nightmare Time 1&2

The LiB always wanted Grace in NPMD. They address her first with “We’ve been watching you Gracie”. Also I think the lighting in Dirty Girl means that they were watching or possibly even influencing Grace’s fantasy

I think Grace was easier for them to influence since she was already extremely religious. Something like it’s easier to switch the object of worship than making someone worship in the first place

There’s the theory about the timelines diverging at Hannah’s birth. (I like this theory). But what if the timelines actually started diverging with the Weylons and we’re simply not seeing all the wildly different timelines? Or maybe there’s timelines where the timelines diverge at different times? I really said the word timelines too much there and gave myself a timeline-induced headache but it’s still fun to think about

That moment in Show Me Your Hands in TGWDLM where Sam briefly takes off his sunglasses is actually Sam getting control from the alien for the shortest moment before the alien takes back over and puts the glasses back on

Paul, Bill, Ted and Charlotte do board game nights. There’s no indication for this really but I like the idea

Pete introduced Ted to dnd and he invited him to dm a game for them on game night once. Ted played a horny halfling bard, Charlotte played a half-elf cleric, Bill played a half-orc barbarian and Paul played a human fighter. Paul really disliked the rp elements but got really into the strategy of the fights.

Obviously all Jon’s characters are related. My specific idea for this is: Paul and Gary are cousins, Richie is Gary’s son (the reason they have different last names is that Gary and Richie’s mom aren’t married so he’s got his mom’s last name. They’re co-parenting happily though).

Richie and Ruth are siblings. I know if that was the case Ruth would have known about his death but I still like it as a head canon

#muffin loves #hatchetfield #starkid #headcanons #lords in black #paul matthews #ted spankoffski #richie lipschitz #ruth fleming #grace chasity

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its-jaytothemee · 2 months

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Tonight...And Every Night - Chapter 5

Pairing: Astarion x Tav, Halsin x Tav; Astarion and Tav POVs

Word count: 1,473; Chapter 5, Astarion POV

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3

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Summary: Tav fails to convince Astarion to reject the Rite of Profane Ascension and refuses to help him complete it. He leaves her and the party, but regrets his choices later. Angsty and fluffy, POVs from both Astarion and Tav.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Spawn!Astarion, Angst w/ Happy Ending

Author's Note: This was inspired by my playthrough where I somehow failed all of the persuasion checks for Astarion after the Cazador fight, leaving me obviously devastated. This was meant to be done over a longer period of time but now I'm probably going to end up dropping all of the chapters within 24 hours. Mostly because I at least wanted the chapter with the line that inspired the fic's title. Enjoy! :)

A memory came washing over Astarion, pulling him away from the Elfsong.

It was a particularly cold night in the shadow-cursed lands. They had rescued both Thaniel and Oliver, Halsin had just agreed to join their fight against the Absolute and join their camp indefinitely. Despite their victories, the shadows were still weighing heavy on their camp. They sat huddled around the campfire, silently eating some rations they obtained from Last Light.

Everyone was giving each other awkward looks, trying to decide whether to make conversation or not. Suddenly Wyll started whistling a tune familiar to all Baldurians, causing Karlach and Tav to smile fondly. His solo rendition of Bard Dance soon turned into a small chorus, which then turned into a little dance number.

Wyll stood up and started the familiar shuffle the tavern goers of Baldur’s Gate would use to dance to the lively tune. He was very quickly joined by Karlach. Her moves were less graceful than Wyll’s, but it was obvious that the dance was familiar to her. The clumsy moves earned some laughs from the group. As they continued though, both of their steps became more and more confident as they remembered the cadence.

Before he knew it, Tav was standing up to join the dance as well. Her steps shy at first, but gaining more confidence as Karlach and Wyll took her hands and spun her around them. Karlach shuffled over to Gale and pulled him to his feet, he laughed at the idea of dancing.

“I am really quite certain that I am not familiar with this dance.” He tried and failed to pull his arm from Karlach’s grasp.

“No worries, they’re easy enough even a wizard can learn them in one night!” Karlach laughed as she practically threw Gale into Tav.

Astarion watched them fondly, finding it hard to believe that he was sickeningly attracted to one of them. He laughed along with them as they tried to teach Gale the intricate steps, but a sudden feeling of sadness pulled him out of the moment. Had he not been turned by Cazador, he could have been out in taverns learning these moves, he may have even been able to meet Tav back in their home city. His time in the taverns didn’t exactly afford him the ability to learn the group dances in the establishments where he prowled. He was always so concerned with the efficiency of seducing a target that he was never able to enjoy any of it. While he was lost in thought, Tav had danced her way back over to his seat. She smiled at him and held out her hand.

“May I have this dance, handsome?” She was slightly out of breath and her cheeks were flushed. Her red hair was a little disheveled from all of the spinning. Her pointy elvish features perfectly highlighted by the firelight.

For a moment, he considered it. He briefly imagined himself dancing with his friends and his lover, laughing and learning a dance that was a staple of his home. His hand started to reach for hers, and then quickly snapped back to his side. He tried to cover the sudden movement with a laugh.

“Oh darling, I couldn’t.” He responded. “I’m having far too much fun watching you lunatics from here.”

“Come on! Surely you won’t let Gale steal the spotlight.” She fired back with a wink and a laugh.

“I…I can’t.” He looked away from her, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh…okay.” She responded, seeming dejected. But before returning to dance with their companions, she did give him a small peck on the cheek, causing him to blush slightly.

Most everyone in the camp went to bed with a smile on their face that night. Tav lingered by the fire, making sure there was plenty of wood to keep it going through the night. As Astarion moved to walk towards his tent, she called out to him.

“Astarion, wait!”

“Yes, darling?” He tried to put on his sweetest smile.

“I just wanted to say that…” she trailed off, “I’m really sorry if I put you on the spot earlier. I just got caught up in the moment and had hoped to share it with you.” She took his hand in hers and looked down to kick the dirt around at her feet.

“It’s not that.” He responded quietly. She looked back up at him expectedly. “I don’t know any of the common dances, or at least I don’t remember them. I may have known them before…” He took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Then let me help you remember. It’s just the two of us now.” She looked around camp to make sure they were alone and then held out her hand. He tentatively accepted, and she pulled herself close.

Tav draped her free hand over his shoulder, slowly caressing his neck. He placed his free hand around her waist, resting on her lower back. She started to slowly sway back and forth, resting her head on his shoulder. They danced together in silence for a while, the fire still burning hot behind them, until Astarion finally decided to speak up.

“Seeing the three of you dancing and laughing…” He said quietly, “All of you have been away from Baldur’s Gate for years and yet…” He sighed before continuing, “It all came back to you, like it was engrained in your very being.” Tav listened silently, still swaying with him and laying against him. He paused for a moment, trying to decide what he should share.

“It made me realize what I had been missing for the past two hundred years.” He finally admitted. Tav nuzzled her face into his neck.

“Well then,” she said after a few moments, “we’ll just have to spend the next two hundred years making up for it.” She smiled up at him before quickly adding, “If that’s something you would want.”

There it was, the words he had barely dared to dream of hearing from her. He held her even tighter against his body.

“I can’t think of a better way to spend it, my sweet.” He said, kissing her deeply. And he meant it, after spending so much of his life in utter despair, he truly couldn’t think of a better way to live than with this incredible woman by his side. He pressed his forehead against hers.

“Would you stay with me tonight?” He whispered.

“Tonight…and every night.” She replied.

They stood dancing by the fire for a long time before retiring to his tent. She took her usual place, laying on his chest, one hand tangled in his hair before drifting off into her meditation. He must have watched her for hours, adoring her beautiful and peaceful face. Her sweet offer still ringing in his ears. ‘Tonight…and every night.’

He blinked and suddenly Astarion was back in the Elfsong Tavern, sitting with Alfira, unable to speak or even breathe.

“If you don’t at least try to talk to her Astarion, you’ll regret it for the rest of your days.” Alfira said softly.

“I…” He didn’t know how to respond. She was right, of course. But all of his doubts came rushing back into his mind. He was terrified of how she felt about him now. Among the dread and negative thoughts though, a new feeling shone through…Hope.

What if she forgives you? What if she’s waiting for you? What if she really does love you? He thought on the questions for a moment. Was he ready to change for her though? Was he ready to commit to a life with her? He knew that he couldn’t go back to her unless he was absolutely sure that he was willing to put in the work to deserve Tav.

“I have to go, Alfira.” He said quickly, practically jumping up from his chair and throwing the few gold pieces from his pocket onto the table. As he turned to leave, he quickly walked back to her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

Alfira smiled in response and started lazily strumming her lute again, her eyes wandering back over to Lakrissa. Astarion had absolutely no idea what he was going to say, but he knew he had to see Tav one more time. If she rejected him, he would leave without another word, knowing that it was still a kinder fate than he deserved. But he had to know for sure. As he stepped out of the Elfsong, his pace quickened with each step until he was running. The sun was nearly set, but the streets were even more familiar in the dark. He knew they were returning to Rivington tonight, and that’s where he would be able to find her.

‘No more running away.’ He thought to himself. ‘It’s time to start living again.’

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #halsin x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #bg3 headcanons #bg3 brainrot #astarion ancunin #bg3 angst #bg3 fluff

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avatarmerida · 1 year

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Um idk what to say about this except Hunter deserves to receive more compliments and Amity has never known how to process Willow’s taste in men

“Okay guys, just gimme like 10 minutes, okay?” Willow said, running eagerly ahead. “I just wanna check on my plants real quick. I’m sure they’re okay but I just wanna be totally sure because I-.”

“Go on, we’ll be fine!” Said Amity, seeing Willow was slowing herself down for their sake but desperately wanted to run ahead. Willow didn’t need to be told twice as she darted full speed up the stairs to her room. From the sound of it, her plants were just fine and delighted to see her. As they headed back to the Owl House, Willow’s house was on the way and when she had asked if they could make a quick pit stop Camila saw nothing wrong so long as they were quick and stayed together.

Hunter smiled at the distant sound of Willow happily greeting her plants as he looked around the living room, suddenly aware that it looked stuck in time. A few months ago it was brimming with life and light, and now it was dark and cold without Willow and her dads gracing the rooms with their love and laughter.

“Hey, what are these?” Hunter asked, turning to the dining room table which was covered in glossy brightly colored books.

“Oh, those are just some silly magazines Willow and I used to read when we’d do our homework,” said Amity as she walked in from the kitchen, the vibrant colors reminding her of a less chaotic time. “We would fill out the quizzes inside and gush about these bard coven bands and argue over who our favorite was.”

“Really? Heh.” Hunter flipped through the pages with a quizzical smirk, remembering Willow had once mentioned listening to a band once while they were messaging on penstagram back when they had first met. “Who was Willow’s favorite?”

“Take a guess.”

“Probably the most handsome one, right?” He said pointing to the obvious front man whose face was featured much more than the other members in the collection of mini posters that occupied the series of pages.

“Uh, not exactly,” said Amity, pointing to the corner to the “mysterious loner” of the group. His smile was more reserved than the others and his overall demeanor carried something... familiar.

“Him? Really?” Hunter chuckled, swearing he saw imprints of faded green lipstick stains near his photo. He wondered just how long they had been fading.

“I dunno, Willow has... unique taste.” Amity said with a shrug and slightly soured look. “We very rarely agree on things like that. I mean, she does not get Azura like at all, which just doesn’t make sense if I’m being honest, because I think...”

As Amity continued ranting, Hunter flipped through the pages and read the silly answers written in Willow’s bubbly handwriting, each ‘I’ dotted with a flower and the words twirling at the end as though they were carefully arranged vines. He treated her circled answers like a treasured artifact, admiring the little hearts and daisies she doodled in the corner of the pages. He also couldn’t help but want to take the silly quiz himself and see if their answers matched.

“...but I guess disagreeing can inspire debates. I mean, like the other day I was telling her how when I first met you I called you scrawny and that practically set her off because when she first met you she thought you were sooo cute, so obviously we don’t-.”

“She thought I was cute?” Hunter repeated, tuning back into Amity's rambling.

“Huh? Oh.” Amity’s hand sprang to her mouth, quickly realizing she should not have said that. “Uh maybe? Ya know, ha, it was so long ago, I might be misremembering. Actually, she might have been talking about a wet cat she saw on her way to school so actually-.”

“You just said you were talking about it yesterday.”

“Did I say that? You know, it was so long ago who can really remember what I said, we should-.”

“Amity, if you’re gonna make fun of me could you at least not use Willow? I don’t know why you’d think-.”

“I’m not making fun of you! I just, uh...” Amity insisted, quickly looking back at the staircase to make sure Willow wasn’t coming back yet. She changed her voice to a harsh whisper. “Ugh, okay listen, Willow would kill me if she knew I told you this but... do you remember before Halloween when I told you to change out of your costume?”

“Yeah?”

“She was actually really upset that I said that because she thought that you looked... handsome.”

Now THAT is a look

“Me?” Hunter asked as though there was someone else she could’ve been referring to.

DON’T listen to her.

“Yeah?” Amity replied, still unable to give a reason. “I mean, she was so mad at me for telling you to change, she threatened to summon a cactus to my bus seat before I sat down.” Amity laughed at the memory, knowing Willow was only a little serious about following through. “And she stared at the photo she took of you like the entire ride, like you were a magazine model or something.”

“She thought I looked... handsome? In my costume? Like the costume I’m wearing right now?”

“Shh! Yes, but you can’t tell her I told you,” said Amity, looking around paranoid. “I wouldn’t lie about that though, I promise.”

Hunter made his way into the living room, finding his reflection for the first time in a hall mirror. It was dusty but still he could see the difference from the last time he had seen his own face. There was a lot to process. Days ago he looked completely different and now it was though he had suddenly aged, he was tired and dirty and covered with scars.

“Do you think... she still thinks I look handsome in it?” He said, his hand tracing his newest scar. “Ya know, with how... different I look?”

“Well,” Amity started, knowing there was more within the inquiry. “She also talked about how much she liked you, ya know? The way you talk, what you talk about-

“She never mentioned my voice being... annoying?”

“No, actually,” Amity said, realizing Willow was probably the only person she had never heard refer to it in such a way, even as a joke. “Which is saying something because she used to always say that having bad eyesight made her hearing better,” Amity recalled. “I don’t know if that’s true or not but Even when you wore those hideous shoes with the holes all over them she still thought you were so cool... for some reason.”

Handsome AND cool? It seemed too good to be true.

“Does she... talk about me a lot?”

“Ya know, if you really wanna know what Willow thinks about you then you should ask her,” said Amity softly, putting her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “But don’t tell her you talked to me, otherwise she’ll get suspicious.”

“But has she said anything about... the way I look now?”

“Oh no, you’re not getting any more information from me!” said Amity dramatically, walking back to the kitchen table. “I’ve said too much already, if she ever found out that I said any of this I’d have more than a cactus to worry about.”

“But why wouldn’t she want me to know? Is she embarrassed?”

“Well I dunno, do you tell Willow you think she looks nice every time you think she looks nice?”

Hunter opened his mouth to offer a smug response before he realized that while he did in fact let Willow know she looked nice it was usually agreeing with someone. She would walk down to the basement to show off a new dress she had found while thrift shopping with Vee and wanted to show how nicely it complimented the cardigan Hunter had repaired for her and Hunter would be in awe of how she always managed to pick colors that brought out her eyes. He would think how lovely, how stunning, how utterly beautiful she looked but he never said these words.

Instead, Gus would usually deliver the compliment. He’d say “Wow, Willow you look great!” and then nudge Hunter in the ribs with his elbow as he’d raise an eyebrow and say “Doesn’t she Hunter?” Willow would look at him with anticipating eyes for his thoughts, but the sparkle that found her eyes with her expectations only increased the things to say, and Hunter would end up only being able to nod in agreement or mumble a simple “yes.”

Is that how he made Willow feel? How could he ever...?

“Fair point,” He cleared his throat and tried not to convey the journey his mind was on and hoping he seemed like he was totally normal about the question. “Thank you for your clarification, I shall keep the matter between us.”

“You’re not gonna act... weird about this are you?” Amity asked, fairly certain she already knew the answer.

“Me? Weird? No! W-w-why would I be weird about this?” Hunter sputtered nervously.

Oh, she definitely already knew the answer.

“Okay, well I hear her coming back so zip it,” ordered Amity. “If I wake up with a cactus in my sleeping bag, I’m taking you down with me, spaceman.”

Hunter wouldn't know how to bring it up even if he wanted to.

“Sorry it took so long,” said Willow, entering the room on a vine. “But they’re doing great, luckily the automatic water system I instilled has been working perfectly.”

“That’s great, Willow.” said Amity with a smile.

“Yeah that’s totally great!” agreed Hunter, his voice sounding panicked for no apparent reason. “Awesome! Cool! Yeah...”

“Yeah,” agreed Willow, confused by the room’s vibe. “But uh, we should probably get back to the others. I don’t want Camila to worry.”

“Oh yeah, good idea,” agreed Hunter.

“Oh, before I forget,” said Willow, pulling something off her wrist. “I found this yellow scrunchie in my room and I thought since your hair is longer again, you could use it to keep your hair out of your eyes.”

“Really?” he said, as she slipped the hair tie onto his wrist. “Thanks, Willow.”

“’Course,” she said with a smile. “It’s your color, after all. Plus we gotta make sure we can see that pretty face of yours.” She added with a wink.

“Haha yeah o-o-okay,” he said with a gulp. “I should uh, g-g-go check if the coast is clear.”

He ran ahead as Willow chucked to herself, clearly pleased with his reaction. She watched as he ran to the doorway and pulled his hair back into a ponytail and secured it with Willow’s scrunchie.

“Woah, did it just get hotter in here?” Willow whispered to Amity, a faint crimson gracing her cheeks as she watched fondly as he scanned the outside area, his pulled back hair making it easier for her to see his defined jawline. Before Amity could offer her comment on the change in temperature, Willow cut her off as she continued in a dreamy tone. “Never mind, I think it’s just Hunter. If ya know what I mean.” she added playfully, bumping Amity’s arm with her elbow.

“I really, reeeally don't,” groaned Amity as though she was in physical pain, having endured this talk for months in the human realm and now realizing that there was no end in sight. “You have got to stop saying things that to me I am begging you!” Amity pleaded.

“I’ll stop when he stops,” said Willow with a shrug, fanning herself with her hand for emphasis (half to upset Amity further and half because she was truly grateful she had found that scrunchie).

#huntlow #winter toh #willow park #hunter toh #toh #huntlow fanfiction #the owl house #amity blight

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ithinkdogshouldvote2 · 2 months

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THE DNDADS TEENS PLAY BG3!!! HOW THEY’RE PLAYING AND WHO THEYRE ROMANCING!

‼️‼️Pretty major spoilers for big parts of Baldurs gate. PLEASE read with caution. ‼️‼️

Scary: she plays a drow wild magic sorcerer. If this is before she and Willy broke their patron pact, then her dream visitor is Willy. If its after that, then its some really hot emo person. In terms of romance, Scary is likely drawn to Astarion after the vampire reveal but is torn between him and Shadowheart. (Also Wyll because hes actually GENUINELY nice to her but sincerity scares her so she doesn’t try to pursue anything with him even though she does actually really like him) she tries to romance the dream visitor (if it's NOT Willy obviously) but is pretty disgusted by the later reveal and later kills them. Scary plays evil until she gets to the nightfall and shadowheart doesnt kill the night song. After that, scary makes an effort for the rest of the game to be better.

Lincoln: Linc is just a normal human guy oath of devotion paladin. He’s literally just playing himself. He makes his dream visitor his dad which makes later scenes REALLY uncomfortable and he gets real-world mad at Marco like it’s somehow his fault. Linc helped minthara take over the grove because he got to the goblin camp before meeting the tieflings and he supports women. (#ally)(also she reminded him of scary and her character) but he massacred an entire people and then didn’t know why everyone was so upset at the party. Anyways he ended up romancing her. He DID NOT romance the dream visitor for obvious reasons. Linc does a FULLY evil run because he listens to women (ally) also hes: "too far in now to be saved anyways."

Normal: norm is a half elf, elf, gnome, dwarf, halfling, dragonborn and gith. He keeps restarting the game when he makes a choice he feels guilty about (Often). it REALLY bothers him that he cant make ALL of his companions approve of ALL of his choices at the same time. Eventually, he settles on a halfling college of valour bard. His dream visitor is (unfortunately) hermie. For romances, like Scary, hes also drawn in my Astarion’s “emo bad boy ness” and normal BELIEVES that he can fix him. He cant. He ascends him because he really just BELIEVES that there’s no way astarion will continue the cycle of abuse. It’ll be different this time for sure. It’s- uh- NOT. (Shocker). Also he romanced the dream visitor and felt guilty about it. Normal plays a good route (with the exception of ascending astarion) and the final party is bittersweet with his partner being the way he is. (Scary hears him talk about what happens to astarion and is FULLY like: “norm thats straight up toxic as fuck. LEAVE HIM” "ITS MY FAULT HES LIKE THIS" "no its NOT norm i am BEGGING you to raise your standards")

Taylor: oh you KNOW hes playing a tiefling. He plays a gloom stalker ranger because now he can actually USE those skills on the road. His dream visitor is his anime waifu. He’s romancing Lae’zel WHICH SOUNDS KIND OF SUPRISING until you realize the conversation went like this: Lizzie: “you’ve earned my respect and more still. You’ve proven your wits and your efficient and dominant. In and out of battle.” Taylor: “heh. It’s about TIME someone recognized what i bring to the group. I truly am the backbone of our party and shes smart for finally recognizing the value of my expertise. A WORTHY PARTNER FOR- (15 more minutes of monologue)” also he romanced the dream visitor and DID NOT feel guilty about it and was in fact, VERY onboard with the later revel. But he does end up turning on them and killing them to free Orpheus. (which he cried about afterwards) Taylor plays a fully good play through and gets the best possible ending.

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndads s2 #normal oak #normally oak swallows garcia #scary marlowe #taylor swift #lincoln li wilson #bg3 #baldurs gate 3

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lifes-line · 11 days

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In honor of the Adventure Zone and the suffering game coming out soon I’m gonna talk about the moments in The Adventure Zone that got me the most emotional

Obviously spoilers for the Adventure Zone

5. Johann the Bard’s death

This one I think caught the majority of TAZ fans off guard. Whenever an NPC died.. it was always during the events of recovering a grand relic - never after the mission. It’s like-

Johann was here. And then he wasn’t.

And most people grew very attached to Johann during the episodes and arcs of making fun of him, asking if they’re ok with being forgotten, him and his relationship with the Void Fish— and to include this with my number 5

WHEN MAGNUS AT THE END OF THE PODCAST

NAMES HIS FUCKING DOG AFTER JOHANN

OHMYGODDD

4. Meeting Lup

Now- not when Lup was freed from the Umbra-staff and called out her brother for being gay, while that was a funny as fuck moment, that’s not what I’m referring to.

It’s when we cut back to the Stolen Century and we meet Lup officially for the first time. I just remember hearing her speak for the first time and her antics and I remember being like “god.. she’s just like her brother.”

And we get to know her and it’s like- we also find out she is nothing like Taako. She’s more empathetic to people - to strangers- she’s smarter than him(like book smart) , SHES a nerd, she flamboyant and kindhearted and it’s like also-

We’ve known her forever. She was in every single adventure the boys had- she was this overwhelming presence in the entire podcast - from her name burnt into the wall, to “where’d you get that umbrella?”, to flying to Taako’s aid every time he was in trouble— she had always been a character without a name or face to her and then we she is finally formally introduced you just love her instantly.

That’s amazing writing.

3. Arms outstretched

Now this got everyone.

It was such a powerful moment between brothers and between friends- even Griffin didn’t see it coming.

He fully expect them to just let Magnus float off into the astral plane but then they change the entire plot of the story and saved Magnus and brought him back.

Taako and Merle both using a spell slot to bring back their bestfriend. Also foreshadows to their deeper connection back in their stolen century.

The music behind that scene was also fucking phenomenal it was beautiful and I loved it.

2. “You fucking took everything from me”

Ok SO- THIS ONE IS INCREDIBLE- it starts me on the same tangent every time.

In this moment Taako has fully remembered all of the events that happened before Lucretia erased their memories and he is fucking infuriated.

Because if Lucretia had not done it that day- Taako and Barry would’ve found Lup. THINK ABOUT IT - that day they were going to check Wave Echo cave- they would’ve found Lup’s corse and the red robe and the umbrella - Taako would’ve made the connection and Barry would’ve figured it out instantly and Lup would’ve been set free and back.

But because Lucretia did it they never went to WaveEcho cave and they never found her- until a decade later- Taako found her stupid and unknowing - took her umbrella and watched her skeleton decay- AND NOW HE REMEMBERS THIS

And it’s too late to go back to WaveEcho now, the fucking hunger is here and her corpse is long gone, if she was a lich barry would’ve found her by now, and if she was in Phanadalin- it was all glass now - where could she have gone?

Taako is realizing silently what Barry isn’t aware of- Lup was right there. SHE WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM- and he couldn’t find her, he couldn’t save her.

In this moment of rage Taako realizes his sister is gone. She’s never coming back. Lucretia took his everything from him.

And it’s all her fault.

1. Magnus’s death

Now. The day I finished TAZ Balance edition, at 9:38PM, I cried myself to sleep. OF COURSE I DID

“HOW DOES MAGNUS DIE?”

SURROUNDED BY HIS LOVED ONES

WITH HIS DOGS

AND MAGNUS FINALLY ENDS HIS ULTIMATE QUEST- HE SEES HIS WIFE IN THE AFTERLIFE

Magnus, rushing in to everything because he ultimately wanted to die a crazed hero so he could see his wife again but still feel like he died doing something worth it just for her, who never loved another ever during his years alive, who turned down the temptation of his own relic because if he was going to see his wife again he wanted her to be proud of him, Magnus Burnsides whose ultimate destination and goal was to see the love of his life again.

And he finally did.

Magnus got the happy ending he truly deserved.

Magnus Burnsides is the most relatable character in all of the Adventure Zone(to me at least) I love and cherished him like he was truly my friend- so when he dies at the end of the podcast I cried like I was grieving a real person.

#merle highchurch #taz #the adventure zone #magnus burnsides #taako #taako from tv #taz lucretia #the adventure zone balance #barry bluejeans #taz lup #taz balance spoilers #taz davenport #sad quotes #taz graphic novel #podcast

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peri-helia · 9 months

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Love, Unsaid

Joe x Nicky Drabble. Canon typical violence, Character death (Nicky starts off dead but he’s fine), they hug it out, that’s it, that’s the fic

It’s slow going, removing the sword from Nicolo’s gut.

King Arthur probably had an easier time removing the sword from the stone. Between the constant rain lashing down on them and the constant blood swelling fresh at the wound, the mud that was once this forsaken battlefield anchoring Yusuf where he stands, it is no easy task. He’d snapped the arrows that had landed in Nicolo’s shoulders, the heads have already been expelled by his immortality. When Nicolo revives they’re going to have to reconsider which cause they lend their swords to, coin or no coin.

Still, it is nice to fight together, rather than fighting each other. It had been getting old, in a way they apparently don’t anymore. They are not quite friends, not yet. They shake hands if they part, clasp each other’s shoulders. Nicolo is showing himself to be a kind soul, at his core, repentant and eager to learn.

This fucking sword.

Yusuf coughs with exertion, throwing his aching hands in the air. They are the only fighters left, only the scavengers, human and bird alike now picking their way through the available lootings.

His hands slip on the smoothed prongs of the handguard, wet with rain and water and blood and sweat before Yusuf swears, bends his knees and yanks.

There is a chorus of sounds, a squelching, wrenching crunch before the sword glides free and Yusuf tilts backwards, falling on his arse in the mud. All those minstrals and bards glorifying battles want murdered in a way that sticks. Flinging the weapon aside, he claws his way back over to Nicolo. Those singular eyes are still more reticent of seaglass rather than seafoam.

“Nicolo. Nicolo” Yusuf calls gently, shaking the other man’s shoulder.

“Nicolo”

There’s no movement. Not even a twitch to his little finger.

He glances down at the wound, washed clean by the rain. It’s healing. It must be healing.

Larger wounds take longer they know this. The weapon had obstructed his healing that’s all.

He’s not dead. Nicolo di Genova, the eternal thorn in his side, the handsome bastard who is his only constant in this world is not dead. He’s not allowed to be. He’s not going to be killed permanently by some jumped up rat-faced shit from England after everything Yusuf tried all those years ago.

Yusuf puts a hand on Nicolo’s cheek, still warm despite the icy sheen of water soaking them through.

“Nico”

There’s a wet gasp that’s halfway between death rattle and coming air that always accompanies when they are dragged from death to life and Nicolo bolts upright. He gasps several times, sucking in great lungfuls of air greedily.

“You’re alright, You’re alright, it’s over. I’m here. We’re here” Yusuf finds himself repeating, rubbing Nicolo’s back of all things. Nicolo coughs once more, before twisting violently away, still grasping Yusuf’s wrist hard before he vomits.

Yusuf’s already reaching for the waterskin at his own hip as Nicolo spits the last of the bile out. “I’m sorry,” Nicolo rasps, the words coming slow. “Arrows were poisoned”

That English fucker.

No wonder the healing had taken so long. Nicolo’s system had been fighting off two things at once.

“It’s not your fault, my friend” Yusuf says before he can stop himself. Nicolo obviously hears him because he stares open mouthed at Yusuf for a moment, before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He nods once, a sharp bob of the head as if he can’t quite believe it. Then before Yusuf can stop him, Nicolo stumbles upright, staggering to his feet like a drunkard. He rubs the rain from his face and stands before Yusuf, trembling slightly.

“How – how bad was it?”

They’re healing has quickened over the years, but worse deaths take longer.

“Bad” Yusuf says. They both need food and warmth. What’s done is done.

Nicolo hums, voice still worn. He’s still trembling too, probably cold. His eyes are big and wide and he’s never looked so young to Yusuf as he does now, except maybe when they’d come back to life that first time around, when everything was new and strange and yet still the same.

If it was anyone else, anyone from Yusuf’s old life, he’d probably have hugged them before now. He’s a tactile soul, always reaching out. But they’ve never hugged before.

“Do you – do you want?”

Nicolo barely looks at Yusuf’s half open arms before he falls into them, arms coming to wrap around Yusuf’s middle. Yusuf jumps when he feels a cold nose bury into his neck.

“Thank you Yusuf” he murmurs quietly after a moment, without letting go.

It’s so nice to be held, after years of hacking away across the continents, of lying and running and never getting close except out of necessity to sleep, or shoot or bandage.

Nicolo feels the moment all the tension goes out of Yusuf’s shoulders, so that he sags against Nicolo’s shoulders. He can’t help it, he smiles into the other man’s shoulder. This beautiful man who has opened his arms again and again to Nicolo, literally now, despite everything.

It’s so quiet, after a battle. During, you can’t hear yourself think, let alone hear what’s going on – it all melts into one incomprehensible din. Arrows and shields clanging, swords clashing, people screaming. After death has swept the field, it’s deafening in another way altogether.

They’re still holding each other.

In the back of his mind, Nicolo is vaguely away that maybe this hug has gone on a little…long than may be polite. He has taken so much, he should pull back, lest such a blessing not be offered again.

But when he goes to disentangle himself, Yusuf merely shifts his weight to his other leg and Nicolo feels his fingers dig into the mail of his shirt. Of its own volition, Nicolo’s hand comes up to cup the back of Yusuf’s head.

Well. Maybe they both need it.

“Andromache!”

Nile watches as Andy gets literally swept – more like scooped – off her feet into a massive hug by Joe. It’s the first time they’ve been separated as a team, the first time Nile’s seen a reunion after a long period of time. The first time she’s seen Andy all but giggle as she’s swayed gently from side to side, feet dangling as Joe hugs her.

Then its Nicky’s turn and its different but no less tender, the way he cups the back of Andy’s head, big arms coming round to wrap around her. They hold each other just as long, just as warmly.

And then the couple’s eyes fall on Nile. They’ve given each other their hands before, clasped each other’s shoulders, hell even had a thumb war on that really fucking long flight to Tripoli.

Nicky looks at Nile for a long moment and then, almost conversationally, opens his arms the tiniest fraction, intent clear. She can take it or leave it and either way is absolutely fine.

God, Nile’s missed hugs. And Nicky and Joe? They give the best fucking hugs. Just…being lightly squeezed, so much that her aching shoulders finally seem to release, in a way that there’s no limit.

What was it Nicky had said?

We’re not meant to be alone.

#my writing #tog fic #tog drabbles #joe x nicky

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