#forms of imprisonment

[selunesdreams]

Idleness and Dissipation

Smut excerpt from my fic Forms of Imprisonment. Read full fic on AO3 or Tumblr. Posting as a standalone, can be read as a one-shot (maybe with some limiting context) if you're not a longfic reader.

Characters: Astarion x OFC

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: 18+! MDNI. Smut, piv, fingering, fluff, blood/injury, praise kink (if you squint - that's my girl), mdom, rough, blood drinking/vampirism.

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With his mouth near her ear and his fingers softly encircling her throat, Astarion leans down. “What’s tormenting that pretty head of yours, Celeste?” He strengthens his grip, more an assurance than a threat. “No more secrets, remember?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Astarion, my waking life is full of horrors. It shouldn’t surprise you that my dreams are too.”

“You know what I find interesting?” He asks, his hand falling away. “There are very few things that seem to truly bother you. You are remarkably unflappable. And yet, this is what you decide to be stubborn about.”

“I’ll tell you about my nightmares when you tell me why you’ve been treating me like a porcelain doll as of late.”

Astarion stiffens and retreats, eyeing her warily. He leans back against the ledge of the pool. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“You’ve been subsisting on leftover, cold animal blood since you’ve returned, refusing to drink from me even when I offer.” 

He’s silent for a moment, watching her, his eyes narrow as he evaluates. “Why do you think I do it?”

She grazes his bottom lip with her thumb, revealing a hint of a fang. “Guilt.”

A flicker of irritation flashing across his face and he looks away with a scoff. 

“Do not mistake self-control for self-loathing, darling.” Astarion sneers.

“Self control?“ She releases a bitter laugh. “You really expect me to believe that you’re suddenly interested in exhibiting self-restraint?”

Irritated, he runs his hand through his hair and lets out a huff. “I wanted to give you time… I didn’t want to take more from you than necessary…”

“You lost a lot of blood tonight.” She says, “now isn’t the time to practice moderation.”

With a forceful motion, he pulls her through the water, trapping her against the ledge with his hands on either side. She braces her palms behind her, shivering as her spine touches the icy chill of the marble against her back.

His eyes rake over her face, then down her naked body in a predatory fashion, somehow both unnerving and alluring.

“Is this what you’d prefer?” He grips her waist and chuckles softly. “I’m trying to be better ,” he says, pressing his lips to her shoulder, “for you, as difficult as it’s proving to be.”

He holds her in place by her arms and drags his tongue up her neck, delighting in the reactions it evokes - the racing of her pulse, the arching of her hips as she seeks contact.

“I won’t argue.” His voice is low and dangerous. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

Her fingernails dig into his back and Astarion relents, smirking at her stifled gasp as he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder. Each space between heartbeats is a fight against his thirst as he forces himself to drink with caution.

“Wicked thing.” He growls between pulls of her blood, “you enjoy this, don’t you?”

His hand dips beneath the water’s surface to the apex of her thighs, drawing a finger across her center. Celeste’s pulse thrums in her veins.

With each stroke, her moans intensify, and her legs tremble. He holds her tightly with his free arm encircling her as he feeds.

As the flow of blood slows, he laps at the wound on her neck before examining her with a brooding intensity. 

“Look at you, falling apart already,” he purrs, his thumb and index finger positioned just under her jaw so that he has complete control of her face. His hands tighten around her throat, but there is an affectionate hesitance in his touch as he tilts his head to the side, a sly smile spreading across his lips.

His hands move to her legs, effortlessly lifting her out of the bath, and she wraps them around his waist, her arms securing themselves behind his neck as he carries her out of the pool. She nips at his shoulder the moment they leave the pool, teeth scraping against his skin. Astarion laughs, gripping her thighs to hold her against him. 

“Careful, darling. I’ll bite back if you keep that up.”

Forgoing the bloodied mattress, he eases her to her feet on a plush rug in front of the fireplace. 

“Lie back.” 

He gives her a gentle push towards the floor and sinks to his knees, crawling over her as she reclines backwards. His hands rest at her sides as he hovers above her, eyes roaming over every inch of her body.

“Is this alright?” 

She nods, her wet hair sticking to her skin. 

With a feather-light touch, he traces circles on the sensitive spot just below her ribs, noticing the uneven rise and fall of her breath against his thumb. She moans, a soft, breathless gasp of his name, as her hands clench the fibers of the rug. His mouth travels the unmarked side of her neck.

“Have you missed me inside of you, darling?” He murmurs against her skin. 

She tries to summon a response, but her mind is a hazy mess of overstimulation, her own body writhing and squirming under his. One hand holds her in place as he shifts above her, nudging her legs further apart with his knee. He slides the other hand between her thighs, teasing her arousal that’s formed there for him.

“This is where you’d hoped we’d end up when you offered me your blood, isn’t it?” his fingers glide against her, coaxing a confession. “ Admit it. ” 

He pushes two inside of her, and his fangs graze her skin, the threat of a bite. 

“Well?”

His thumb brushes her clit, and the sound that escapes her is sinful. A broken gasp leaves her as her hips buck against his hand, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. He watches her intently, his ruby eyes hooded with desire.  

“You’d do anything to finish, wouldn’t you?” He taunts. She lets out a frustrated whine, her plea echoing through the room.

“Go on then.” His free hand comes up to grip her hip, holding her still as his fingers continue to play with her, crooking and twisting, driving her closer to her peak. “I want to feel you.”

Every inch of Celeste reverberates with release as her legs wrap around his middle. Her body arches towards the ceiling, then falls against the rug, her fingers twitching against his ribcage. Astarion wrings the last of her orgasm from her with his fingers, gently toying with her as she comes down, the aftershocks causing her to shudder against him. He hums in approval and slides his fingers between her lips, still slick with her climax.

“That’s my girl.”

She whimpers as he touches her tongue, tasting herself, and looking up at him with glassy, bliss-filled eyes. There’s no mistaking his own arousal throbs against her thigh, hard and wanting.

He withdraws his fingers from, taking a few moments to admire the scene below him. Her hair is nearly dry from the heat of the fire, splayed across the rug, her half-lidded eyes glazed over. 

“Still with me, darling?”

“Yes,” she pants, her cheeks flushed. 

“Good.” 

Astarion captures her lips in a demanding, possessive kiss, his tongue chasing hers, licking into her mouth as he moans. She whines and her hands move to his biceps, gripping the muscle there for support as his hips grind against her in a languid motion.

“As enticing as this is…“ he murmurs, his breath catching in his throat, “I’d rather not finish like this.”

“Then don’t,” she says in a challenging tone.

He considers her, pinning her beneath him. 

“Is this really what you want? Right here on the floor?” He taunts, his hips rolling against her in a slow, measured movement, the sensation intensifying with each deliberate thrust. “Hardly befitting of a goddess’ prodigy.”

“I don’t care ,” she hisses.

“Just can’t get enough, can you?” His grin widens and in one swift motion he reaches for her hips, flipping her onto her hands and knees. He bends over her, his chest pressed to her back, and positions his aching length at her entrance, nipping at her ear.

“As you wish.”

She tenses only for a moment as he eases himself inside, stretching her just on the fine line of pain and pleasure. He gives her time to adjust to him, his hands gripping her hips as he holds her close. When her body’s tension dissipates, he rocks against her, a strangled noise escaping him as he throws his head back. 

“Fuck,” he shudders, “I almost forgot how good you feel.” 

Her hands curl into fists as he rewards her with another long stroke. Her name spills from his lips as he sinks deeper into her, the wetness of her arousal gliding against his length. He desperately tries to slow the mounting pressure in his stomach as she squeezes him inside of her. 

“I’m not going to last long,” he whispers against her, his grip on her hips almost bruising as his fingers dig into her skin. “You’re too damn beautiful , darling, I need-“ his words fade into a choked-off litany of gasps and curses as he thrusts into her. 

“Come for me, Astarion.” She says, the words coming out as a taunt.

As she tries to make him move faster, he grabs her chin and inhales sharply through his teeth. “Gods below,” he mutters, his voice strained as he releases her, “just a little longer, pet. Let me at least try to be a gentleman-”

“I don’t fuck you because you’re a gentleman.” With a wicked grin, she relishes in the knowledge that her words will send him over the edge.

Astarion drives into her harder, eliciting a small gasp of surprise when the angle evokes an unexpected spark of pleasure. 

“Fine,” he pants out, setting a far more brutal pace now, “have it your way, darling.”

He palms one of her breasts, his other hand fisting in her hair as he fucks her. 

“Still feel like a porcelain doll, or is this rough enough for you?” He snarls in her ear.

Consumed by need and the overwhelming sensation of him, she can’t think of a clever response. She shatters, and his thrusts become sloppy and disjointed as he chases his own orgasm, spilling with a ragged moan. He lets himself collapse on top of her, their bodies sweaty and spent as he presses his face into the crook of her neck and shudders with a giddy laugh. Reluctantly lifting his head, he slowly pulls out and collapses to the floor, slumping on his side. Dazed and wrecked, he draws her against his chest. Behind her, the fireplace glows, its crackling audible now that they’ve fallen silent.

Time seemed to stand still as they lay in silence beside each other, Astarion keenly aware of the gentle cadence of her breathing returning to its natural rhythm. He rolls on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“I won’t press you further on your nightmares.” He says, “Just know I’m here if you want to talk about them.” 

She exhales. “It’s a reoccurring dream. An…amalgamation of memories, some from the night my parents died, some from when Gale and I slept together when we were younger.”

Astarion’s brow furrows as he listens to her.

“I pushed myself into something with him I wasn’t sure about because I just wanted to erase the awful things that had been done to me. As if I could undo the touch of someone so sinister by lying with someone so kind.” She blinks. “I used him.”

“I appreciate the candor.” He says, idly tracing shapes on her arm with his fingertips. “But in all seriousness, my dear, I think Mystra did far more damage to Gale’s ego than you ever could.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Mystra? Yes. Your history with Gale?” He snorts. “No.” He tips her chin towards him. “Gale’s a big boy. He can handle himself.” His lips curl into a mischievous grin. “Now that I think about it, though, I actually don’t know. Is he…?” 

 “-You’re such a letch.” 

“This is the first I’ve heard you complain about it.” He reaches down, gently pulling one of her legs over his hip, enjoying the scowl she gives him. 

“It’s no wonder he and Shadowheart get on so well.” He muses, “They’ve both been burned by their former goddesses.”

He frowns. “And then there’s you, of course.” 

Her eyelids grow heavy and she lays her head on his chest, staring into the embers of the dying fire as his arms snake around her.

“Gods and monsters masquerading as saviors.” She sighs, and slips into a dreamless sleep.

[selunesdreams]

Look at this beautiful commission of Celeste and Astarion by @nikoadmeliora!

Commission for @selunesdreams 🤍

[rawliverandgoronspice]

I'm glad totk has no connection to the previous ganon (oot-onwards) because it would totally ruin him as a character.

Honestly I consider totk ganondorf separate even from botw, because I do love the idea of botw ganon being a completely self-dehumanized, seething, eldritch representation of this ageless grudge no one has any context for anymore, so he might as well be understood as a natural disaster or a vicious plague. I find this incredibly juicy!! Buuuut to me it only works within the context of a dozen other games building the ground up for this goopy, demonic, hateful incarnation with too many limbs and far too many angry eyes.

If you decide to connect BotW Ganon to TotK Ganondorf however.... like. I'm sorry, but. Sir, you are not this angry. You have zero reason to be anywhere near this level of rancor. You haven't even been stabbed, ever!!!! You never had your wish ripped out from under you!!!! You have never been forced to rot away in the void while fully aware of every agonizing second for centuries, not even a single time!!!! Rauru merely grounded you so you'd have your little power nap (:>), and then you woke up with renewed energy to topple down the other kid's sand castle just because it's fun to watch him cry. And honestly TotK Ganondorf does kind of feel like a toddler, gleeful to discover his own capacity for destruction for the first time. Which. I guess that could have been, something? I don't know, to me it's still pretty stupid and inconsistent honestly. But either way, that is not Dislocated Screeching Essence of a Mad Pig material.

TotK Ganondorf has no grudge, and as far as we know (which is insane!!!! this guy's core characterization is envy, yet he doesn't have this corrosive toxic energy at all in totk!!! he's far too happy to be here and break stuff just because, and like sir you are a grown man you've been a king for decades what are you so giddy aboutttt), the worse he had to suffer through in totk, as far as the game tells us, was a temporary humiliation. Which could absolutely be motivating for sure, but it feels very human and political and measured. Not "I will shred my own skin and forget my own name and suffer death a thousand times over just to show you all the depths of my hate" levels of fury. Again, to remove our familiarity to the character as players cheapens decades of buildup, and!!!!!!! anyway. Anyway.

anyway.

[agenericplaceholdername]

I think that the gem Thunderfang gives to the Forbidden Five contains the souls of ancient Dragonians loyal to him. Notice that when the gem is destroyed in "The Spectral Lands", what emerges from it looks nearly identical to the souls of the Forbidden Five in "Chaos Unchained":

I wonder if, since these Dragonian souls serve Thunderfang, the ancient Dragonians fought alongside the dragons against the Oni? Maybe the Dragonians kept in the gem were the Dragonians Thunderfang commanded in battle? Would love to learn some more Dragonian lore.

I know the villain faction in S3P2 are "Spectral Dragonians," so if this is explained in the leaked episodes (or if it was obvious just by watching S3P1 and I didn't catch on until now), my bad.

[wonder-worker]

[Matilda of Boulogne's] thorough integration into the governance of the realm was not repeated in [Eleanor of Aquitaine's] years as queen of England. Eleanor's coronation followed a new model that emphasized the queen as progenitor of royal heirs and subordinate to the king rather than as sharer of royal power. Though Eleanor acted as regent in England between 1156 and 1158 and in Poitou on several occasions from 1165 on, her writs suggest delegated rather than shared royal authority. In England, her power was limited by the lack of lands assigned to her use and by the elaboration of financial and judicial administration. Whereas Matilda III's inheritance allowed her to play an integral role in politics by securing the Londoners' loyalty and a steady supply of mercenaries, Eleanor's inheritance provided her with more extensive power in Poitou and Aquitaine than in England. Until 1163, Eleanor withdrew funds from the Exchequer by her own writ, but unlike her Anglo-Norman predecessors, she was not a member of its council nor did she issue judgments from the royal court. Eleanor's counsel and diplomatic activities, in contrast to Matilda's, are rarely mentioned. She did, however, encourage the 1159 Toulouse campaign and supported Henry in the Becket affair and the coronation of young Henry. Eleanor was not a prominent curialis; she rarely witnessed Henry's charters or interceded to secure the king's mercy. She did follow in Matilda's footsteps in her promotion of her sons, cultivation of dynastic goals through the Fontevraudian tombs, and patronage that reflected her family's traditions. For Matilda, to be queen encompassed a variety of functions-curialis, diplomat, judge, intercessor, and "regent." Through a combination of factors, Eleanor's role as queen was much more restricted.

— Heather J. Tanner, "Queenship: Office, Custom or Ad Hoc", Eleanor of Aquitaine: Lord and Lady (Edited by Bonnie Wheeler and John Carmi Parsons)

[atwas-gaming]

Am I wrong in thinking Age of Imprisonment might be our first Zelda game in which Link doesn't appear at all?

[lemonduckisnowawake]

Dragon!Angelique AU word dump that I wrote on a whim just to see how many words I could write in 20 minutes on my phone (it was 569. 1327 total in about 40 to 50 minutes total). So don't expect anything shiny.

_

They were all supposed to be dead.

What they didn't know was that when the goblins ransacked the little village of Joie in Loire, the creatures had been drawn to a lurking power.

"He was a soldier," Angelique had told Clovicus about her father, nothing but an old grief tugging at her heart.

She hadn't said anything about her mother.

But it wasn't like it was a secret, anyway.

There wasn't much to hide when you found a child, eyes blazing a cold and unnatural silver, something hard and scaly and glowing on the sides of her face, teeth bared and sharper than a child's teeth should be.

Mama was supposed to be invincible.

But in a world where an ogre can be felled by nothing more than a youth and her cat, where a man-turned-beast can be tamed by a snarky ranger, where a demonic mirror can be contained by a mortal with her human power and love - even goblins can fell an ancient monster.

"You should practice using that power..."

And what right do you have to say that? Angelique had thought, eyeing the irritating teenager training under Clovicus. He didn't understand the pain that the lurking beast inside her had caused. He didn't understand that without it, she might have a family, not be someone taken out of pity by a man who didn't even like children.

And yet, six years later after being discovered, when Evariste had invited her to stay in his home as she tried to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, she'd accepted. When the Council protested, he simply had bared his very human teeth and claimed he'd teach her magic.

(A mage?, they'd whispered, voices horrified. Why would Lord Enchanter Evariste teach a monster to be a mage??)

Just to spite them, Angelique - planning to stay quiet, subdued, discover a way to run - decided to learn.

Even if Evariste kept insisting she use her horrible, heinous power, even if he kept insisting that it was beautiful, she stayed and thrived.

Of course, she refused his asinine insistence for her to train that other side of her.

The memory of her mother, in the process of transforming, cut down by one of those creatures, still burned in her mind. The whispers surrounding her, the people who barged into Clovicus' home to see her, make sure she was controlled, that she wasn't dangerous. And even now, people sent by the Council harassed Evariste - all these memories kept her tranquilized.

"Is your little beast tamed?" the visitors wouldn't say, but imply with all their words.

Evariste would shield her, and Angelique longed to sink her teeth into these people, show them what an untamed, wild, and free beast really looked like. But for Clovicus and now for Evariste, who was protecting her on some strange basis of loyalty from growing up together, she'd stay tame.

And now...he was gone.

He'd been gone for nearly six years, taken from under her nose, right in his own home.

Shielding her.

Just like her parents.

Everyone was always left or taken, and maybe now Angelique understood those stories where the dragons kidnapped royals or young people or entire villages. Creatures like her must have been fated by the gods or some deity to forever be alone, so they took and hoarded and kept whenever the opportunity rose. Because it would be taken anyway, in the end.

You have all the power to take back what is yours, young one, the stars had told her once.

They had called themselves Pegasus, a swirl of stars knit together into a constellation she could ride.

We had an agreement with your human mage, Pegasus told her. But the stars will only bow to those who can reach them.

So Angelique did not have to unfold her own wings, transform into something that would make children quake in terror. Instead, she became the beautiful enchantress who rode the stars, in search of a friend who had taught her the beauty of human magic and abyss-deep love. She was the one to tame men turned into beasts, who transformed a destitute duchess into a queen, who fostered a mage of creation, who destroyed only to protect and save.

That was how it was supposed to be.

Angelique, at 18 and about to leave the world behind before Evariste invited her into hers, would have been happy to withdraw into the shadows and fade as another bad memory of the world. But then she'd risen to become a hero, to become someone who was great enough that she didn't need to unleash the beast shaking in the cage of her soul.

"You can't hide it forever. You can't hide from it forever," Emerys warned her once, something gleaming - something that looked like hope and joy - in his eyes.

And now, he repeated the words to her again, cradling the form of his wounded human lover. It made Angelique's heart squeeze painfully. An elf of the forest from a land far away and a mortal woman who accepted who he was, loved it even.

"Please, Angelique?" Emerys begged her, himself bloodied and bruised.

So how had it come to this?

It had started with her father, loving Angelique for who she was, calling her and Mama his "little fire stars." And then it was Clovicus (Angelique now knew how unfair she'd been to the man, who may have not liked children all that much but had loved her and Evariste), giving her a home when the Council had called for her to be killed. And then...Evariste, who had given her a home and an alternate solution to survival in his beautiful, human magic. Then Emerys and Alastryn, Roland and Gabrielle, Elle (who had discovered it because of course the former spy would), and now....

"It always comes to this," Angelique muttered to herself, not even aware that she was speaking.

Something hot - and she didn't know if it was rage or love - burned in her chest. The fire of it all spread from her core into her veins, forcibly squeezing through her muscle onto the organ of her skin, hardening it.

"No matter how much I give, I always have to give more," she said, almost a sob and yet so full of resigned desperation. "You had all my humanity. And this, finally, is the rest of me."

Because she would have burned long ago if it could have bought her parents to life. Or if it would have saved Evariste.

Trained to hide it all her life and told by those she loved to set it free.

Fine. Here I am.

And the fire burst out in full, encasing her in a cocoon of silver flames. She felt herself rise with the fire, the unsteady floating stabilizing when scaly wings were wrenched out, the flying coming to her instinctually.

It wasn't a full transformation, no. She wouldn't give them that.

But the scales were on her face again, as they had been long ago when they'd found her. Her back had grown wings as large as the wonder from the soldiers below, and they propelled her as she raided the sky and became the wind of this windless day. There was no fire out of her mouth - her humanoid body was not made to contain it - but it didn't matter.

An ancient, deep, powerful magic danced in her blood, merging with her human spells and setting the horde of the evil beasts alight. In seconds, the encroaching armies became ash and dust, scattered in the winds of her flight path.

Inside of Angelique, there was a contended rumble, as if from a creature long-chained set free.

Welcome home, it whispered, startling her.

Home?

As she landed back to where Emerys and Quinn, both gazing at her with...with awe, of all things, staying put as Angelique willed the searing burn of her magic into a healing warmth to flow over them - as she looked into their eyes and smiles, something within her shattered and mended and sang.

It sounded like the voice of her mother, opening her arms wide to an Angelique shrieking in delight as her father tossed her up and down.

"Welcome home."

[comradecowplant]

*** weewoo weewoo, Severance rant incoming, avoid or gather 'round depending on your preference, weewoo weewoo***

oofda Severance went from what's gotta be the best episode in the series-- visually, emotionally, character drive, general plot development, etc.-- to probably the weakest. Dgmw, I absolutely adore Patricia Arquette's performance as this sad off-putting woman and was eager for a Cobel check-in, but back-to-back bottleneck episodes leading up the finale was a TERRIBLE pacing choice, just completely missing the mark in a season that has already been plagued with pacing issues-- I'm lookin' at you, beloved by many but meh to me bc I have never been a melly shipper & thought it was a frustrating cut-away from the previous episode's dramatic final moment, Woe's Hollow-- & did not really provide much new information/plot momentum to make up for it-- yeah yeah Cobel lifelong Kier cultist, child labor & mommy issues, groomed & exploited scientific prowess, Lumon ruining anachronistic ether-huffing towns economically & spiritually; didn't really dig deeper or meaningfully build on anything we already know of in a away that needed to be a full break-away episode for, imo. Coulda & shoulda been the b-plot to a Milchick's continued spirit breaking/background to Ms. Huang (which would have very much thematically tied together to each!) -focused episode. And considering how short the episode is compared to the rest, I kind of suspect it might have began production that way but it was changed for some reason further along, but that's purely vibes based speculation.

These pacing issues paired with the knowledge that there are only nine episodes a season in this silly era of television, I am increasingly nervous about the finale, particularly considering ms dipshit mama bear super sibling withOUT a background in neuroscience who thinks she knows better than the scientist who was already digging around inside his noggin Devon followed through and reached Cobel 🤦‍♂️ like, clearly there are cracks in Cobel's Kier worship/Lumon militancy-- I think she has an ego that 1) cannot forgive how tossed away she was, especially with the newest detail of her being the overlooked inventor of the severance technology, & 2) despite the indoctrination, she has enough self-preservation to bridge the cognitive dissonance that rationalizes Lumon's abuses now that it's HER that might get locked away in the mind wipe torture basement-- but you're watching a different show in a different universe if you think we've gotten any evidence to strongly indicate that she is actually trustworthy. As the inventor of the chip she could be the perfect person to help Mark with the final reintegration steps... or, as I suspect will be more along the lines of what will happen, she could activate any of the other "modes" that have so far been only eluded to/cause further brain damage/betray mark & ragbhari to leverage herself into a better position with lumon/whatever will benefit her in her quest for... well, besides survival & credit for her invention, I really can't say for sure what her motivations currently are, but legitimate compassion & concern for Mark/the innies certainly are not among them.

Idk, just overall I think this season has put its hands in too many plot pies, especially now that the other outies have been given more character development time, a choice I've liked overall but that has not been 😏 integrated 😏 well with the rest of the story, largely because (forgive my repeating myself) of the pacing/9 episode limit-- we've gotten the central Mark reintegration plot, then we have melly romance b-plot, dylan emotional affair with his own wife c-plot, outie irv + his relationship to the testing floor & whatever the fuck is going on with burt/his husband d & e-plot, milchick being racially micro-aggressed f-plot, ms huang & the spectre of child labor g-plot, nasty lady helena eagan & her sinister side swept blunt bang h-plot, whatever cobel's deal is i-plot, the general overarching What Evil Mysterious Schemes is Lumon Up To j to whatever plot, and finally, the most pressing plot point to me that has been frustratingly shelved until episode 7, What's Happening to Gemma plot. I don't expect nor want wrapped packages with bows, but satisfying narratives involve give and take, and I simply don't have much confidence in the real estate provided by the 49 remaining minutes of the season that we'll get much of anywhere (except mad over what bad things are likely about to happen to Gemma, that is one thing I have begrudging confidence in 😔)

[swamp-world]

You should read Kimberlé Crenshaw. You should read Iris Marion Young. You should read bell hooks. You should read Kate Borenstein. You should read Angela Davis. You should read S. Bear Bergman. Ivan Coyote. Jack Halberstam. Leslie Feinberg. You should read Audre Lorde and Judith Butler. Miss Major and Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson. Yes it is a lot of work. No I have not read them all myself either. Yes it is essential. I see people naming them all the time on here only to terribly misunderstand or undercut or tokenize them. If we are going to talk about feminisms we have an obligation to read feminists. Listen to their speeches and interviews. People have spent decades before us laying groundwork definitions and concepts. We do not have to accept them as they are but to do that work to accept, reject, or modify these theories and definitions and ideas, but we do have to actually take the time to read them ourselves and not just commentary on them, or excerpts or simplified summaries, whether that's in books or online.

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 52: Dogma-Stained Love

Astarion flexes his hands at his sides, Artor’s false ring adoring his index finger. With his vampirism gone, the once-useless trinket serves as his only visual aid in the dim light of the crumbling tunnels of the Undermountain, and the cold metal digs into his skin as he rotates it with his thumb. His steps match Celeste’s, rounding another turn between wall-mounted torches, purple flames licking at the cave walls surrounding them. Stalactites hang from the ceiling, and Celeste moves around them slowly in the dark as her ears become attuned to the sounds of bats screeching and flapping their wings in the distance. “Feeling alright?” he spares a glance in her direction out of the corner of his eye. Celeste flinches, startled even by his soft tone.  “I’m not sure how to answer that.” She squints back over her shoulder at the rest of the party trailing behind them. “Just up ahead.” Gale calls out, letting go of Shadowheart’s hand to point.  “No heroics, okay?” Celeste asks in a low voice. “Don’t threaten my reputation with talks of altruism, darling.” Astarion speaks with the feigned confidence that comes to him so instinctively. An old force of habit. A survival mechanism. The facade fades, his smile faltering, and he stops in his tracks, grabbing her by the wrist and resting his palms on her shoulders.  “Just…come back to me, alright?” He strokes her hair, holding her head from behind so she meets his gaze.  “Always.” His chest tightens, and he takes her face in his hands, pulling her into a brief, but deep, kiss. As the others catch up, he draws away, giving her a gentle shove in their direction. “Go on, then. Knock them dead.”

Full Chapter on AO3

Warnings: 18+, mdni. Blood, violence, death, religious trauma. See AO3 for tags and other chapter-specific warnings

A/N: This one took about a week longer than I wanted to get it to you, on the bright (I hope) side, this one is LONG (6k). I just couldn't split it up. I had a fun quip about Dragon Age Veilguard delaying me, but the biggest delay came in the form of grief. I'm giving these final chapters as much justice as I can, because this fic has been so special to me. I hope you enjoy them, and I hope they wrap this story up in a satisfactory way for you. Your support, reading, and comments really get me through the day sometimes. There's a strange sense of relief and bittersweetness as I write these final chapters. Thank you for being here for my silly little story.

[hysterical-random-things]

I GOT YOU So with your Narinder then, how would you describe how his characterization and/or role has evolved in your AU? And also for bonus points, what would you say you're most proud of regarding this evolution? (No matter how mundane it may seem!) 💘

So my biggest thing that ive been really focusing on is trying to develop narinder (and by extension the lamb also) as his own person. He's angry and proud and bitter but like a big thing to me is Narinder is patient, almost to a fatal degree imo. He's not fast to act and prefers to wait and watch before interacting. However he does have a bad habit of making assumptions about how the people he "know" will act preemptively and getting really through off when they do anything different that what he expected (his original betrayal, the lamb deciding to fight for their crown, the lamb banning him from leaving etc)

(i am going to fully admit i pull some of his character quirks and behavior from my own cat nugget, girl has... Issues but isn't aggressive unless really pushed she's just kinda a mess and I've decided my narinder deals with issues the same way)

When he is through off he gets very defensive. Not violent but extremely guarded and not quick to trust again. Even if he knows he's "safe" he doesn't care.

This entire thing has become a big Thing for me. And I'm vaguely proud of how my narinder has shaped into a something I can kinda being accurate.

He's collected, he's put together, he's not even really rude but he will do the bare minimum for you if you've hurt him. He won't go down to your level and hurt you back but he makes sure you are Very aware he's not forgotten and at least for now he hasn't forgiven.

The biggest like choice i think I made with him was giving him more compicated relationships outside of the lamb and his siblings, he makes choices for himself, that are only for himself and doesn't care what others think.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Hi? Is it okay to ask for Ganondorf's possible anxieties involving having a son?

I mean, it's highly unlikely that Ganon even saw another male until at least 18. Imagine what that would do to someone. No father, no male role model, no male friends, no male associates. No male contact at all.

Like, I can't even imagine what it would've been like to have had no female contact at all until 18.

Just not having a good father in one's life is known to stunt a person substantially. I can't even fathom how othered Ganon must've felt growing up. How utterly pressured he felt to become a pillar of masculinity without any real example to follow. No one to teach him what it actually means to be a good man. No one to explain things to him. No one to show him the subtle little things that seems to almost be universal among men no matter the culture. Especially in how they interact amongst each other. No one to teach him about comradery between men. About the unspoken rules that men seem to have.

And, not to mention the almost commodifying perspective the Gerudo have towards men. One even mentioned that she'd believed that all men were useless except for Ganondorf.

I can't help but think he might've internalized some of that.

So, would Ganon be anxious about setting a good example for his son seeing as he likely didn't have that himself?

Ganondorf had to admit he was still in shock over looking at his children. But the longer he stared at them, the more a new feeling settled into his heart.

Watching his daughter was a blessing; a strong feeling of protectiveness overcame him, and he wondered how such a delicate looking child could grow into a warrior like her mother. But his son…

Ganondorf could fathom having a daughter, could handle raising a girl. But a son…

He’d never felt so simultaneously out-of-depth and excited.

It wasn’t particularly a feeling he enjoyed. Ganondorf despised being out of control. But looking at the little boy made him feel so utterly alone and adrift, wondering how in the world he could possibly raise this child correctly. Yet at the same time, it filled him with eagerness, an excitement to give the boy guidance that he had been sorely lacking in his life.

Growing up as a Gerudo male had been so incredibly isolating. Ganondorf had been treated as a king and as some Other, his childhood filled with voids and gaps in understanding, in confusion that had left him stumbling when he’d first entered Hyrule. He’d never felt unwelcome by his fellow Gerudo, but he’d also never felt welcome. His presence was a blessing, a symbol of leadership with no understanding of what that even meant. Somehow it was his responsibility to lead his band of thieves, and the best way he knew how was to be the strongest. His physicality lent to it naturally, so it only seemed the correct path. But when he’d first entered Hyrule, when he’d first seen another man, he had felt wholly inadequate. It had been a group of Hylian soldiers, all strong in their own right, laughing amongst each other, at ease, normal.

He wasn’t normal. He’d never been normal. His body had been strange and cursed, developing in ways no other Gerudo’s had, lacking the gift of life that the women bore, making up for it in sheer power and aggression. It had been his goddess-given right to be a protector, and that had developed into a greater desire when he’d seen Hyrule.

He didn’t have to defend. He could just take as his sisters did, but with greater results. He could live in a land that prospered, he could rule it, as was his birthright.

But all of those thoughts felt empty when looking at his son, because here he held a new gift and opportunity. He could be a father. He could raise a boy to be a man, could show him what that meant when he’d never had that chance.

But what could he possibly do in this role? He knew nothing of fathers, even in his journeys to Hyrule. The closest he’d gotten to interacting with a father was seeing the king, who occasionally was present with the princess, but mostly the girl was elsewhere in the palace. Was being a father not that involved, then, or was it simply because the king of Hyrule had other duties? Ganondorf surely wouldn’t abandon his children nearly so much. They could attend duties with him. How else could they learn to fulfill their roles, anyway?

Was that the correct course of action? Twinrova had done as much with Ganondorf, so it seemed reasonable. He’d been involved in the care and leadership of his people since he was a teenager, perhaps even a little younger.

The worst part of this was that he had no one to turn to for this. Ganondorf hated relying on anything or anyone else but himself, but in this matter… he… almost wished he did have someone. Nabooru, as much as he loved her, was not going to be helpful in this matter. However, in this land that Din had taken him to, the Gerudo here did have a very small amount of men present in their ranks – only those who joined with Gerudo women were allowed. Men from a nearby settlement occasionally interacted with Gerudo, and those who chose to embrace the culture and marry one of the women were allowed. But they were foreigners, and Ganondorf was their ruler through his own birthright and his marriage to Nabooru. He refused to look to them for an example.

Ganondorf took a steadying breath, lifting the child into his arms. It didn’t matter if he had an example or not. He’d forged his own way his entire life, and that wasn’t changing now. He would be a father to these children whether he was ready or not, and so he would strive to be the best father he could be, whatever that meant.

[lilacxquartz]

and also the yandere personified prison realm story is on the way because i apparently have free will and i have to exercise that right by writing cursed spiritified yandere cube (but it won’t be a cube) adventure smut

[silverhalla]

AFRAID BY THE NEIGHBORHOOD GOES ON THE LUCANIS PLAYLIST

[bg3smash-or-pass]

[lord-squiggletits]

Broke: "Does this character deserve forgiveness/redemption/happiness/life after all the bad things they did?"

Bespoke: "Would it be thematically appropriate, narratively satisfying, or emotionally moving for this character to have a happy ending?"