#he's one of if not THE most evil dnd character I have and she's just soooooo

[namarikonda]

Sideron (they/he/she) is a rogue mastermind but somehow still "struggles" with their harnesses 🙄

[planeoftheeclectic]

Hello, Peregrine 4 for the WIP Wednesday ask game please!

Also, what's this about a dnd character's Inigo Montoya speech? That sounds awesome, you should work on that too.

3 minutes of editing done! Here's the first three sentences of Snorri's Inigo Montoya speech!

____

You don't know me. But you know my mother. Or rather, you knew my mother.

[powdermelonkeg]

just saw ur gale/mystra analysis post. im new to the game and dnd lore and honestly… ur take on their relationship feels like the most natural/compelling one??? esp since its all too easy to simplify topics that have many facets and nuance….

thanks for sharing i love analysis and reading people’s takes on narratives : D

My pleasure! (Bee from the future here: congrats, you spawned another meta!)

I love complicated characters, WAY more than I like a clear cut-and-dry case. Flaws, to me, are what make a character compelling and lead to interesting stories about them with choices that can get them into situations. I'm both writing a fanfic and running a campaign where I'm playing as Gale, and in the interest of portraying him properly and in-character, I've gone into SUCH a deep dive into all the decisions and facts that make him him.

It helps to, y'know, also be in love with the fictional wizard, but I digress

The thing about Baldur's Gate 3 is that no character in there is perfect. I've seen a couple analyses about the theme of continuing cycles of abuse vs breaking out of them, but in my mind, in terms of the characters themselves, it goes like this:

The origin characters have just come out of the lowest situation of their lives (Lae'zel being the exception; being tadpoled is a gith's worst nightmare. You're seeing that lowest situation in real time).

Not the lowest point, mind. Gale's lowest was probably the day after he got the Orb. Wyll's was probably the day his father cast him out. Karlach's was the day she lost her heart. But the lowest, accepted normal for them is what they've just left.

They're then thrown out of their depth and forced to rely on you to live. That's #1 priority: living. We get the extremes of these characters before we get their nuances, because they're quite literally at their breaking points.

Then once we get to know them, we see their wants, their hopes, their fears, as they open up to us. Every companion's story is at their own pace, but they all have a moment where they ping-pong between despondency and desire. Sometimes that desire is what we know isn't good for them, like Shadowheart wanting to be a Dark Justiciar. Sometimes that despondency is only for a flicker, like Astarion's realization that he's condemned 7000 people to a half-life of tortured spawnhood for as long as he's been a vampire.

Romance lets us crack all that open more, because if you pursue a romantic partner, they see you as their closest confidant. They WANT to trust you, so they're more willing to explain how they see the world and what decisions they want to chase.

And then their endings. Those often get simplified as good/bad, continuing the cycle vs breaking away from it. But how is Duke Wyll on the same platform as Ascended Astarion? He's not evil, he's not even entirely unhappy. He might even have broken out of his abusive cycle with Mizora, if you played your cards right. And Ascended Astarion is overjoyed, even if he is remarkably more cold.

I think that the endings are less a dichotomy of "this is good for them" vs "this is bad for them," and more one of "bringing out their best traits" vs "bringing out their worst."

Wyll's worst trait is being willing to sacrifice his own wants for whatever people desire of him. His best is standing for what he believes in and ensuring people are safe. Duke Wyll leans into that necessity to turn the other cheek in the name of people who count on him, while the Blade of Avernus has seized that moral compass of his and forged it out of mithral.

Shadowheart's worst trait is blind obedience at the cost of her individuality, while her best is her desire to be kind to things that don't deserve to be hurt. Mother Superior Shadowheart's whole life is defined by Shar. Selûnite Shadowheart's life is defined by her hospitality, especially towards animals.

Karlach's worst trait is how willing she is to accept that things are (to quote her) fucked, letting despair override hope. Her best is her durability in the face of horror. Exploded Karlach would rather die than try to work out a solution in the Hells, because she's terrified of facing Zariel alone. Mindflayer Karlach has accepted her fate and decides to give up her heart and soul to go out a hero, losing who she is. Fury of Avernus Karlach is willing to keep fighting for a solution, and by the time the epilogue happens, she's got her sights set on one.

Astarion's worst trait is his desire for power over people. His best trait is using the tools he has to his advantage. Ascended Astarion has let his powerhungry nature and paranoia lead all of his decisions, with his sights set on dominating mankind. Spawn Astarion has embraced what he is, and carved out a life for himself where he can do as he pleases.

Lae'zel's worst trait is her blind fanaticism, while her best trait is her individual dedication, making her loyalty a marriage of the two. Ascended Lae'zel is a meal for the lich queen, turning a blind eye to all Vlaakith's tried to do to her and literally being consumed by her fervor. Champion of Orpheus Lae'zel has turned her loyalty into something productive for diplomacy. Faerûnian Lae'zel has seized her individuality by the throat and decided her own future.

And then Gale. Gale's worst traits are his hubris and, paradoxically, his low self worth. His best traits are his creativity and wonder for the world. God Gale is the embodiment of ambition, having burned away all but that in pursuit of perfection. Exploded Gale has let his remorse blot out all hope for a redemption in which he does not die, because he thinks he's earned it. Professor Gale leads his life by embracing the school of Illusion and letting his creativity thrive, teaching others to do the same. House Husband Gale has multiple creative projects he's working on, and Adventurer Gale is always finding new sights to see and wanting to share them with you.

There are arguments to be made on which ending the origins are happiest in, certainly, or which one benefits them the most, but each ending represents the extreme of a facet they possess.

So with all that, there's a sort of malleable method to figuring out the ins and outs of a character.

You take their endings—all of them, all variables they can have—and reverse-engineer the flaws and details they carry. Then you start to notice how those work into their approvals for minor things: Astarion approving of your taking of the Blood of Lathander, or Shadowheart approving of standing up for Arabella. Getting a list of approvals and disapprovals is helpful, but having those endings on hand tells you why they react like that to a majority of their decisions.

You take their romance-route explanations of how they act, and apply those to earlier decisions. Astarion's confession to manipulating you and Araj-prompted admittance to using himself as a tool brings to light how he reacts to your decisions, regardless of his actual opinions on them. Wyll's fairytale romance and love of poetic adages speaks to his idealistic nature, and why he takes a sometimes-blinded approach to decisions in which the "right" answer isn't always the smart one.

You take their beginning reactions to stress and use that to measure how future decisions impact them. Lae'zel locks down and gets snappy when she's scared, while Gale immediately turns to diplomacy. Shadowheart has gallows humor, while Wyll turns to quiet acceptance. If they break from these and seem even worse, you know the situation is more dire in their minds than having seven days to live.

And then you factor in all their fun facts and dialogue choices and backstories.

A wizard falls in love with a goddess and her magic, attempts to retrieve a piece of her power for her, is scorned for his attempt and is cursed to die.

Give that backstory to a Tav. Look at how it changes.

A chaotic good wizard fell in love with a goddess, thought retrieving a piece of power for her would be a showy bouquet of love, and was punished for not thinking things through.

A lawful evil wizard fell in love with a goddess's power, snatched the most precious thing she owned, tried to use it to barter his way through to the secrets she kept, and was given a swift retribution.

Same backstory. Same class, same act, same goddess. Wildly different connotations. Wildly different conclusions as to who is in the wrong.

If you take all there is to Gale, all that the game shows us makes up his character, and apply it to this backstory, you get what really happened:

A wizard, enamored with magic, fell in love with a goddess. His desires led him to want more than she was willing to give. In his well-buried fear of inadequacy, he concluded that the reason she wouldn't indulge his ambitions was because he just hadn't proven himself worthy enough. So he tried to prove himself, but he lacked the context for what he was proving himself with. And the goddess, seeing a weapon that had killed her predecessor, saw this ambitious wizard as losing his way and coming for her just like the weapon's creator had. She was angry, she withdrew his link to her, and he didn't know why. So he drew the conclusion that she took his powers to punish him, and let that encompass his fall from grace.

Was he wrong to reach for what was out there?

If you knew that the answers to everything you cared about were not only known, but kept by someone you loved—someone who adored you—what would you do to ask to see them? What if your curiosities were if there were other planets with life out there, or how dark matter worked, or whether or not we could one day travel in the stars? What if it was the potential cure to an illness that's little-understood, or the way to make a program you dreamt up, or the scope of the true limits of your artistic talents? Would your answer change?

Was she wrong to cut him off?

If you were once hurt, and the person you loved—the person who adored you—brought the thing that caused it to your door, believing you'd want it, how would you react to seeing it? What if that thing was someone you thought you'd broken contact with, like a friend or family member you'd been trying to avoid? Would your answer change?

That's the sort of scope that needs to be applied to this, on both sides. You have to take the perspectives of each party, and apply two analogies instead of one.

Gale saw the vastness of the universe, untold wonders, the solution to every question he could ever dream up, and saw Mystra as withholding this from him because she thought he just wasn't worthy enough. To claim Mystra knew his perspective does her a disservice.

Mystra saw a cruel weapon she thought long gone, in the hands of someone who could use it, brought right to her, and thought Gale was willingly following the path of Karsus. To claim Gale knew her perspective does him a disservice.

Should Gale have researched his prize more, so he knew just what he was obtaining? Should he have kept his hands off a cursed book that would devour him? Of course he should have.

Should he have given up on chasing his dreams?

Should Mystra have understood that Gale's pursuit of power was nothing like Karsus'? Should she have communicated when she was angry instead of giving the cold shoulder? Of course she should have.

Should she have given him the benefit of the doubt?

That's the root of their falling out. That's what leads to hurt being inflicted. Understandable, human reactions to the situations they perceive. Unhealthy, unwise choices made afterwards.

You work backwards from this to figure out their dynamic as Chosen and goddess. You work forward from this to understand more of where Gale and Mystra are during the events of Baldur's Gate 3. Gale reached too high, and understands this. His goddess hates him, and he regrets this. Mystra isolated Gale, and understands this. Her Chosen wants redemption, and she wants to make it happen.

Just like we took Gale's character into account, we also have to take Mystra's.

A goddess is faced with a problem. She uses someone who's desperate for approval to solve it, by telling him to kill himself.

An evil goddess is faced with a threat to her reign. She sees someone who's unfailingly loyal and hates himself, and elects to have him tear himself apart rather than do anything about it.

A good goddess is terrified of the future. She sees someone who tried to hurt her, who's going to die anyways, and tells him to use it to save the world.

Same story. Same act, same power, same pawn. Different character. Different perspective. Different outlook on whether or not this is the right thing to do.

Mystra has died, multiple times, to people trying to stake claim to her domain. Someone appears with the very thing that could do it again, right as she's regained her stability.

She does not see mortals the way mortals do. She is timeless. She is eternal. She has a duty to protect billions of people, and one person lost to protect that number is more than worth the sacrifice.

People like to bring up the Seven Sisters as proof of Mystra's cruelty. For those unaware, Mystra asked permission to, then possessed, a woman, used her to court a man (with dubious consent from the woman), and bore seven children, all of whom were capable of bearing Mystra's power as Chosen without dying. The woman she possessed was killed in the process (reduced to no more than a husk, then slain by her now-husband, hoping to end her suffering), and the husband was horrified by the whole story.

Mystra needed Chosen in order to restore herself in the event that she was killed again, to prevent magic as a whole from collapsing and wreaking havoc on the mortal realm, like it had in the few seconds Mystryl had been dead. Elminster, Khelben Blackstaff, and the Seven Sisters contributed to this. The more Chosen she has, the better; what happens if Elminster dies? She can't afford to have all her eggs in one basket.

Mystra has Volo (yeah, that Volo) as a Weave Anchor, imparted with a portion of her power to prevent the Weave from shredding itself to pieces in her absence. All Chosen of Mystra are Weave Anchors by nature. The creation of Weave Anchors was mandated by Ao, the Overgod, and Chosen are the best way to make sure those anchors aren't drained by ambitious people hoping for godlike power. Chosen can, and will, defend themselves, unlike static locations (which Mystra also has). The anchors are why the Weave wasn't completely obliterated during Mystra's last death, when the Spellplague rose up, because they stabilized the Weave around them.

Everything Mystra does is in the name of the big picture, to prevent a catastrophe like the fall of Netheril from happening again. Her restriction of magic, her numerous Chosen, her creation of Weave Anchors, her destruction of those who would claim her power, it's all in the name of the stability she's been charged with. Dornal Silverhand's grief and Elué Silverhand's death, while regrettable, were worth it to bring seven more anchors into existence to save all of the Material.

So someone appears with the Crown of Karsus, potentially powerful enough to try to kill the other gods in the name of the Dead Three. She can't risk being a target of them. She can't risk the destruction of magic again.

Gale is going to die. He lives in fear. He begs for forgiveness.

In Mystra's eyes, she's offering him the best outcome. She'll let him die in service to her, to save Faerûn, and she'll forgive him. He's going to die anyways, and if he does this, she'll give him everything (she thinks) he could ever want in her realm. She's asking him to do what (she thinks) is the right thing.

"She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness."

Notably, she leaves the decision in his hands. She doesn't have Elminster lead him to the Nether Brain. She doesn't activate him as soon as he's there. When he lives yet, she doesn't revoke the charm that keeps him stable. And when he declines, when he lets it go and starts pursuing Karsus' path, she doesn't smite him on the spot.

She is (she thinks) being incredibly patient. If Gale is going to try to be Karsus II, she's ready for him. If he decides to walk off and keep the Orb, he's dug his own grave in the Fugue Plane (those who don't have a god to claim them roam endlessly as husks and form a wall of bodies around the City of Judgement).

From her perspective, she's not being unreasonable. But from the perspective of a mortal, she absolutely is.

"Now, I have a question for thee: what is the worth of a single mortal's life?"

This is a question she cannot answer properly.

I think a lot of characterization is lost whenever someone paints one of them as being totally in the right. But I also think you have to be invested in them as characters to want to see that characterization. If you want to write about Mystra, you have to try to get into her head, analyze the decisions she made, figure out why she thinks she was right, and follow the pattern.

Gale's sacrifice is a very predictable thing for her to ask for.

[manykinsmen]

okay, here is what kind of dnd characters i think the drivers would play.

daniel: horny bard, obvs. probably a half-elf ‘cause he wants to be a little special but also he can’t get past the fact he genuinely thinks humans are sexiest. chaotic good.

charles: sorceror. he doesn’t understand the magic system and has made this so, so hard for himself. probably an elf because they’re the sexiest to him. neutral good.

carlos: he’s weirdly good at keeping track of all the rules, but isn’t playing a magical character himself (unless you count all the help he’s giving charles). some kind of monk, speciality race. maybe a kenku. lawful good.

max: rules monkey, in deep into the lore. he’s the only one who knows what a gith is and he’s head over heels for them. extreme minmaxer wizard. lawful neutral.

kevin: sticks to what he knows, which is bashing stuff (and frequently has to be reminded this isn’t pvp). on the rare occasion he isn’t just bashing stuff he brings out academy award winning character scenes. dwarf barbarian. chaotic neutral.

alex: forever cleric. his and george’s characters have a slow burn romance. firbolg, neutral good.

lando: daniel built his for him when he slept through session zero. goblin fighter. chaotic evil.

checo: well he was playing a true neutral tabaxi rogue but he dropped out after the first session because trying to parent at the same time was too difficult.

guanyu: a very shiny silver dragonborn paladin. really comes out of his shell and gets into the role play. lawful good.

george: playing a girl, just don’t read into it okay. she’s a dramatic ass drow warlock who gets sassy with her patron a lot and frequently has her powers suspended. chaotic neutral.

lewis: absolutely no idea what he’s doing, existing purely on vibes. always asking valtteri what he thinks he should do. half-orc fighter (keeping it simpleish for himself). neutral good.

fernando: are you kidding? this is shakespeare when nando is in the party. will take the decisions that actively damage the party for character reasons. chaotic neutral drow rogue.

yuki: this man has tiefling written all over him and steals from inside the party. started out chaotic good but got slowly demoted to chaotic evil. also way too excited to do the blood hunger werewolf transformation.

esteban: mischief incarnate. comes out with the most outrageous puns. gnome bard. chaotic neutral.

pierre: trying desperately to keep the party (especially yuki) on task. took shifter after yuki got excited about being werewolves together. ranger. true neutral.

valtteri: chillest motherfucker at the table. his character doesn’t talk often but when he does it’s sheer wisdom. went for a “less common” combination on purpose. goliath druid with a pet wolf. neutral good.

logan: was very very late to session zero and dan had already made him an arakocra paladin. long suffering, his ideas are great but overshadowed by dumbassery. lawful good.

lance: has not once rolled well on anything he has bonuses in. wanted to make a dramatic character and has slowly accepted that it will only ever be comedy from his dice. aasimir sorcerer, lawful neutral.

oscar: actually pretty fucking good at this shit. could probably take the boss fights and missions all by himself. human rogue, true neutral.

nico: just wanted to play a robot. wishes kevin’s character would stop using his as a training dummy. warforged paladin. neutral good.

bonus

seb: forever dm

[king--atlas]

Okay, what if ahit but its a DnD type fantasy adventure? It starts with just hat kid and bow kid on a mission to defeat the evil overlord (Vanessa), but they end up forming a silly ragtag adventuring party with people they meet on the way. (Please click for better quality)

Character details I've come up with so far under cut, and also me sounding like a little nerd with dnd classes and stuff.

I haven't decided on any location or character names yet so :P

Hat Kid- She's a wannabe elf warlock and Bow Kid's best friend (they'll probably get names, probably). She doesn't have an arcane focus in the beginning, but she ends up finding and using an umbrella later on. She's very energetic and determined (a little too much at times) and actually manages to become Snatcher's best friend. Bow Kid- She's a human beast master ranger with either a cat or a crow as a companion (idk which one yet). She's a lot calmer than Hat Kid but still gets really excited when she sees a cute creature (even if it is literally trying to kill her.) Cooking Cat- She's a silly kitty cleric (either light or peace domain) from Mafia Town. She's a ray of sunshine and definitely the mom of the group. Snatcher- He's a circle of wildfire druid (bc silly) who, until the kids came and found him, hadn't left his forest in over a century. He was stuck there in wild shape (silly ghost form. Don't ask what creature it is or why he chose to be able to wild shape into it bc i have no clue) because of Vanessa. She tried to turn him into a tiefling like her but it did not go as planned. Clearly. He's still that dark kind of goofy he is in game but just a little bit nicer. Not by much, though. Vanessa- She's a tiefling shadow magic sorcerer who has control over the entire continent. While her outburst (I'll think about more details of it later) effected Subcon the most, it had minor effects all over. She presents herself in her more humanoid form with an overly sweet personality, but the second she's ticked off ditches the facade and becomes her horrid, more demon-like self. She's less of a direct threat until they reach her domain. Empress and the receptionist are also going to join the gang, but I didn't know what classes to make them or what to do with their designs soooooo..... yeah. (To be fair, the other's designs will also probably change bc I made them in like five minutes).

If you have any ideas (especially for Empress and Receptionist) or questions, tell me!

[waltwhitmansbeard]

so i just read a post explaining why the op (and, according to the op, a lot of other people, even tho the post in question only had 32 notes, some of which were from people who disagreed with them) didn't like the cut to the crown keepers in last week's episode. while i'm totally on board with people not jibing with stuff that just doesn't work for them, i wanted offer some reasons why this seemingly hard pivot to people who are not the main characters of the story being told was a good decision to make (note good decision, not inherently the best decision, which i believe no one, including the dm, at a ttrpg table should ever be expected to make).

matt had an extremely powerful, extremely unexpected character decision dropped in his lap in the final moments of the previous episode. we don't know exactly how much time matt has between recordings, maybe a full week, maybe not, but either way, there's a very real chance that matt just did not have enough time to fully prepare a session to deal with fcg's death and what comes next.

sam now has to create a new character that a) is of a level with the rest of the party and b) makes narrative sense for him to be there. that takes time for both him and matt, and they might just need some space to work on that. when laudna died, marisha was willing to sit away from the table for several weeks because she knew that she wanted laudna to be resurrected, but sam may not want the same thing, and that's okay!

matt may want to fold the crown keepers into his main story, some or all of them—particularly dorian, whom both liam and the fans have been asking to return for a while now. dorian is clearly important to orym and the story that liam is trying to tell, and bringing the crown keepers in may be matt's way to do that.

matt—and dms generally—has always had to straddle a very fine line of making sure that his players are the main characters of their story who feel like their actions have real consequences and effects on the world, while also understanding that in reality, it doesn't make sense for half a dozen chucklefucks to have such an outsized effect on major cosmological goings-on like *checks notes* the potential release of a god-eater. this becomes especially true when you're on your third campaign set in the same world, and your players' previous ultra-powerful pcs are still around and definitely more adept and connected than their current pcs are. i, personally, think matt does a great job at walking that line, and one of the things he does that i appreciate is that he doesn't shy away from the fact that a) his players are powerful but not the most powerful and b) his players aren't the only one who care about what's going on in the world and who are taking actions to effect change. the current plotline re: ruidus is absolutely world-shaking and is causing all the divine girlies to cower in their demiplanes, so of course even the evil ones are going to be calling on their champions to help out. it makes more sense for opal to be involved (which, btw, matt has been hinting at for a while now) than not.

matt might need a fucking break! he's been doing this consistently for nine years now, and shit is complicated! handing over the reins to aabria for a week or two or three may be what he needs to not get burnt out.

dnd is an emotional game, and the entire cast might have been rocked hard by fcg's death. some space away for a week or two could help them process and regroup to get back into a story that is otherwise very stressful and action-packed.

or it's none of these! what do i know! i'm a random idiot on the internet! matt doesn't consult me on these matters! (though my dms are open if he wants to chat, i do have ideas)

i think it's tempting to think of the decisions made in and around critical role (or any ttrpg show) like those made for a television series, because the episodes are serialized and we love them so much. but this show is, first and foremost, a group of friends playing a game together, and not a carefully constructed narrative with the primary goal of entertaining an audience. the audience always has been and, frankly, always should be second to the wishes and fun of the people around that table. matt would not have asked aabria to step in and dm a crown keepers side arc if he didn't think it was a good decision for him and his players, and that priority is the correct one. we are being invited in to watch these friends have fun together, and that's a privilege that we're super lucky to have. as long as the cr story isn't doing things that are outright abusive or harmful to the cast or the audience, i don't think we should begrudge them the choices they make in the name of their own game.

again, it's okay if you're not vibing with the crown keepers! i didn't love the aeor arc of c2! not everything is for everyone! but i think accusing matt and the cast of narrative malfeasance is a bit much when, tbqh, they don't answer to us. they answer to each other.

[brain-rot-central]

Judgey weirdos: “there’s somthing wrong with you if you like AA, your unhealthy, spawn Astarion is the morally correct pure ending”

My evil tav , gaslighting him into staying a spawn because she refuses to share power: “bet?”

I'm not quite sure how to answer this. But here we go lol

I don't hide the fact that I'm an AA girlie. I will shout it loud and proud from the rooftops. That's my screwed up toxic blorbo and I love him to death.

BUT.

Spawn A is, technically, the "morally correct" ending. It's the LESS CONTROVERSIAL ending. It's the easier to swallow ending. It's the happily-ever-after ending. And that is FINE. I think most people would agree from a moral standpoint that refusing to sacrifice the lives of 7007 people in exchange for power is probably the morally correct and less controversial move.

BUT.

You can also play your own character however you want. If your Tav is evil and you want to manipulate him, Astarion is morally gray enough to where it probably would work. At least for a little while. But given Spawn A grows a sense of self by the end of the game, he'd call your character out on it at some point. He's not going to let you continue to gaslight and manipulate him. He's not a doormat.

Spawn A =/= doormat. I don't think that's what you're trying to say here, but I have seen those sentiments within the community before in discussions of Spawn A vs. AA.

I've said this before, but imo, Spawn A is part of AA, and vice versa. They're two sides of the same coin. AA already exists within Spawn A, and still does regardless of refusing the ascension. Spawn A still exists within AA post-ascension. They are one in the same. It's just the matter of whose face you're looking at in any given moment.

I love both endings and support them both. I also support people playing the game however they want, because it's a game. It's your DnD run. You're the DM, to a degree. Do whatever you want.

[limpfisted]

For me, personally

I do think ulder loved wyll. And i think he ess a damn good dad. And I think that ulder is a fascinating character because he is a poet himself. Wylls father really did say all those things. Wylls father is described in descent to avernus as "noble" "valiant" but true neutral, whereas everyone else was lawful evil, including the flaming fist. He says terrible things to wyll. But when wyll first shows up with mizora. He just says "go." If wyll had sold out the city to a devil for power, that would have been practically a kindness. He only says this shit to eyll when he's a full grown adult. And while that doesn't make it right. It doesn't mean that when he switches to lovebimbing wyll and telling him how great and special and good he is. That he doesn't mean it. Or that he hasn't said it before.

And he says truly beautiful things about his son. He really and truly believes he's thr heart of the gate now. even tho ur the one who did most of the work LOL.

Even in murder in baldurs gate, which, tbh, is not entirely canon to the video game tho pick and choose ur own canon, that's what dnd is about, he is a man with DREAMS, who is so passionate and valiant he gets swept up in things. He loves pomp and circumstance. While he's not a fool---he believes in heroism, and goodness, and rewarding goodness and not suffering fools

And yet even tho when ulder held wylls In his arms and claimed he felt a distance from him. He still took wyll fishing. He still taught wyll to fight. He encouraged him to get into fights and flirt. He trusted him with important tasks.

Ulder believes in legends and heroism. He believes in balduran, he believes in the good in baldurs gate. And even moreso than wyll, ulder has seen the absolute worst of baldurs gate, and yet still knows what it can be

He knows the upper city sucks. He knows ite full of crime. He probably even knows the flaming fist is useless without him--and he takes pride in himself and his work and the city. In descent into acernus, there's a passage about how he's never happier than when he's giving a long, rousing speech to his men.

Ulder thought he was going to be the hero that saved baldurs gate with the legend of ansur. Other people said it was a myth. But he believed

There's also the wishing tree. How does wyll know the wishing tree was his mother's? Or what she said about it? Ulder told him that. He doesn't mention a single other relative or flaming fist. Ulder, ulder, ulder. With his repetition, and his speeches, and his beliefs and all his sayings that wyll took completely to heart---despire knowing as an adult now all the concessions his Father would have had to make to "cavort with monsters and devils," the kind of people his Father trusted him enough to complain to

The tragedy of wyll and ulder isn't that ulder is some irredeemable monster. It's that every parent is flawed, and ulder has made so many concessions in his life to protect baldurs gate, do what is good for baldurs gate, that while wyll was doing everything in his life for his father, and his father alone---ulder was still doing everything for this city hes devoted his life to. Because he believes in this broken system and his broken ass corrupt flaming fist more than he believes in his own sons innocence

Wyll believes in fairy tales bc his father believes in fairy tales and he loved his father, his father was his world, and even at 24, he's not ready to admit his father was wrong or made mistakes. Even when he says people like his father---politicians---are always making mistakes, lol.

They were close. And his father loves him. And that makes what mizora did all the more evil and despicable. Ulder may have given up his son---but he also lost him.

Could you forgive urself if u lost a child that was so good, and sweet, and loved you as much as wyll loved ulder?

Mizora tricked them both. She knew what she was doing. She was isolating him. On purpose. That's what abusers do!!! They make you rely on them. They take away all the good people and good things in ur life until ur left with nothing.

Ulder was flawed. But he gave wyll fairy tales, and he let him have fairy tales

And everything, everything, everything, that wyll loves about himself came from his father!!!

Idk man I really love ulder as a character hes a dreamer and a weirdo and I wish we got to talk to him more. Bc he IS so different in bg3 than he is in murder in baldurs gate but I wanna know why. Bc it seems like the reason is just... wyll

[moontheoretist]

Are nuanced vampires too outlandish?

Thank you Jaheira for supporting me in my very brave albeit unusual approach to vampires in DnD. When I first time heard Astarion's idea about vampires as a vampire himself - namely the fact that they are all evil, selfish, power hungry and dangerous monsters that will never treat a spawn as equal or let them become a full vampire, because it simply creates competition for them - I was like "You'd have thought that the most romantic story for a vampire would be if they fell in love with a human, made them a spawn, and then shared their own blood with them to make them a full vampire". It's in fact what happened in the First Kill - Juliette's parents are an unorthodox couple. She is the pureblood vampire from a long line of vampires, while he was just a human that she turned into a vampire. There is even a scene in the show when they lie on the bed, she cradles his head with a wrist put to his lips while he drinks her blood. It was very romantic and very not liked by the matriarch of the family, who saw the man as lesser than.

Still, even despite Astarion being technically an expert at this topic, I couldn't stop myself from imagining that at least one vampire who isn't nasty exists in the DnD lore. But in general, I guess it'd be just like Astarion said. They create spawns, but don't let them become vampires, because it creates competition in all: social, political and hunting related topics. The struggle for power between vampires.

There can probably exist a good vampire if you so wish. You just need to become creative about it. Vampires aren't a race in DnD, but not so long ago Drow were considered to be all evil, while nowadays they are given more nuance. I think it isn't impossible for vampires, either.

I just generally don't like races that are evil by default. And I feel like I'm not alone in this. Evil by default feels boring to me a lot. It's just so cheap and lazy to just create a whole ass group and then deem it evil by principle. And even though vampires are not technically a race in DnD but something more akin to disease or curse, I still feel like there is a space for nuance here. That there could exist some vampires that are good. And I saw some DMs on reddit claiming that they created good vamps in their campaigns. And when it comes to the lore of the game like Baldur's Gate 3... if Dragon Age taught me something, it's that no single character can establish lore that can't be disproven by another character. The world in real life and in fiction both is always conceptualized by people, and those people can be wrong or only see a tiny fragment of the entire puzzle. Which means that for every 10 of Cazadors there is probably at least 1 vampire that is nothing like them in terms of morality and alignment. Hell, even Cazador's own mentor - Vellioth, behaved a bit differently than what Astarion told us about vampires. He gave Cazador "the gift" which I assume meant he made him a full vampire and trained him as the future Vampire Lord. Taught him all the cruelty that Vellioth thought was needed for vampires to survive in the world. With the final lesson ending with his own death.

For all means and purposes, it very much feels like Vellioth wanted to raise Cazador into the perfect vampire and was happy to die in order to make it happen. If we only relied on what Astarion said, we would have to say that it's highly unusual for vampires to create heirs like Vellioth did. What's more, heirs that they intended to surpass them one day. Vellioth made the pact with the devils, prepared everything for Cazador to Ascend. The only thing Cazador needed to do was to get all the necessary souls to fulfill it. Why would Vellioth do all of this if vampires only cared about themselves and their own power? Why would he die for his own heir instead of become Vampire Ascendant himself? Just thinking about it makes me sure that there is much we don't know about DnD vampires. Much to be explored in the future.

If I were to theorize based on data I have now, I'd say that vampire's alignment is fluctuating between a few settings, but tends to be on the evil side of things. While The Rite of Profane Ascension is a step further on the evolutionary tree of vampires, and something that can switch them permanently to twisted beings that don't see anybody as people anymore, only objects they can own or things to be used. And it's part of the price to pay for being able to break the shackles that vampirism puts on vampires. Cazador was already twisted long before the Rite, so in his case the change would not be visible much, but for Astarion? Especially Astarion that the player was steering in the right direction all along? That's a huge leap, even considering his wacky moral compass. As after the Ascension he is no longer himself. He loses himself, twisted beyond recognition by such a great power.

And yes, Astarion is just a spawn. I know that, but the point I'm trying to make is that Cazador being as he is, doesn't mean every other full vampire is exactly the same as him with the same fucked personality.

Which means that there is still hope for full vampires to be more than what Cazador showed Astarion vampires to be. It's also worth taking into account that Astarion probably never met any full vampire other than Cazador. Even though, Cazador was in contact with vampires.

(Maybe he did see them during some balls? There was a ballroom in the Palace, so maybe there were some social gatherings held there?)

(I'm sorry for the quality. Here is a link to the letter on BG3 wiki).

So it wouldn't be a stretch to assume that even Astarion doesn't have a full picture. He was just a spawn, after all, and not even the favored one. What could he know about the vampire politics other than what he heard or saw occasionally when he wasn't busy hunting the prey for his master? He definitely knows more than most, but because he was confined to the Palace alone, it may mean that he never saw how vampires in other cities behave. Though, Vellioth's training says a lot about how he saw vampire society if he needed Cazador to survive. It's definitely not a walk in a park. Gives a harsh environment vibes.

That's also the reason why I think they are mostly evil aligned. While also still considering that not every vampire is the same and that the exceptions to the rule happen. Most would probably now say that if such exceptions exist, they didn't survive, and that is probably true in many cases, but I still think that some vampires could survive thanks to their intelligence and strategizing. Even playing evil for the sake of not being targeted is on the table. As well as non-noble vampires, like peasants in some village or something. We often associate vampires with aristocracy, but it's not impossible that they have a class system in their society as well. Lower class vampires, living in some remote villages, probably wouldn't even care about power struggles beyond their tiny piece of land and "that asshole that threatens my position in the village" or something. It's so funny to imagine some peasant who is a vampire trying to outsmart his neighbor, also a peasant vampire, in order to gain better position with the mayor or the village council.

I have no idea how much or how little DnD talks about vampires, as I never read any books written for the universe. I checked Forgotten Realms wiki, but it was strangely sparse with the lore in comparison to I dunno, the long article about Drizzt or Jarlaxle, so I just assumed that vampires don't really play any major role to be expanded upon so much as to have a whole ass article just about the intricacies of their society and politics. Maybe I'm wrong. But my point still stands. The lore should be rich and shouldn't rely on shortcuts like "they're all evil duh, they're an epitome of evil, the manifestation of evil because we said so". This can't be, and this is not what I live for as a writer and an avid fantasy enjoyer. What I live for is a nuanced lore that breaks the stereotypes. To conclude: I really like complicating the vampire lore.

Maybe it's outlandish and batshit crazy, but it's what I like.

[lovrily]

speed of sound (part 2)

steve harrington x reader | part 2 of 3 | 9k words

◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ

as will byers older sister, you vaguely know steve harrington. upon becoming steve harrington's (randomly and abruptly selected) lab partner, you realize you know him even less than you thought.

「 link to part one 」

warnings: fem!reader, byers!reader, shy!reader, bickering, lab partners, classmates, starts in season 2 ends in season 4, frenemies to lovers, slow burn, pining, "unrequited" love emphasis on the air quotes, steve is popular and reader is not, doting mother joyce, running with the headcanon that jonathan dropped out of high school, hurt/comfort, language, blood/injury warnings level to what's on the show

PART TWO → 1985

The last job you ever would have picked for yourself was one where you scooped ice cream out of freezer burnt bins and sold it to an ever-lengthening line of every teenager, adult and toddler in Hawkins. Concurrent with your usual luck, this is exactly where you ended up. 

Summer wasn’t all bad. Right before the school year ended, you struck up an unlikely friendship with your little brother’s friends. Most of April and May you spent in Mike Wheeler’s basement. Those final two months of school, Will had employed you (with no employee benefits) to be his chauffeur; to the arcade, to Mike's for Dungeons and Dragons, and to Dustin's, whose house now held a computer, and this was the most important thing to happen to anyone ever. 

It may sound drab, but you actually didn't mind it. One night in April, Lucas wasn't able to make it to DND, and Dustin suggested you take his place for the evening. Mike wasn't happy about it, but Will agreed, and who was Mike to kick Will's sister out when she was standing right there?

"So what exactly do I do?" you had asked. "Who can I be?"

"Whoever you want," Dustin replied. "We'll give you the same stats as Lucas's character, but you can be whatever."

"Is there a list to choose from, or something?"

"No," Mike huffed. "Just pick something."

Your fingertips buzzed, nerves building inside you. It was ridiculous to be so anxious about a little game, but it seemed important to them.

"Can I be, um...like a hunter? Or huntress, I guess?"

"Yes!" Dustin cheered. "Hell yeah. What kind?"

"A human one?"

"Boring," Will mumbled. When you shot him a wry glare, he laughed.

"What about a gnome?" you asked. "Can I be a gnome huntress?"

Mike wrinkled his nose. "Do you hunt for gnomes or are you a gnome who hunts?"

"A gnome who hunts...for gnomes."

Dustin made an evil, satisfied noise. Mike uncurled his lip.

"Alright. Good enough."

Lucas came back the next week to take his place, and still, Dustin called the house phone at about six P.M. that night begging you to stay and join the party for good. Thereafter, you were a true member of the campaign. Some nights it was tiresome. They all had so much energy; like they were still four years old. But they were fun, and they enjoyed having you there- even Mike. Unless he was lying. There was no actual way to be sure.

When Dustin suggested you apply for the summer opening at Scoops Ahoy inside Starcourt Mall, you actually did it. It was a leap for you- trusting yourself to secure something, to win something. Joyce ordered pizza with not one, but two orders of cinnamon sticks the night management called to say the position was yours. Jonathan even came out of his room for dinner.

Once June rolled around and Steve Harrington (thankfully) graduated, things slowed down. Dustin went off to summer camp, and the boys became embroiled in their own relationships; Mike with El, and Lucas with Max. Your friends were busy without you, and more importantly; without Will. You could tell it hurt him, but you weren’t sure what to do about it other than try to make up for the lack of them in his life. 

Joyce let you borrow the Volkswagen every once in a while. You rode around with the windows down; warm air caressing your cheeks, Sun high in the bleached sky. Dustin would return eventually, and so would your tentative group of friends. You chose not to worry for once. Hawkins was at its best in the summer, and so were you.

Then you had your first day of work at Scoops Ahoy.

"Hey, Harrington," the blonde girl who brought you in called. “She’s here.”

There was an ice cream scooper dangling in his hand, metal fogged by cold. “Who’s here?”

He turned around at the same time you turned to Robin in horror. Your gaze twitched back to Steve where he stood. His eyes widened the same- a flicker of terror- and the hand he held the scooper in went limp, clunky spoon nearly clattering to the floor. It banged against the counter behind him and he flinched. 

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Y/N,” Steve nearly mouthed. The muscles of his face were drawn stiff, humiliated or otherwise jarred. You cast him a small wave. 

“Hi.”

His eyes flicked to your hand where it greeted him, and as it fell back to your side, the ghost of a doting grin rippled over his face. Old and foreign to both of you. It was hardly enough to notice, and the absolute mortification in his eyes was far more recognizable. 

“I didn’t know you were working here,” Steve said. Then he shifted, leaning against the counter with his hands propped up on the glass, lounging like he owned the place. Regular Steve, back in a flash. Of course. Thick strands of hair fell over his forehead, even longer than the last time you’d seen him. You had seen the Scoops Ahoy uniform before, but the sight of him in it was quite baffling- stiff blue t-shirt, the trademark sailor lapels and long bow. There was a little red pin over his heart that read ‘Steve’, right next to a white ship anchor. 

Inexplicably, he still looked good. 

You swallowed what might have been childish expectations for your ‘reunion’ and smiled politely. “Yeah. Dustin had me apply.”

Steve poked his head out. “Henderson?”

“Yep.”

He watched you for a moment, brows drawn and mouth loose in that puzzled expression he always wore. “Huh.”

You didn’t have it in you to ask what that meant, nor did you have it in you to work side by side with Steve Harrington for twenty hours a week. That being said, money was also something you did not have- in you or anywhere else- so this would have to do. 

“Well,” Robin chirped, blissfully unaware of the ordeal before her. “I’ll show you the back freezer. We haven’t cleaned it in, like, a month. But it’s fine.”

You nodded, readjusting your small backpack around your shoulders and casting a last glance at Steve. He stood there still, elbows propped up, watching. His gaze twitched away when you looked over. 

“Sounds good,” you smiled at Robin. “Thank you.”

Her freckled cheeks swelled up, and she grinned. Then she said- “You’re welcome!” like you had said something revolutionary. “It’s nice here. I mean, nice as a minimum wage gig can be. I don’t know, it’s fine. The uniforms suck. You’ll be cute in it, though. I think yours is coming in tomorrow, and…”

She rambled monotonously as you made for the freezer. There was no way to know if Steve was looking at you as she led you away from the counter, but you prayed he wasn’t, and that he had forgotten you showed up at all. 

. . . 

In your mind, there were two eras of your adolescence. BSB, and ASB. Similar to BC and AD, or BCE and CE. A forgotten, bygone decade, and a new, glimmering future. Before Snow Ball and After Snow Ball. 

Anything BSB was to be discarded or compartmentalized accordingly. This included the demogorgon, demodogs, Mind Flayer, any other Upside Down business, as well as general Steve Harrington related trauma. Anything After Snow Ball promised brilliant, brand new beginnings. 

You considered this as you glanced at yourself in the cloudy mirror of the Scoops Ahoy employee bathroom. The dim lights and glass streaks made it hard to discern how you looked in the uniform, but it certainly wasn’t comfortable. The t-shirt was like Steve’s; white with blue stripes, held together by a sewn-in navy vest. The red knot on your chest was a little more bowlike than his, dainty and small. The skirt fell right above your knees and the white socks capped off right beneath them. 

You didn’t love it, but it was more than fine. The uniform was the least of your Scoops Ahoy related worries. You swore to yourself after the Snow Ball that you would never let Steve make you feel that stupid ever again, but more importantly that you would never let anyone make you feel that way. Especially not for doing things that were good for you. 

This job was good for you. You were determined to feel that way, even if you had to fake it. 

You strolled out of the bathroom and into the backroom, tucked behind the wall to shield yourself from the open parlor. 

“I’m ready,” you said. Before doing so, you forgot to check for Robin- assuming she would be there- but only Steve was at the counter. 

He turned around and went still, like he was hiding from something. Then he swallowed. “Oh.” His hand jutted out in greeting, clunky and unsure. He made a face like it was nothing. “That was fast. You…”

The next few moments really were just moments, a few breaths taken and a few lines ticked on the clock above you. But it felt much longer. His eyes flickered over the outfit, and your gaze dropped off, worried to see where he might look. His head fell sideways slightly like he might rest it in the crook of his neck, but he didn’t. He just sat there and looked at you. When you picked your eyes back up, you thought he might be looking at the socks, or something (which were a little weird) but his eyes were on your face. Flickering around every peak and slope of your cheeks and nose, like he had never seen you before but knew your every line. Actually, he might not even have looked at the skirt or socks at all. 

“Robin left,” he blurted. 

It was over just like that. ‘It’ was nothing, really, but as an avid observant, each moment that he looked at you felt like a page to be studied. 

“Oh,” you replied, straightening. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. Her shift just ended,” he rambled off. Then he muttered something tense under his breath and glanced at the counter. “Okay. C’mere.”

You came up to the counter without even thinking about it. A twinge of annoyance zapped through you when you did, following his orders without even blinking. 

“It’s simple,” he said. “There’s always twelve flavors behind the counter, but sometimes people will ask for things that went out of season already. It might be in the back freezer, but you can always just say no. I usually do.” He paused after he said it, looking around sporadically. “Uh, scoopers are here,” he said, leaning over you to point at the plastic bin. You leaned back like his arm would burn you. “If they’re in there, they’re clean.”

“And just put the dirty ones in the sink?” you asked. It was a redundant question, but your nerves were making every simple instruction sound like astrophysics. 

“Yeah. Well, I mean, I can grab them for you. And put them there.”

You looked up. “You’re going to put every dirty scooper away for me?”

“Uh,” he cocked his head, like he knew what he said made no sense. “Yep. Apparently.”

“Every single time?” you prodded, mostly joking. 

He braced his fists on the counter and breathed out like he was in pain. “That’s what I said, huh, Byers?”

The words were muttered, rambled off like thoughts spilling out of his brain. You stiffened. He couldn’t call you that, not again. It felt too familiar. It felt friendly, and you were not friends. 

You never would have complained about it, but amidst his nervous shuffling at the counter, his dark eyes fell on you and his sheepish expression flattened. Solemn. At the same time, a mother and three kids wandered into the parlor, each one of them yanking at a different part of her blouse.

“Yeah,” he nodded to himself, scolding. “Okay. I’ll, uh… I’ll man this for a while. Do you want to clean the freezer out, maybe? Nobody’s done it for months.”

An excuse to get away from the register. He was offering it to you, like he knew you well enough to know serving your first customer was going to be a stroke inducing event. 

He did know you; you realized. Even in those last months of the school year after the Snow Ball, when you ignored each other with every ounce of effort in your bodies, he would present your chemistry projects to the class and let you hold up the samples; let you stay where you felt safe. With every glance, every comment and backhanded compliment, he was feeding into who you were. Quiet. Unsure. Eager. Maybe you needed to change those things about yourself, too. 

His voice faded out behind you as you went to the freezer, yanking the door open and sighing. 

. . . 

The Russians were coming. Apparently. 

Robin returned to work three days later once you finally had somewhat of a handle on the parlor mechanics. Take the order, scoop the ice cream, and collect the money. It was pretty simple. Most days, Steve banished you to the backroom anyway- to clean or otherwise meander around away from the customers. Whether he was doing it for you or for himself, you weren’t entirely sure. 

Dustin came in that same day Robin returned, and after a shockingly heartwarming reunion with Steve (which you fought back a grin at), he informed the three of you about the transmission he intercepted on his new Cerebro contraption- a glorified walkie-talkie. 

Robin translated. It said: “The week is long. A trip to China sounds nice. If you tread lightly. The silver cat feeds when blue and yellow meet in the West.”

At first, your investigation was hopeless. But upon further examination, Steve discovered that the carnival music in the audio's background was the same music that played on one of the creepy, animatronic pony rides inside Starcourt Mall. 

“How did you recognize that?” you asked, forgoing your new game- pretending he didn’t exist. 

His suntanned cheeks scrunched together in a faux-offended look. 

“Our time with Miggins should have proven my genius to you,” he replied lazily. It occurred to you that his response warranted a laugh, or a retort. Instead, you said nothing. He flattened his lips together and looked at you for a moment. 

“Alright,” he huffed at Dustin, a defeated note to the sound. “Play it again.”

Further examination of the audio tape proved fruitless. Rather than taking the transmission to a trusted adult, like regular people would, Dustin suggested something else. 

“A stakeout,” he whispered, over-enunciating the ‘s’ and final ‘t’. 

Robin’s brows flicked up. You locked eyes with her, and she shrugged, pursing her lips. 

“What, like, inside the mall?”

“Exactly.”

She sniffed. “I don’t really see the point, but, I mean… Why not?”

“Why not?” Steve huffed. He picked his legs up off the table from where they were lounging and leaned forward onto his elbows. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why!” Dustin exclaimed. 

“Not with…” he trailed off. “It’s obviously a bad idea. I don’t have to prove to you that this is a bad idea. Seriously?”

“I think it makes sense,” you remarked sincerely. 

All three of their eyes bounced to you. 

Dustin grinned, crossing his arms and nodding. “Exactly. I knew you’d get it.”

“Thanks.”

You shared his grin, crossing your ankles under the table. Your leg looped over someone else's, warm and sturdy. Steve’s. You glanced down and inhaled. His head lolled back just slightly. As you flinched away, he sat up instantly and rubbed a hand down his face that stretched out his eyelids. 

“This job is going to kill me,” he muttered. 

Your ankles buzzed. 

“I’ll have to grab some binoculars from my house,” said Dustin, “but we should be good to go once I do.” 

“Are we really doing this?” Steve chattered. 

Dustin scowled. “I am, at the very least. Robin? You in?”

“I guess. Y/N?”

Though the idea of a stakeout made sense to you, it was nerve-wracking. You fought back the old urge to glance at Steve and took a deep breath. 

“Yeah. Sure. I’d love to help.”

When you said it, Steve stared at you, an exhausted look in his eyes. 

“Fine,” he huffed. “Fine.”

The stakeout did not live up to expectations. Dustin and Steve saw nothing, besides a “suspicious” Jazzercise instructor with a duffel bag headed to a class. Robin dragged you off to help decode the transmission some more before you even had the chance to grab a pair of binoculars. Steve had poked his head out from behind a potted plant and hissed- “Where are you guys going?”

Robin stared blankly. “Mind your business.”

When Steve glanced at you, all you could do was shrug. Part of you felt a little guilty for being short with him, but you were hardly being short to begin with. Not overcompensating with kindness was unfamiliar to you, even around Steve; who deserved your kindness least of all. All the same, the sad look you saw in his eyes everyday was weighing on you. He wasn’t as good of an actor anymore. What he felt, you could often see. 

“Hey,” Robin said as you settled into a table at the food court. “Not that it matters, but can I ask you something kind of weird?”

You smiled. “Of course.”

“Were you and Steve ever…?”

Nervous energy bolted into your chest, like lightning. Oh. Did it seem like it? Which one of you was perpetuating it? You?

“No,” you said instantly. “No, we, um…we used to be lab partners at school.”

Robin grinned. “Ohhh. That’s right. He took chemistry as a senior.” She unfolded the wrinkled slip of paper that had the transmission written on it and slid it to the center of the table. “That’s embarrassing.”

You couldn’t really argue with that, but you also didn’t care. It didn’t matter to you. A part of your opinion on Steve Harrington simply wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard you tried. You still wanted to believe he was a nice guy. Obviously, he wasn’t the worst person in the world. Not by any means. 

But he had hurt you. And he never apologized. 

“Are you…do you like him?” you asked softly. Trying to be encouraging. Robin snorted. 

“Oh my god, no. I don’t even…” She snickered to herself some more. “No. He’s all yours.”

You wrinkled your nose and laughed. “He’s not mine, either.”

She cast you stupendous but playful glare. “Yeah, okay. Now, can you look at this? I think it actually means something, like, real, but I don’t know what…”

. . . 

The house phone rang at three A.M..

After five rings, it was clear you were the only one woken by the sound. Sitting up felt like lifting a bag of bricks. You fumbled around in the dark until you found your bedroom door and shuffled into the den. A dinging noise rang through the room when you smacked your hand blindly against the phone. 

“Hello?” you answered. Your voice cracked with sleep. 

“He-...are you…can- don’t know if…lo?”

The voice was warbled, like the caller had dunked their phone underwater. You pulled the speaker away from your ear and grimaced. Once the nonsensical ringing ceased, you brought it back up and listened intently, heart speeding to a nervous thrum. 

“Hello? Who is th-”

“-thing…side my house. I don’t kn-...hear me?”

“Wait,” you whispered urgently. “I can’t hear you. Do you need help? Who-”

“Please…hear me, come here. Shit.”

The familiar voice hit you like a gong. “Dustin? Is that you?”

“YES. Just…not sure if it’s…please. Please.”

“I can’t hear anything you’re saying. Don’t hang up, please,” you pleaded. “Can you-?”

The line died. 

“Dustin,” you barked. “Dustin.”

As the dial tone buzzed in your ear, you pulled the phone away, a frightened knot building in your throat as you tore off. You slipped on a pair of flimsy slippers closest to the front door and ripped the car keys off the hook, sprinting into the yard in your pajamas. The Volkswagen wobbled as you ducked inside, digging the key into the ignition. When you cranked it, the car sputtered. 

“No way,” you mumbled as you fought with it. No way. No way. No way.

It was happening whether or not you liked it- the car wasn’t starting. You sat there and panted for a few breaths. Anything could be happening to Dustin. You and Robin had discovered the true meaning of the transmission earlier that day: At nine forty-five P.M., a delivery would arrive at the Panda Chinese restaurant inside Starcourt Mall. When you showed up to investigate- a handful of Russian soldiers were standing outside, holding guns bigger than your heads. 

What if the soldiers saw you? What if they were ripping Dustin to pieces, limb by limb?

Horrified, you jumped out of the car and settled for the next best thing- your bike. The ride was only six minutes, but it was mostly uphill, and by the time you made it to Dustin’s your hair was whipped in every direction and your cheeks were beet red. 

You stepped off of your bike. As you lowered it silently to the ground, the flash of a hand behind you caught your eye. Your mouth jut open in a scream and that same hand covered it. 

“Stop! Stop, stop!”

“MMM!” You screamed in response, fury coursing through you. His hand covered your mouth still, muffling your horrified cry. Idiot! You thought. 

“I know,” he hissed. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“MM.”

“Don’t- just- okay. Here, okay.”

Steve dropped his hand and stepped back, throwing both fists up in surrender. Tiny crescent moons gleamed in the dark mirror of his eyes. He wore a soft gray t-shirt that was stretched haphazardly over his neck, pulled down slightly over the left side of his sharp collarbones. 

You exhaled hard and glanced between his open palms. 

“Why would you do that?” you snapped, cheeks warm. 

“Someone could have heard you!” Steve retorted. “What are you doing here? Did Dustin call you?”

“Yes, he called me,” you huffed, dragging your bike off of the road. You laid it in the grass and turned back to Steve, panting. “He called you, too?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “Why did he call you?”

“I would assume for the same reason as you, Steve,” you ground out. 

His face flattened. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Steve stared at you and suddenly you realized he was panting, too- the lean lines of his chest rising and plummeting. His hair was curlier than usual. It fell around his eyes in a relaxed way, like you could tell he woke up and dragged his fingers through it while he was on the phone. 

“What?” he blurted. 

“What do you mean, what?”

“What are you looking at?”

“What? Nothing.”

He watched you for a few moments more and then dropped his head into his hands, rattling his skull. “Fuck me,” he muttered. Exhausted, and something else tense. Tense, all the time. You weren’t used to there being this much tension anywhere in your life. You probably weren’t supposed to hear that to begin with. 

Your heart leapt into your throat. “Did you see Dustin?”

“No. But nobody’s here. I-” Steve put his hands on his hips and breathed out in no particular direction. 

“What?” you asked. Softer than before. 

“You… Can you stay here, please?” he said. He took a tiny step toward Dustin’s porch, waving a hand in front of you like you were an animal to be tamed. 

That old, familiar part of you longed to just do as he pleased. And then you remembered that night in the woods, by the bus- how Steve had gone out by himself. How he could have died. 

“That’s not…” you started. “I’ll come with you.”

He immediately rubbed his eyes. “Byers-”

“Don’t-” you started before you could stop. Then- “Can we check on him now, please?”

One hand lingered near his ear, frozen. All he did was nod. A distant zap of heat lightning flashed behind him and thunder cracked, the bare bones of a summer storm. He caved. And in true Dustin fashion, when you knocked- three windows lit up with light, something rolled down the stairs, and the door flew open like a baseball bat swung backwards. 

Steve’s arm shot out in front of you. 

“Oh, thank God,” Dustin heaved. “You heard me?”

You glanced down at Steve’s arm where it hovered still as he spoke. “Yeah, man, are you alright? What the hell was that?”

“There was a car parked outside my house. Someone watching me. And the phone was barely working.”

“Your phone never works,” Steve huffed. You almost smiled at the thought of them calling each other. “Did you see who was in the car?”

Dustin’s face fell. “No. But it was creepy, I’m telling you.”

All this for nothing, you thought. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked. “Nothing happened?”

“No, nothing happened, but something could have happened.”

“Don’t say that, Henderson,” Steve murmured. 

“It’s true!”

“Stop,” Steve snapped. “Alright?”

They argued for a few moments more. You watched from behind, Steve’s jaw golden in the dim porch light. He looked taller; you realized. And he was less cocky than you remembered, but more sharp. Stubborn. 

Once Dustin was finally convinced the car outside of his house was just a neighbor, he shut Steve out like a solicitor, and said to you- “You can come inside if you want, Y/N.”

Steve chuckled once, short and bitter. 

You bit back a triumphant grin. “That’s alright. My mom is probably worried.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Steve glanced at you. Dustin shut the door. As you made your way down the porch steps, Steve close behind you, your feet sped up to get away from the warmth that radiated off of him. He was so hard to ignore. 

“Be safe driving home,” you said to him. Like instinct. As you grabbed your bike, he said- 

“No. Absolutely not.”

“What are you talking about?”

He popped the trunk of his car, motioning dramatically to the space inside. “Put your bike in the car, I’ll take you home.”

Your heart thumped in your ears “You don’t have to do that.”

“You can’t bike home. You’re wearing slippers. It’s dark.”

“I made it here in slippers and the dark.”

“Yeah, and that was stupid, too.” 

Your mouth fell open. He locked eyes with you suddenly, and the look on your face seemed to sting him. “Byers-”

“Stop it!” you huffed, so quiet you were grateful he probably couldn’t hear it. In the dark, it was hard to tell what way he was looking at you. His stance was imposing, though- leaned onto the side of the car, his long shadow stretching down the road. 

Oh. 

You looked back at the car. In the dark it appeared almost black, but through the thin reflection of Dustin’s porch light on the hood, you could see what it was. Burgundy. And a BMW- just like the one that had parked next to you at the Snow Ball. 

“Still there?” Steve prodded. Gently. 

Off balance and a little perplexed, you hauled onto the bike. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for offering.”

“I wasn’t really off-”

Thunder cracked once more. And ridiculously on time, a drop of rain landed on your nose. 

As it picked up speed, Steve snorted. Actually snorted. 

“Shut up,” you huffed, climbing haphazardly off the bike. 

“Need help?”

“No, I do not.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know if that mumu is hard to work around, or anything.”

You glanced down at your wet t-shirt. It was borrowed from Jonathan, longer than your knees. But-

“It’s not a mumu,” you snapped, rolling the bike at him. He stopped it with his knee before you could hit him with it and rang the bell once. A small smile rippled over his face at the sound. 

“That's sweet,” he murmured. 

Your stomach churned the way it always did when Steve spoke. Without acknowledging the comment he picked up the bike and lifted it into the trunk, those corded veins on his forearms flexing. You watched him for longer than was normal before ducking into the passenger’s seat. 

He left the radio off while you drove. The storm picked up further the closer you got to the forest, wind swaying the car. Your hands shook in your lap. Steve’s hand drifted to the gearshift just as a bolt of thunder roared overhead. Flinching, you seized it. 

“Ow!” he yowled. “Jesus.”

“Sorry!” you blurted. “Sorry. That was stupid.”

You recoiled instantly, but he intertwined his fingers with yours in mid-air as you pulled it away.

“You don’t like storms?” he asked, eyes clear on the road. 

You swallowed hard and stared at your hands, clenched together above the middle console before letting them land there softly. 

“No, they’re fine,” you lied. Quiet. 

“I don’t mind them too much.” His eyes flicked to you in the rearview mirror, wide and soft. He almost seemed to frown at your expression. “Usually.”

You were both quiet again. His grey shirt was black with rain, sticking to the hard plane of his chest in odd places. The storm smacked against the car, and you felt like you were inside of a fishbowl, trapped but safe. Warm air from the vents grazed over your cheeks. Very, very slowly, Steve started drawing small circles into your palm with his thumb.

“I bet Erica will come in tomorrow,” he said. “To Scoops.”

When he talked this soft, it made you dizzy. The trapped feeling in your chest thawed, melting away into exhaustion. You kept your eyes on his thumb as it moved, drawing bigger circles now. 

“Of course she will,” you muttered. He laughed, and you smiled despite yourself. “She comes in every day.”

“But tomorrow, specifically,” Steve said. “Tomorrow-”

Thunder cracked. You flinched, but he gripped your hand before it could move. 

“Tomorrow,” he continued unphased, “is Saturday. She always comes at noon on Saturdays.”

Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might claw out of your chest, but your eyelids were drooping. 

“I’ve not worked on a Saturday yet,” you mumbled. 

“They’re not great,” he grimaced, his voice pointed. “But, uh…you’ll be good. Don’t worry about it.”

You blinked hard and said, “You’re trying to distract me.”

His lips flattened. “You just proved it’s not working, so thank you.”

“I’ve seen your tally chart.”

He frowned. “Say that again?”

“On the whiteboard,” you whispered. “For the girls.”

The inhale he was taking paused, his chest going still. His grip remained tight on your hand. 

Inside Scoops Ahoy, beside the counter, there was a chart keeping track of all the girls Steve had tried to pick up inside the parlor that summer. Apparently he wasn’t doing very well, but you still didn’t like to look at it. 

His lips quirked into the tiniest smile, like he was going to make a joke about it. Then the ruse fell and his head ticked to the left slightly, brows crossing. He leaned his head back against the seat with that familiar solemn gaze. 

“That was, uh…” he intoned softly. Pensive and nervous. Not like before. “Before you came in, Byers.”

For once, you didn’t complain. As you opened your mouth to say, it’s still there, Steve inhaled sharply. 

“Y/N,” he corrected himself. “Y/N. Sorry.”

A dull pain sat on your chest. Dejection. You had wanted so many times for him to stop calling you that, but now you missed it. 

Steve’s hand went limp in yours, like he would let go if you wanted. You moved your index finger over this thumb and pushed it into the center of your palm again. His gaze flicked back and forth from the road to your hands as he drove. 

After a moment, he started rubbing circles into your skin again. You exhaled as he sucked in a breath. 

. . . 

In a shocking turn of events, Erica came to Scoops Ahoy at noon the next day. 

While there, Dustin employed her to search the air vents of Starcourt. He found a keycard belonging to the ‘Russians’ (the only name you had for them), but without going through the ducts, there was no way to open the door you scoped out the night before at Imperial Panda. For the price of free ice cream for life, she agreed. 

The door led to a tiny room filled with boxes. The walls were metal, cold and sterile. They seemed to grow smaller the longer you searched, rifling through boxes and tripping over packing peanuts. 

A flash of green poked out from behind the cardboard as you ripped open another box. You leaned back instantly. Inside were a few large vials of emerald liquid, bubbling and molten. With a strained neck, you looked over your shoulder. 

“Dustin?” Your voice was nervous. 

Steve looked up instead. “What?”

Erica wrinkled up her nose from a few inches away as Dustin trampled over and leaned into the box. 

“Do you know what it is?” you asked. 

“No,” he shook his head. “Weird.”

Robin grimaced. “I don’t like it.”

Unprompted, your left foot flinched up, the right one following. The floor vibrated. Robin flattened herself against the wall in front of you, and Dustin dropped to his knees. 

The entire room jolted to the right. Behind you, the box of green vials tipped over, spilling all over the floor. You sucked in a wheezing breath, and Steve lurched forward, reaching to grab your elbow. He tripped instead, and you caught him, holding him up by the flat, hard front of his shoulders. You felt him go stiff. 

“Steve,” you hissed, staring at the floor beneath him. “Move your foot.”

Air whooshed over your heads as the room started moving. Down, and fast. 

“Open the door!” Dustin screeched. “Open it! Steve!”

“I can’t get to it, Henderson-”

“Steve,” you bit. And then Robin shouted- “Steve!” 

“Stop!” Steve shouted. “God! All of you, stop it!”

Ignored, you let go of his shoulders and he clattered to the floor, cursing. But the glass vial beneath his shoe rolled away unscathed- your original goal. He shot you a frazzled glare as the room turned elevator barreled down the shaft until it reached an ungraceful landing.

Where the hell are we?

For a few breaths, all of you stared at each other. Stunned. Then you clambered to your feet and began foraging for packing peanuts, tossing them back into boxes and repacking the green vial that Steve nearly shattered. 

“What are you doing?” he breathed. 

“We need to make these look like they weren’t opened.”

Everyone worked, Dustin unable to be quiet, Erica yelling at him for yelling. Eventually the boxes looked almost untouched, and the five of you climbed onto the ceiling of the elevator, lingering in the shafts. Hiding. 

When the elevator doors slid open a few minutes later, you sucked in a breath. Steve’s hand jolted up, and he lifted a finger to his lips. Shh. 

You stared at each other, wide eyed. Panic coursing through you. Thinking about how insane it was that just a year ago, you could hardly meet his gaze. It was still difficult, but now, you forced yourself to do it.

As the soldiers gathered the boxes, Steve crouched to his knees on the elevator ceiling. They left. As the doors shut behind them, he jumped down and grabbed a vial of the green goo and slid it into the opening. 

It held. The four of you clambered down, ducking into the basement corridor. Just as your foot crossed the threshold over the elevator, the vial broke, glass shattering. 

Steve looped his hands under your armpits and yanked you forward. You doubled over his arm at first, folded like a lawn chair. The doors twitched shut. In front of them, green liquid seeped out of the broken vial and burned a hole through the floor like acid. Robin and Dustin murmured to themselves across the hall; the goo looks like promethium, and Erica replied;  like the jelly?

No, Dustin snapped. Not petroleum. Promethium. 

“You saved my foot earlier,” Steve remarked, lifting you until you stood. Then he dropped his hands down on your shoulders and examined you, unblinking. “Good?”

Your heart beat all over your skin. 

“Good,” you managed. “Thank you.”

He made no proper gesture, but let go and said- “You pay attention, I help.”

Your head snapped towards him before you could stop it. He remembered that? And surprisingly enough, as you snuck down the hallway of a state enemy’s secret base, you were grinning. Switching frontmen as you walked, the five of you eventually made it to a small room with a glass door, something molten looming behind it. Hidden behind bulletproof glass. 

There was a crack in the wall, tall as a house, red as lava. Sparking and sputtering. A gate to the Upside Down. 

“Shit,” Dustin murmured. 

You wasted no time. Dustin and Erica climbed back into the vents and fled, leaving the three of you- too tall to crawl inside- behind. 

“Hey!” a soldier screamed. The three of you whirled, caught. Trapped. There was nothing you could do other than submit. Steve tried to fight the next soldier that came along- the Commander- and failed miserably. Though he did try. 

The soldier threw a punch and broke open the soft skin beneath Steve’s left eye. He cursed, and you lunged forward, quickly warded off by the waving of a gun in your face. Steve lunged for it, and one of the soldiers brought their boot down on his back. He gasped against the floor. Fire snaked up your spine.

It happened so fast you hardly experienced it. When they demanded to know who you were, you refused to tell. Steve glared hard enough you thought it might bore a hole in the man’s forehead, but even that failed. The Commander threatened to rip out Steve’s fingernails next, and you could tell from the look in Robin’s eyes that she would break. You could hardly blame her. 

The Commander grabbed the back of your head to snap at you. A sharp sting shot down your spine. Steve’s voice cut through the air like a knife- “No!” 

Something sharp dug into the soft skin beneath your jaw, and you winced. Like a needle- it was a needle. A syringe flashed before your eyes. The back of Steve’s hand flinched against yours, like he was reaching for you, but instead, you both collapsed. Robin was close behind. You felt Steve's fingers twitch, curling in on air where he thought there would be your skin. Then, darkness. 

. . . 

You dreamt about a presentation Steve gave in chemistry. 

There was only one project the two of you worked on alone, and it was the first project of the year. You barely knew each other at that point, and you were relieved to be working by yourself rather than with Steve Harrington. At some point, you knew you would have to suck it up and talk to him. But you weren’t ready yet. He was intimidating. 

It was supposed to be an easy-A, something Miggins didn’t assign very often. The premise was simple: present factual information on any sub-topic of chemistry which interests you. You chose electrochemistry; the study of how electrons move. 

You were sitting beside Steve at your lab table, still a healthy distance away. All of your note cards were in your hands- ten of them- and you flicked the tops of the cards nervously, knee bouncing. The project was easy, but the presentation was your own personal nightmare. 

“How many notecards do you have?” 

You glanced up and then over, unsure if he was speaking to you. This was the first time he had even looked at you, you thought. Steve waited expectantly, leaned back in the seat, arms crossed over his chest. 

You shifted. “Just…a few.”

“That’s an entire stack.”

You laughed soundlessly, surprised. “I need them.”

“Wooow,” he drawled. “You didn’t memorize your presentation?”

Nerves struck you like lightning. “Were we supposed to?” Steve shrugged, and you leaned forward onto the desk. “Did you?”

“Of course,” he scoffed, like you should have known. You made a face at him, and he frowned. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You laughed again. The corners of his lips tilted up just slightly, a crescent but not quite a smile. There and gone. 

“Harrington,” Miggins called. “You’re up.”

Steve made a very serious face. “Watch and learn,” he whispered. 

Then he strode to the front of the room, cast the class a gummy smile, and delivered the absolute stupidest speech you had ever heard in your entire life. 

“Oh, and also, something else interesting is that sound moves faster underwater than in the air. Like, at least four times faster. Doesn’t really make sense to me because I thought it would have moved slower, but I guess not. It’s wild.” Then he glanced at Miggins and said- “Am I at time?”

“You are well over time,” Miggins murmured. And then- “Mr. Harrington…you are aware that the speed of sound is a physics topic, not a chemistry topic. Correct?”

Steve’s smile remained, but he wrinkled up the bottom of his face just enough that you knew it hurt.

“Great. Awesome,” he said sincerely. Quiet laughter rang through the classroom, his friends red-faced in the front row. 

Miggins scowled. “Sit down, Steve.”

And he did. You said nothing as he slid in beside you, his chair a few inches closer than before. Your knee continued to bounce until he leaned over and whispered-

“See? Nothing to be nervous about.”

You glanced over as Miggins eyes scanned over the class roster, knowing your name would come next. Steve flattened his lips.

“You can’t do any worse than mine."

You laughed softly but audibly and clapped a hand over your mouth, embarrassed. Lighter. The arrogant crescent grin on Steve’s face grew into a smile; a real one, with teeth. The most beautiful smile you had ever seen, and you were in love with him. Just like that. 

Doomed. Always, you were. From the start. 

. . .

You woke up in a car. 

The seats were familiar to you, fuzzy and worn. You ran your fingers over them slowly until the feeling returned to your palms, tingly and dull, but not numb. Your eyes fluttered open and seared with sunlight. Flashes of green blinked by you, ember rectangles and a few blocks of black and yellow. 

Oh. The road. You were driving through the forest. 

“Honey!”

Someone beside you gasped. Joyce. You looked over and relief washed over you like a wave, the knot in your throat unfurling as she jerked the car over to the side of the road. She wrapped her arms around your head and squeezed, your nose flat to her shoulder. 

“Oh, baby, how do you feel?” she mewled. 

“Fine,” your voice cracked. Sharp. “Where…where are we?”

“The interstate, baby. We’re almost home.”

“Where were we?”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, good. You don’t remember.”

“Remember what?” And then- “No, I remember. The basement. The gate, and the Russians.” You scowled at the name. It sounded so stupid every time you said it. Yes, we are being hunted by Russians. 

Not anymore. Joyce caressed your cheek softly, cupping your skin. Your hand shot up and you grabbed hers. 

“Where’s everybody else? Where’s Will?”

“Everybody is okay, sweetie. Everybody.” 

Her lips flattened, like she had told a lie and couldn’t stand it. Fear strummed at your every nerve like a guitar. The car seemed to spin. A whole day- just lost to you. What happened while you were out? 

“What about Steve? Where’s Steve?” you demanded. 

“Fine, honey. He’s fine. He called for you.” She made a face. “More than once.”

“Where is he?” 

“At home, I think.”

At home? 

“How long has it been?” you whispered. 

“Just a day,” Joyce replied softly. “Whatever they gave you, you just had a bad reaction to it. We’ve been at the hospital, but you’re fine.” Your eyes widened. “Oh, don’t panic, sweetheart. I promise, you’re fine now.”

“No, it’s just- Steve had a…a black eye. Do you know where Robin is?”

“The girl with the blonde hair? Yeah, she’s…she’s fine, honey. Everybody…they’re fine.”

Joyce’s eyes welled up with tears. Everybody. She was lying. 

“Mom,” you whispered. “What is it?”

Her face crumpled, like she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “It’s, um…Hopper, baby. Hopper is gone.”

“Oh, mom…”

Your stomach sunk like a stone, heavy and hurtful. You tilted your head at her and cried, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her head towards you. Joyce was Joyce- she only let herself weep for a few moments before leaning back, drying her tears. 

“I’m just glad my babies are okay,” she whispered tearfully. 

. . . 

You were carrying a box outside when his car pulled up. 

He stopped early, like he saw you and slammed on the brakes. You couldn’t quite see his eyes through the glint against the windshield, but you both had to be staring. Frozen. A tiny frame came up beside you and threw up a hand to the sun. 

“Steve?” El asked. 

“Uh…yeah,” you nodded, perplexed yourself. “Yes.”

She glanced up at you, squinted, and said- “Hm.”

“I called him but he didn’t…” you started, then trailed off. El was dealing with far worse things than you and complaining about the endless Steve-saga seemed inconsiderate. She glanced back at his car and sniffed, blaring sunlight beating down on both of your backs. 

“Jonathan will not like it,” she said. 

You turned to look at her but she was gone already, strolling nonchalantly back into the house. A smile crept onto your face. It would be nice, you realized. To have a sister. 

“Hey.”

Again you turned, this time with a lurching panic in your throat. Steve blinked at you in the sun as he walked up the driveway, his eye swollen like an apple that had been dropped one too many times. 

“Oh my god, Steve.” It gushed out of you before you could stop it. “That’s bad.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant!” you said, taking a step closer. “Does it hurt?” 

He shrugged. “Meh.”

His hair was styled in its regular immaculate fashion, so he must have been feeling somewhat alright. Your chest ached. He wore that jacket, the blue one you loved. 

You couldn’t help the frown on your face. “I’m so sorry.”

His brows furrowed. “What? Why?”

“That I couldn’t help,” you started, unsure of how to say what you meant. “After…at Starcourt. Didn’t they inject you, too?”

He was quiet for a moment. The wind blew a strand of hair into his eyes, but he let it stay there, blinking at you. 

“Uh, yeah,” he perked up suddenly. “Yeah, they did.”

“It didn’t knock you out?” 

“No. No, it just…made me dizzy. But you were fine for a few…”

He paused, putting his hands on his hips and then holding one out to you in question. 

“You don’t remember? Any of it?”

Your brows flicked together. “No, not at all. I guess that’s good, isn’t it?”

He looked at you like it hurt. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, that’s really good. I’m glad.”

“Was it scary?”

He scoffed. “Very.”

A tentative grin crept onto your face. “Well, what did I miss?”

He was answering all of your questions slowly, the wheels in his brain turning visibly behind his eyes. Thoughtful. Careful. 

“Not much,” he shrugged. Then, sobered- “You were awake for a while after, actually. We were all pretty out of it. Robin, too.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, god.”

“What?” he laughed softly, shoulders lifting. 

“Did I say anything?” Then, realizing how obvious you were being- “Just, anything weird. At all.”

He took a long breath. Leaned forward, and drove his heel into the dirt a little. 

“Nope,” he breathed out. Eyes on the ground. “You were, uh…the closest to normal.”

“No way,” you joked. 

He smiled weakly. “Yep.”

You assumed his hesitance resulted from a general disdain for speaking to you. After all, you had called him the day you got out of the hospital, and left a message, and he hadn’t gotten back to you. Just like Snow Ball, all over again. This time it hurt less, but more in a thousand other ways. 

You stared at each other. He was a healthy distance away, and yet, his presence in front of you was like a wall; encompassing you, keeping you safe. He had always made you feel safe. You needed to let go of that. 

His eyes dropped to the box in your hands.

“What’s that for?”

Tears pricked at your eyes suddenly. He struck a chord. Stop it. 

“We’re, um…we’re moving.” And you would know that if you picked up the phone. 

He poked his head out. “What?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, laughing a bit to try and smooth out the air between you. “To Lenora Hills.”

“Lenora- where…where is that?”

“California.”

His hand flew up to his hair, tugging. He laughed once like a cry. 

“You’re joking.”

You shook your head, wrinkling your nose up. “Nope.”

“Oh, Byers,” he groaned, long and comedically bitter. “Fuck.”

The nickname sent a shock wave down your spine. He leaned over a bit and put his hands on his knees, grimacing. You took a tiny step closer, setting the box down. 

“Steve?”

He shook his head. “Just…um.”

And you stood there. Waiting. When he looked up, you were looking down, with the most genuine concern anyone had probably ever looked at him with. 

He shot up like a rocket. Before you even had time to think about what he was doing or be afraid of it, he had his arms around your waist, squeezing hard. You sucked in a breath that sounded more like a wheeze. There was no space left between the two of you, no room for embarrassment or hesitance. 

His fingers threaded gently into your hair until he was holding your head. Then he tipped it forward, trying to fit you into the crook of his neck. You dropped your forehead there without even thinking about it. Two puzzle pieces, finally locked in. His chest was hard against you, heart beating against your jaw. He had stopped breathing. He was warm; like coffee in the morning, like the first wave of somniferous heat that comes out of a car vent in the winter. 

I knew it; you thought. 

He let go and cold air enveloped you, the Sun a dull star. 

“Robin will miss you,” he strained.  

You gawked at him. Tears welled in your eyes. What was this, what was he doing? What happened while you were drugged? What happened after?

“That’s sweet,” you managed. 

“And Dustin.” 

A tear rolled down your cheek. You jolted forward, awful déjà vu rushing over you. Last time you cried in front of him, he bolted. 

Steve sighed like something had punctured his lung and tilted his head. 

“You should, uh, get back to packing,” he said. Like he was setting you free. From what?

“We’re not leaving until tonight,” you said hopefully. He made a small noise; a pained exhale. Like this was even worse than he imagined. 

“Drive safe. And, uh…I’ll miss you too.” He looked down. “You know.”

You wanted to scream at him. Open your mouth and beg, call his name a thousand times over. You had learned by now that- no matter how unsure of his feelings you were- he at least came when you called. Always. 

You opened your mouth. He looked up, expectant. Desperate. 

A ribbon of anger wrapped around your ribs. Humiliation. But not familiar. What happened at the Snow Ball made sense to you. But this, this made no sense at all. 

“Okay,” you choked out. “I’ll miss you too, Steve.”

He turned around unnaturally. Instantly, like he had to, and walked back to the BMW. You watched him get in the car and put the key in the ignition, solemn and fast. When he backed out, you stepped forward, taking a few tiny steps down the driveway as he reversed and pulled out onto the road. 

When his car disappeared into the forest, you broke down on the porch, sobbing. You couldn’t go inside- it was too busy. All you could do was stare at his footprints in the dirt. Just like the first time Steve Harrington left you behind, you knew two things for sure. 

It didn’t matter if he deserved the benefit of the doubt that you once gave him, because you would continue to give it; time and time again, until it bled you dry. 

You had missed something terribly important. 

◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ thank u for reading!! i forgot how wild s3 was until i sat down to write this lolol. likes/comments/reblogs/literally anything are soso appreciated and thank you for all the love on the last one i'm so glad people enjoy this story cuz i love it and i will post part 3 this coming week :)))

tags: @preciousbabypeter @meganlikesfandoms @ikkehehe @the-winter-spider @khaylin27 @floweronmoon @ilovehotdads69 @naughty-koala07 @kisskissshutmydoor @americaswritings @mayonesavegana @alexaisaflop @selfdeprecatingnerd @alainabooks143 @appocalipse

[hypnostouched]

i forever have dnd brainrot so,,, aftg dnd vibes

Neil is, of course, a rogue. lock picking, quick, lying sneaky lil bastard. In particular I would make him a Mastermind rogue as it comes with disguise profienecy , boosts so lying and vibes of a manipulator. I'd also build him into a wood elf - for the mechanical speed and hide buffs; but id flavour him as a half elf. The Hatford family would be elven and Mary is the one who trained Neil to hide and run. Other than some small things, he would look almost identical to his human father.

Now the Ravens in dnd, to me, are a Paladin order that is a lot more of a defined cult. They'd be a mix of Oath of Glory Paladins (one of their channel divinities is literally called Peerless Athlete) and Oath of Conquest Paladins (Kevin was Glory, Riko is Conquest) Paladins are physical builds with good Charisma and you can think whatever you like about the Ravens, they are charismatic (also to note, intimidation is a charisma skill in dnd)

now Oathbreaker has a very specific vibe but what I will focus on is the feeling of emptiness and darkness that come with it. Kevin is an oathbreaker when he leaves the Ravens, but he won't remain as one indefinitely. He would retake his Oath of Glory when it could mean something different to him (which would align with canon Kevin gtting his new tattoo). For him, being an Oathbreaker is connected to his fear and depression rather than any form of evil (High CHA Kevin is so funny to me bc its canon and i love a CHA build who generally doesnt seem charismatic until they turn it on) Kevin is a high elf seemingly in every way. He took after his mother almost entirely.

As said, Riko is a Conquest Paladin - I would also consider giving him a few levels in Shadow Sorcerer; as something he just is inherently rather than something he's trained to be like Paladin. Riko is also a half elf; most of the Moriyama family are High Elves but his mother was human. Riko can't claim that his family doesnt like him because of this, because Ichirou is also a half elf.

Returning to the foxes--

Andrew is a fighter. Human fighter, a v basic build lmao. he is a champion fighter; he's just a fucking threat.

Nicky is absolutely a bard (glamour). I would love to pitch Nicky as a Satyr because of their interest in freedom, revelry and enjoyment.

(can i just say its so hard to do dnd thoughts when so many characters are related and youre autistic so you have to factor all of that in)

Renee is a Barbarian/Cleric multiclass in the way that she used to be a barbarian and now mostly ignores those abilities to focus on her cleric shit. Light domain cleric. Also she is an air genasi and the colours in her hair are natural and look like the colours of sunset or sunrise on clouds

Dan is also a human fighter but she's a banneret fighter; which has a focus on inspiring allies. Still a threat, just also an inspirational one.

Aaron is a ranger; gloomstalker as he lurks around a lot. Mechanically he wouldn't be as high a level as Andrew. Neil is his favoured enemy.

Matt is a sun soul monk, taught to him by his mother. Bright and also quite scary when he's trying to kill you.

Allison is a bard/fighter multiclass. Similar to Renee, her Bard levels come from before her life with the foxes but she doesn't ignore them like Renee does. Eloquence Bard, champion fighter

[will-o-the-witch]

please tell us about your dnd campaign actually, i love hearing about other people's campaigns!!!

*deep breath* SO key players are:

Seaworth, a brash and swashbuckly pirate who can't stay out of trouble. He's in an open relationship with his wife, who is a selkie, who lives by the coast. Racist against tieflings and tabaxi and slowly learning better against his will.

Arthur is the Literal Devil on vacation. He made a trick deal with a human boy and possessed his body in order to adventure around and see what it's like being a human for a bit. Unfortunately he keeps having to take business calls from Hell from people who don't know how to operate without their manager. Very business-minded but ironically the devil is LESS of a dick than Seaworth lol.

Adam is a warforged, the first one. He was the model designed in order to make other warforged. He's a cleric to a god of technology and innovation, so he rebukes any technology that's outdated or obsolete (yes, there's a bit of a self-loathing complex there.) The party in-game doesn't know it yet, but his dedication to that ideal is to a genocidal extent.

Aya (my character) has always been hypersensitive to ghosts and spirits which led to her being an outcast in her tiny village. Her father was a toy maker so she developed the same skills, eventually putting a spirit companion into a creepy Victorian doll (appropriately just named Doll) so that Doll could explore the world kinda similar to Arthur. (In game I'm a multiclass bard/artificer so Doll functions as my Steel Defender.) Aya's the most empathetic of the group for sure, but she's on her last shred of hope for humanity and could easily just snap and turn evil if something bad enough happens.

We're basically a party on the verge of being extraordinarily evil, but having just barely enough good intentions and luck to still wind up being the good guys 😂

[quotidian-oblivion]

May I present to you:

The new out of context series - ✨Quo's DnD Seshes✨

I made the distinguishing of adding my name because other members have their own quotes and stuff they wanna do.

The other out of context series was the one by me and Nog (who is still in fucking hibernation /lh) where we just entered the randomest things we said and put them as batfam incorrect quotes.

But this one has quotes by the people I play Dungeons and Dragons with every Friday. I recently got into it and joined the club at school (thanks to our very lovely Stairs for organizing it so well <33).

We recently finished Chapter 1 of our journey and it was pure CHAOS. So much that it took 8 weeks to finally finish it.

Special thanks to @the-echos-error for writing chapter 1 and doing the art and making the playlist (even though we were very irregular in using it) for us ^^

The members are as follows:

🫅Dungeon Master - Xavor (a minor kind of NPC character who only helps with battles) - He/Him - 🧝 Half-elf - ⚰️ Necromancer - 💩 Urchin - 🦹 Chaotic Evil = ✨Stairs @its-stairs-time✨

🍧Eira - She/her - 👩 Human - 🌱 Druid - 💁‍♀️ Charlatan - 😈 Lawful Evil = ✨Quo @quotidian-oblivion (moi)✨

🍃Aersha - She/her - 🧝‍♀️ Elf - 🧙‍♀️ Cleric - 🙏 Acolyte - 👍 Lawful Good = A friend <333 Who is the only one who has a braincell... most of the time.

🙄Elenaril - Sher/her - 🧝‍♀️ Half-elf - 🥷 Rogue (Assassin) - 💰🍞Thief - 👌Chaotic Neutral = ✨My sister.✨ She was forced by our parents to do some extra-curriculars and so she followed me into DnD after school and actually started liking it.

❓Magbanise - He/Him - Aarkocra - Monk - UNKNOWN - Chaotic Good = ✨Our supervising teacher✨ He left after one session and now we're in shattered pieces of pure energy bouncing around the room and the plot.

🍺 Astā - She/Her - 👿 Tiefling - 🥷 Rogue - ❓NO CLUE YET❓ - 🌪️ Chaotic. = ✨a middle school student✨ AKA: The drunk baby (in reference to her character)

There are another two players joining us soon too!

This is the introductory post for the DnD sesh out of context quote series. Just a fun little thing our team's doing ^^

[manettheeternalelir]

A Practical Guide to Evil

So I've sat with it for most of the day, and while I think I'll be ruminating on it for much longer than that, here are my thoughts.

Obviously, spoilers.

First, Akua Sahelian. Even going in knowing that she was going to get a redemption arc, I was thinking that maybe I misremembered the name, that it was another character that was going to be redeemed. Especially after the demon at Marchford and of course the Doom of Liesse. I will admit to literally squealing when Catherine broke her fucking bones after 1st Liesse. As the story went on, I began to forgive and forget, and to be honest by the middle of Vol. 7 I was like get over it and kiss her, Cat. I guess I just never felt that bad about the Doom after the Everdark, despite the narrative's insistence on reminding me of it. Maybe that's good writing, that I liked Akua so much, maybe not, idk I'm just a little guy.

Hakram was a great character, with a perfect pivot from in Cat's shadow to becoming a man of his own. He was the button that EE could press to ignore all of the logistical issues when the army got big, so that was kind of annoying, but whatever.

Indrani. Around the time that she and Cat finally fucked I was screaming in my head for them to fuck, so that feels right. Really liked her characterization towards the end with the other Refuge refugees, especially the line where Concocter tells her it didn't have to always be a fight. Good shit.

Vivienne was hit or miss for me, she was her own character, but never really felt that important to me, despite obvious narrative importance. Never the same level of emotional connection to me.

Masego, my darling beloved. My sweet perfect boy. My autistic wizard son. I love him. There may be flaws in his character, maybe, but I will never see them. He is the platonic ideal of a wizard to me.

And then Catherine. She went though so many forms of anime magic. Guide truly cemented itself as a shonen to me, just by virtue of never quite knowing what she could actually do. Her characterizations were relatively constant, enough to ground her as a character anyway, but the way that she always had a hidden plan did get a little annoying. It wasn't quite Sherlock Holmes level unrevealed scheming, but there were definitely moments where I groaned out of annoyance, namely when she was take prisoner in Wolof. I'm probably overstating how much wasn't foreshadowed, and I'd guess that for a lot of people the excitement of guessing "how would Cat get out of this one" was fun, but by the end I was rolling my eyes half the time.

Overall I loved it, and I'm definitely going to reread it at some point. It will provide inspiration for my dnd campaign for years to come, and I will be shamelessly stealing characters forever. Kairos Theodosian was incredible, and probably my second favorite character.

My single biggest critique was that there were stretches of like 5 or 6 interludes in a row, which inevitably lead to me saying "Cordelia FUCKING Hasenbach" under my breath

[freetobeeyouandme]

A My Little Pony Hypothesis

Wrinkle in Time posting reminding me I never actually posted my own My Little Pony hypothesis because I meant to post it as part of a larger analysis of dragons in ST and then never did. lol. Anyway, I think the thing they're referencing with WiT may be one of the kids in that book letting himself be caught by the hivemind to locate their father and then getting left behind during the rescue mission, forcing the protagonist to come back and save him with the power of love. And the MLP references in the show actually also suggest (and therefore support) this version of events.

So in the MLP episode "Escape from Midnight Castle" the ponies are attacked by the evil centaur Tirek who also kidnaps four ponies to turn them into dragons to pull his chariot so he can subjugate the whole world with his Rainbow of Darkness. His plans are stalled because one of the kidnapped ponies is too small and he can't turn it. Meanwhile the protagonist ponies go to find the Rainbow of Light and then go to Tirek's castle to free their friends. While infiltrating the castle Applejack is captured and turned into a dragon. The ponies manage to stop Tirek last minute by overtaking the Rainbow of Darkness with the Rainbow of Light, which also turns everyone back into what they were. And all the ponies lived happily ever after.

So what's that got to do with Stranger Things? Well, Dustin explicity mentions the episode in S3 when he’s arguing with Erica about her status as a nerd, because Erica is into MLP and since that has nerdy stuff like castles and dragons she is a nerd. Erica then embraces that identity, gets into DnD, and names her character after Applejack. Who then ends up defeating Vecna in the S4 game...which made me wonder whether the MLP reference is actually important foreshadowing -- and who then is represented by Applejack. Personally I think Will is most likely, because while “getting turned into a dragon” does fit Max in S4 I think Max is actually the too small pony from the initial four that get kidnapped: Vecna’s first attempt to kill her didn’t work and even the second one isn’t quite complete, he just separated her consciousness from her body by the looks of it.

This is also why I think it’ll be Will. At the end of S4 we see El trying to find Max to get her to wake up, but she can’t find her. That’s not gonna change by her trying harder in S5, so I think if they want to go find Max they need to go into Vecna/The Mindflayer’s head and find her there (and i think that may be one of the priorities in the first half of S5 because of the heavy Star Wars parallels we got elsewhere). And the only person who was part of it before is Will, so I think she’ll end up piggybacking in through his mind. Plus that would let Will’s promise of “fix it together” from 4.01 come true. It also resembles the way the ponies infiltrate the castle in MLP AND Charles Wallace letting IT control him so he can find his father. In both WiT and MLP this rescue mission doesn’t quite go the way it was intended. Applejack gets kidnapped and turned into a dragon and Charles Wallace is left behind as part of the hivemind while the other kids get out with their father. Both of them are later saved by their friends, Charles Wallace explicitly with love, and Applejack with a very thin metaphor for it. 

These themes are obviously also present in Stranger Things and people have already pointed out this similarity (and this potential plot) in relation to WiT, but I think it’s interesting to note that the DnD game which clearly foreshadows the events of S5 also references a piece of media that also has this type of plot. I also think the whole love vs. hate/anger thematic also points to Will because the topic of (romantic) love is important for his character arc in a way that it isn’t for others. El also wants love but her’s is familial and tbh with the return of Hopper I think her S5 arc will be taking the love she knows she has and turning it on Vecna. Will on the other hand is wanting, and I think vulnerable on that level -- but also a formidable foe once he realizes he can have everything he wants. Which is also a great way of involving their personal arcs and the love triangle in the supernatural plot. 

Tl, dR: I think the theory that the writers posting about WiT means Will is gonna help El find Max and then get stuck in the hivemind, needing to be rescued with (Mike’s) love are very likely because the show references an episode of MLP multiple times, including in the foreshadowing of the DnD game, in which that exact plot also happens. And I’m very excited about it because I have been turning this idea over in my head for weeks now and I love it.

[professionalfobtrash]

my non-critter friend reviews Bells Hells

While cutting my hair (Part 3 - Vox machina review) (Part 2 - MIghty Nein review)

Fresh Cut Grass

- If Tweety and R2D2 were one

- They look... not stupid but an unkowledgable type character

Ashton Greymoore

- This looks like [mutual friend who dm’s my dnd game]’s gender

- Me: That thing you’re referring to is their brain actually

- Them: it’s an opal?? That’s so pwetty 🥺

- So well designed with the kintsugi and everything

Bertrand Bell

- Them immediately upon laying eyes on him: This looks like Alfred the butler if he got bitches. [me: alskdjflkaj this guy wishes he got bitches.] He doesn’t?!

- Look at the size of his boots! He has thigh high boots! What do you mean he doesn’t get bitches?!

Chetney Pock O’Pea

- Them even before realising Chet is actually canonically small: *starts off on a long rant about the younger kids in their Romanian hometown who would rush out to the snack kiosk during lunch break “and then they would look at you like this *points at official artwork* with their little hat their mommy gave them and they’re 1 cm tall but they’re holding a switchblade and sure you can take my spot in line 😭”

- He has the same feral energy as a 12-year-old ready to stab you at 8 AM for a tootsie roll

(Author’s note: don’t actually make infantilizing/kid jokes abt short characters and/or little people (aka folks with dwarfism) though or I will come for your kneecaps. (Yes that includes Nancy jokes) I don’t blame my friend bc they genuinely didn’t realize Chet was small on account of his official art being on a plain white background with no scale reference to speak of, but y’all don’t have that excuse. Alright, as you were.)

Dorian Storm

- Oh woooooow. Very cute, very good. I have nothing else to say.

- Actually, I don’t know about the boots. Do they fly? [Yes.] Okay then they can stay.

- Okay. Valid outfit. Not criticism to be brought upon him.

Fearne Calloway

- In Romania we have a folk song called [loosely translated]: ‘Green girl with her hair made of trees’, that’s the vibe

- Oh wow the hand is evil

- *zooming in on the sickle on Fearne’s belt* Is she a communist?

- Pretty fey lady... she looks mischievously evil

Imogen Temult

- This is the most basic character so far, which says a lot because it’s a person with purple veins, and purple hair.

- Why is she purple? [We don’t know. That’s the problem.] Oh damn...

Laudna

- Corpse Party vibes

- *zooming in on Pâté* Also... you good??? [His name is Pâté] HE’S ALIVE??? [No she puppeteers him like a marionette (this was before I’d caught up on ep. 38)] *gasp* That’s great, good for her.

- She looks too scary to actually be evil. She’s just like a goth bitch at the mall, y’know?

- ...also I think I could put this outfit together quite easily. [I believe you... including the rat with a bird skull?] We had mice problems, remember? I could bring that back easily!

Orym of the Air Ashari

- He looks like he would accompany her *swipes back to the picture of Fearne* and be the voice of reason

- He looks like he’s the voice of reason somewhere