#i take a bit of pride and freedom in the confusion.

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

My gender complex goes back 3 generations and through two queer women and their family trauma, I feel like I know what I'm talking about. We know a thing or two because we've seen a thing or two.

[cupids-chamber]

— THE CONCUBINE GAME !! | chapter one . . . The first chapter, where you'll be able to catch a climpse of the inner dynamics between the emperor's y/n's secretary and their personal guard, a small entry and brief taste of what's to come, while learning a bit more about our beloved emperor and their staff . . .

— Themes ; Harem / historical au , Twisted wonderland , multiple characters x reader , royalty au , includes rsa + yuuka/yuuken. ♡

The wind was howling, the pitter patter sound of rain could be heard throughout the grand walls of the palace. The sound of heels clicking urgently on the wooden floors, echoing through the empty halls, as Yuuken rushed his way through to the emperor's chambers. It was late, yet he’d been overworked all week preparing the palace for the arrival of certain selected members of the Royal Harem, some were particularly demanding with the way they wanted things sorted out and Yuuken prided himself on never failing to impress. 

He banged on the door rather aggressively, “Your majesty, I have certain design plans I need you to finalize before Prince Leona’s arrival, and the first few concubines enter the palace, we don’t have much time!”, he yelled out trying to get the emperor’s attention, it was already late into the night and the palace staff were working overtime meeting every demand that they were given. 

Yuuken flinched feeling something touch his shoulder, and right before he could move back and attack, he heard an all too familiar voice—”Don’t bother trying to get their attention, Y/n’s at a meeting”—Yuuka spoke, a small grin on her face while she watched Yuuken try and collect himself, “This late?”, he asked confused, “also please try and address them by proper titles in public”; Yuuka shrugged in response, pausing for a moment before she spoke up once more, “I’d like to keep things the way it is, and you should probably take a break because they’re not coming out of the room at all, it’s something about politics . . . I wasn’t really paying attention”. 

Yuuken sighed, slumping his shoulders as he leaned onto the door of the Emperor's chamber, “I-i . .  just want everything to be perfect, everything’s been so . . hectic for their majes—y/n and I just really want to provide some stability, you know?”, he said softly, letting his exhaustion take over for a moment and Yuuka’s expression softened, “Hey—you’re doing great, there's a reason y/n gave you full creative liberty”, she ruffled his hair giving him a genuine smile, “don’t push yourself too hard alright? None of us are expecting you to be perfect, not even y/n . .” she finished, as Yuuken closed his eyes and whispered a small, “I know . . .”

Setting: Meeting room Location: The west wing. Time: 11:36pm 

You fiddle with your fingers, trying to shift the jewelry that you were covered in, in an attempt to feel more comfortable with the weight that the jewels provided, holding you down . . , as another argument ensues between the nobles, these past few days have felt like a choir, in fact most of the months since you ascended have felt terrible, nothings been exciting—from inheriting an empire doomed to fail, to trying to pick up the scraps of what was left of your fathers reckless decisions and fixing it into something at least palatable, the pressure of everything has left you in a bottomless pit, you needed freedom a refreshing start—something you lost—when you inherited the throne . . . 

“—Ah, your majesty?”, one of the nobles spoke up, and you bit your lip, how you hated that title, the moment you inherited this role, your friendships haven’t quite been the same, everyone who you’ve trusted in the past, have now become just another subject, trust is no longer something you earn, as loyalty and trust is to be expected when the crown is on your head.

Setting: Inner Cold Palace Garden Location: Rundown Gazebo Time: 12:46am 

"—and they never thanked me'', Yuuken hiccuped out, words slurring due to his alcohol intake, he waved the half finished bottle of some form of expensive imported wine in his hands, swinging it around dramatically; Yuuka chuckled, taking a sip from her glass as she looked around at the scenery of the garden—it used to be much prettier and well taken care of, way back before the previous emperor—y/n’s father—went haywire. . . 

"Hey Yuuken, remember when we used to play together here?" she asked without thinking, meeting his eyes for a brief moment all the while Yuuken took another big gulp from his wine bottle . . and then he spoke, "Yeah—you and y/n pushed me into the lake, I still hate the water", he slurred over his words slightly and Yuuka chuckled in response, if only things could've stayed as simple, but now Y/n didn't even have the time to maintain the garden where they're friendship once first blossomed, Yuuka sighed, leaning her head down on the table—which had seen better days— . .  the same could be said about their relationship with y/n themselves . . 

Masterlist | Introductions (being reworked) | Next chapter

♡. Synposis ; After many months of persuading, the emperor, Y/N L/N had finally agreed to take in a select few concubines and consorts—not an official partner.. but concubines. This caused an uproar in court; however the emperor promised to choose an official partner; amongst the crowd of concubines and consorts.. Who will the emperor choose?

— taglist ♡ (open) : . . tumblr is not letting me mention over 5 people per post, and the staff won't do anything about it, so I recommend just joining my server and picking out the new chapter ping role as it makes things easier for me.

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 1)

Cregan x reader

A/N: this is just gonna be a miniseries methinks

word count: 1,171

Next chapter

Series Masterlist

“You look like an angel, my love.” Rhaenyra says as the handmaidens pin back your hair but you don’t feel like an angel; you feel like a pawn.

You have been meeting with suitors for nearly four moons and none have seemed to be good enough for you. Lannisters are too proud, Tullys bore you, and you can’t stand a single person with the name Baratheon. Your mother said that she was showing you a great kindness in allowing you to choose, a kindness that she didn’t appreciate enough when the young queen had the chance. You don’t care. You know you are just like she was when she was younger. You often wear that with pride but you know what it means in this scenario. You’re ‘too stubborn to appreciate what has been given to you’. Rhaenyra gave you the opportunity but she was no longer patient. A husband had to be chosen.

“Winterfell is very far.” Is all you say in response.

“Lord Stark is a good man. I would not have chosen him for you if I wasn’t sure of it.” She presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Just walk through the gardens with him. Get to know the man who will be your husband.” She pets your hair in a loving manner. You can’t seem to understand that she would only have the best for you, her only daughter.

You have yet to meet Cregan Stark but you already hate him, your betrothed, the man who will whisk you away from your family to the cold North. You resent the freedoms he is taking from you. You resent being separated from your family. You resent everything about him.

“He will treat you well, sweet girl. I know it.” You stand up now, wrapped in a silk gown and decorated with jewellery like a lovely little present for him. When you get to the gardens, he is already waiting for you with a blinding smile on his face. You have to admit that he is incredibly handsome. He is tall and his physique looks strong from years of training with the sword. A real Northern man.

“Princess, it is my pleasure to meet you. Our engagement brings great honour to my house.” He walks over to stand in front of you and you let him take your hand up for a kiss, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Lord Stark.” Your voice is cold which seems to surprise him ever so slightly. You don’t give him a chance to say much else as you begin to walk through the gardens, leaving him in your dust. He looks at you in a bit of a stupor before quickly following after his pretty betrothed. 

“Would you like to take my arm, princess?” He politely offers his right arm to you. How proper.

“No.” You say simply as he speeds up a bit to stay in step with you.

“No?” He looks a little confused but chalks it up to teenage girls being a little strange. You give him no other response so he makes another attempt at conversation. “Have you ever visited Winterfell?”

“No.” He awaits to hear a sentiment of your excitement to see it soon but is disappointed when none comes.

“I am sure you will love it. It’s beautiful when there's a fresh dusting of snow on the ground. I’d say it’s the greatest place in all of Westeros but I suppose i’m biased.” He grins, mostly to himself, and then looks at you, hopeful for more of a response.

“Hmm.”  Is all you offer as a reply. Cregan finds himself dejected at his future wife’s lack of interest and he tries his best to shake it off.

“It does get cold of course but you’ll be more than warm enough in the castle. Most actually find it very cozy.” He gives you another smile that likely has most women melting in a puddle at his feet. For some reason it just irritates you more.

“Dragons don’t do well in the cold.” Your curt reply makes him cringe. He can’t understand what has given you such a sense of distaste towards him. Things are silent for a moment. He has no idea how to respond directly to your comment.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Another attempt it seems. The question makes you sigh. What a boring change of subject. 

“We don’t really need to speak.” You shock him with your words, with your bratty attitude. He’d expected you to be entitled but he didn’t expect you to be outright rude. He is a lord after all, the Warden of the North. He deserves some sense of courtesy from you.

“That is going to be difficult seeing as how we are to be wed.” He scoffs and you begin to fiddle with the rings that decorate your fingers.

“The only thing you need from me in this marriage is to fill my belly with your heirs.” You say. You know it’s harsh but it isn’t necessarily untrue. He seems to be taken aback slightly by your words.

“You don’t wish to get to know the man you’re going to marry?” He asks in disbelief. He seems like a romantic. You didn’t think people of nobility were allowed to be romantics. Though, simply knowing your husband better is a sad definition of romanticism.

“You ask many questions.” You roll your eyes and he does his best to hold his tongue and not say something stupid.

“And you answer practically none, princess.” There was a bit of bite in his words. He clearly believes that you’re acting like a spoilt child. 

Awkward silence fills the space between you both. You wonder if he may apologise to you and he earns a bit more of your respect because he doesn’t. It’s quiet for quite some time and you try to walk faster so that you may get to the end of the gardens before he tries to make conversation again. He never does and it isn’t long before the promenade comes to an untimely finish.

“Good day to you, my lord.” Poor Lord Stark looks like he’s rethinking all of his life choices when you say the words to him. What an ill fate for the man, marrying a cold Targaryen princess.

“To you as well, princess.” You don’t lift your hand up for him to kiss again and based on the fact that he looks like a kicked puppy, you know that he wanted to.

You leave quickly. You did your duty… technically. Your mother asked you to walk through the gardens with him and you did. Mayhaps you simply forgot about the getting to know him part. You wonder if he will retract his proposal, but who would ever retract a proposal to a princess? Maybe you’re delaying the inevitable, maybe you’re just full of old fashioned Targaryen spite but you have no wish to create a relationship with the man you’re meant to marry.

taglist(comment to be added): @valeskafics @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies

[aakaneeee]

I've had my drabble, now it's time for actual theories and parallels since I haven't done that in a while and it's long overdue

first of all, I love to see Alien Stage art slowly but surely falling into the obvious eerie side.

I have a lot to say about all of these, but I specifically want to focus on Luka for this.

When I first saw the branding, I wondered why it was there. I was confused, because I expected it to be on the heart (which was also proven to be false in the 2nd anniversary pop up store).

then, I looked closer: left hip.

there are actually a lot of stuff to associate with his branding (except it looking slutty IM SORRY YALL I CANT HELP MYSELF)

The left hip is also the place where horses are branded. Specifically, pedigree horses. Again, not only does it show possession, but also him being superior to others.

For men, that specific area is one of the most painful. (insert tattoo pain chart)

it might seem like it's on yellow since it's just a little lower than the belly button, but 1. The belly button on this chart is really high and 2. It could just be perspective, and it'd make a lot of sense for him to be branded in the most painful way possible. doesn't that sound heperu to you?

3. he isn't under anesthesia. even mizi, who had a "least pain" area, seemed to be under anesthesia. but no, he wasn't. this leads me to my next point:

4. We know Heperu thinks the only way to make a good pet is fear. So, what if he specifically chose that area, so Luka could actively see, and even have to hold his shirt up himself? He wants him to fear, and he wants him to know who he belongs to. It seems he really doesn't have limits in showing that.

Okay, those are the stuff I've noticed about this, but now I have a parallel.

This might be a little bit of a reach so take it with a grain of salt!!

Ivan's branding is on his wrist: a secure, hidden place, where others wouldn't be able to see it, as if he actually had more freedom than other humans, being seen more as a business partner than like a pet.

Youd think Luka is the same, afterall, his branding is on his hip, and we didn't see anyone wearing crop tops and low rise pants yet.

No, but all of his outfits have an open back and a cut in the front.

Considering the pacing of his songs, and the turns he made in Round 5, we could possibly imagine that the material would move away, and it would show his branding, atleast a little bit. Like a silent reminder, both for Luka and for the audience, that he is not his own person, but someone who is owned. It feels like Heperu is so prideful that he wants to take merit for Luka's voice, as if taking advantage of an actual condition he has was what brought him up in the charts, and that Luka's work is equal to nothing, because he did everything. That's what Heperu thinks, and that's what he wants the audience to think, as well.

Another perfect example of this is the photo next to the branding.

Taking Sua's photo, we can see the signatures or scribbles are darker, and even though crazier, they still make her the center of it, while still maintaining some color.

For Luka, the backround is blank. Just grey. He doesn't have the teal that Sua had, or even a light yellow to show light. More importantly, the signatures are all over him. Showing that he is a prized possession, a trophy, that doesn't actually have anything of his own, that is completely under his owner and his fans, despite him supposedly having more 'freedom' than other pets because he already won a season. (This freedom being an obvious lie.)

Sua is looking left. Luka is directly facing the camera, but you can barely even tell, his eyes are covered by his hair.

Again, another small reach, but we know he doesn't really enjoy bright lights. (sweet dream as proof)

I was wondering if this could be even more proof of him having even more conditions than what they've let on.

Specifically, Leukocoria.

Leukocoria represents your pupil shining white or grayish-yellow instead of red, and it signals grave damage inside the eye.

(Photo from Google, don't sue me)

It looks very close to Luka's pupils, right?

there are also these two official arts in which he's wearing glasses.

they seem to be quite thin, so whatever the reason for him wearing them is not that bad.

so i was wondering: could it be a case of cataract?

HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

his eyes are a very pale color, and pale irises can be a sign of cataract.

people with cases of cataract that aren't too bad, even though surgery is recommended, can see better if they wear glasses.

and leukocoria can be caused by cataract.

maybe that's the reason he's hiding his eyes from the light here with his hair? his eyes are sensible to light?

i know this is really long but i hope you all don't mind too much, luka is my favourite (if you couldn't tell) and this new information awakened my medical knowledge :)

sorry if some stuff don't make sense, as always, english is not my first language, I hope it's atleast a bit coherent!

(tagging some people because I think you'd like to see this.... @shakingparadigm @sotogalmo @paradisedisconcert @m1zisua @junebluues @bluemoonscape @4listr @nottoonedin @pwippy SORRY IF ANY OF YALL DIDNT WANT TO BE TAGGED)

[cherryredstars]

OH MY GOD REQUESTS ARE OPEN💃🏾💃🏾

gosh cherry i love you and your blog sm it makes my day😭

could i please have a college or highschool au where reader studies subjects like social science and business and literature and he does stem subjects and he at first has like a superiority complex, he doesn’t intend to, but he can’t help it, until he sees the reader like talk about social issues or how she can remember 17 step procedures and shit and he’s like…wow. maybe they can be together and he sees her pretend to teach people to learn and he’s learning stuff from her and it’s wholesome asf

god i don’t know i’m sorry im rambling😭😭 you don’t have to ofc but thank you anyway

and again, love you!!

Thank you, love!!!

He's the smartest person he knows.

It's not narcissistic if it's a fact. He's the top of his major program, already has offers for Ph.D programs nationwide mailed to his door. He's sure to get into any genetics department he wants for grad school. He's the star of the industry-path students. He's just that good, and what's the harm in taking pride in your accomplishments?

But he's never met someone like you before.

Usually he wouldn't care for people like you, with their abstract liberal art degrees in nonsense majors that'll just collect dust in a box in an attic somewhere. But there is something so enduring about you, about everything you do. The way you just know what people are thinking based on the twitch of their fingers and why they think it. The way you're so open to everything in a way that would make his lab buddies laugh with their one-way minds. It amazes him, the way your view is so wide in a way that something like genetics or STEM can't comprehend. In a way they don't allow. There is something so breath-taking about the way your mind has this endless freedom that he can't even grasp. Like a kaleidoscope of colors that are simultaneously beautiful and overwhelming to the senses. Something his factual mind craves.

The first time he had seen you, he was in the library. It isn't a place he would usually go to, but he had to collect some textbooks for his professor in the storage closet. He had gotten in a bit of trouble that day for taking so long, but how could he resist when he had heard the sweet cadence of your voice through the open door of a mini-lecture room. Very few students were in the room, it looked like a side presentation; one of those assignments that forced students to present their ideas on a topic to a group of people to try to captivate them into agreeing with your findings. There was a sort of fiery passion in the way you spoke, a hardened steel in your eyes that showed your resistance to back down. It was... enchanting, siren-like. So much so that he had been forced to sit in one of the empty seats in the back of the room, eyes stuck on you as you paced the front of class and rebutted comments from your peers.

He had no idea what you were talking about, but it still had that overwhelming effect on him. One that had him pressing the surface of his stomach against the hard edge of the lecture tables, his senses honing in to hear every last syllable that departed from your lips. There was this dream-like quality to you, something that consumed the mind and made them listen. A sort of intelligence that he would never know or understand. One that he would spend hours trying to learn if you were the one explaining it. He can't remember how long it took for him to start breathing again when your eyes scanned the room and locked onto him, clear confusion on your face at the random presence of college's most-awarded student. He could feel his heart bursting against his ribs, mouth parting slightly from the honor to be the center of your attention for even a few seconds before you looked away and carried on.

Suddenly, he didn't feel like the smartest person in the world. Not when you left him absolutely stupefied.

[milllersfae]

Literally I just wanna say I love your writing and think ur super talented <33 And as a request, could you do a lil blurb about femme reader and protective/possessive Ellie?

sorry i got to this so late! i'd love to write this! since you didn't mention any smut, i'll keep it pretty tame, hope thats okay <3

.𖥔˖๋ ࣭⭑ blurb | protective!ellie showing everyone you’re hers

content warning: creepy men (boo), teasing, intoxication mention, exhibitionism if you squint. mdni

that night had been on your mind nonstop since you came home. you plunged face first into your pillow, alcohol-lidded breath smothered in the silk cover.

you had held your red solo cup firm in your grasp, bobbing your head under the mellow rumble of the bass heavy speakers. the sun had finally began to slip underneath the horizon, orange seeping into the sky. the house party you had attended had been in full swing, people littered all over the back lawn. the summer warmth had only prompted you wore your best slip dress, white and slim against the curves of your body. not only had it been a hit with you, it seemed to be a hit with everyone else.

the drunken slur of men had came your way, often lead with poor pickup lines and perverted compliments. you were polite, eyes shifting in hopes of the conversation ceasing with every forced laugh and nod you made. the travel of eyes made you embarrassingly flush, arms crossed over your chest in response.

then you felt her, presence lingering behind you before confirmed with an arm wrapped to your waist, lips pressed behind your ear. ellie glared at the man before you, eyebrows pressed in acquisition.

"you alright over here? nobody bothering you?" she cooed, smirk defiant on her face as the intoxicated eyes of the stranger had widened in silent fear, before promptly making excuse to finally step off.

she laughed into your shoulder, breath heavy against the skin. "fuckin' creep. hate when they look at you like that." ellie mumbled, taking your now free hand in hers.

you nodded in obligement, a long-needed smile wide-spread on your face. even with you newfound freedom ellies’ wandering hands didn't cease, her other hand rubbing soft circles on your thigh. you turn to her from the corner of your eye, watching her face scan the night-lidded backyard. her face was cocky, a look of pride that spoke that she loudly claimed you, and made you hers. and she liked it. you tapped her arm that had now palmed at your ass, face running warm at the clutter of eyes you felt pinned on you.

"m-baby, i think people are looking--"

"that's what i want."

ellie's grip tightened, her wandering stare becoming more devious as she continued. she pulled your hand nearing the porch stairs, propping you up on the end of the birch railing. she placed a hand at the length of your back, and her other snuck beneath the end of your dress. she was consuming you in broad daylight, claiming you as if a single eye wasn’t there.

you hate that you enjoyed it, a subtle sensation fluttered in your core. ellie pulled you in closer to her, teeth peaking through a impish smile.

“why are you so flustered? something bugging you?” ellie teased, hand moving up your dress and thumbing your inner thigh. you wince softly at the action, lip bit slightly at her pleasure.

“you don’t care about all these people? the stares?” you whisper, eyes wide with confusion. you are met with her lidded eyes as she laughed with a stifle.

“nothing will stop me from reminding people you’re my girl, baby.” she purred, pressing two fingers to the damp of your panties. you let out a shuddered moan as ellie leaned in to press her lips to the open of your mouth.

══════════════════

[thesharktanksdriver]

Salt Water Tears

Made this awhile back. I’m not sure it’s it’s good or not but decide to post it anyways cause it’s taking space up in my notes

Poseidon might be out of character but screw it

Warning for abuse, misogyny and murder

Love and hatred are powerful emotions that both the gods and humans alike

It is something that both experience to such a gripping degree

It can lead to both good and bad

Hate can lead to war but also change

And love can lead to something beautiful and can tear down even the mightiest of empires

It’s intriguing how both emotions despite being opposites can intertwine together like a coil

It’s especially to Aphrodite as the blond goddess spies on others love lives for fun

It’s fun to her as she sees as love can either consume and destroy someone from the inside out

Progressing slowly into that coil

Normally she watches over human stories for the gods don’t have much going except for affairs and the once beautiful feeling dying

But there is one tale of love and hate that has always stood out to her

Whether that be for its tragedy of an ending or beautiful start she personally isn’t sure

But whenever it came to the god Poseidon it was sure to be something interesting

And the tragedy of the only person he loved is certainly an example of that

You were born to a small village to a peasant family

In the grand scheme of the world you weren’t special

You didn’t have power or status but you did have one thing many people lacked

Respect for others and nature

Yeah, doesn’t sound like much but in your village where brutes ran wild without so much as a ounce of intelligence or care for anything around them it was a lot

It’s why you always lingered near the beachside where no one would visit

It was the only respite from your family who was already pressuring you to be married off

A fate you wished to evade as long as you could as to keep your freedom

Your mother was a constant reminder of what you feared

A worn down woman, one who felt no love for herself and abided by your hateful father

A man who didn’t know any love for anything but his own pride and image to the other men in the community

To be completely honest it sucked

You wished to have a different fate, to be able to explore the vast open sea like that of legends

Or travel to distant lands you’d heard whispers of

Not being confined to a home and used as an object to satisfy someone else’s desires

So there on that beach you let fantasy reign over your mind

Staring out towards the deep blue ocean with longing

Letting the salty air tussle your hair

Sea foam staining your dress

Picking up shells and feathers from the birds that you feed scraps of food to along with the colourful fish

Picking out the trash that somehow ended up in the water

Saving a few fish in the process

It’s odd but you feel as if the things that most consider just to be food to be your friends

Listening instead of telling you to shut up, that a woman should remain silent and submissive

You envy the fish

It’s yet another day of heading to the beach when you find someone there

Standing amongst the waves is a man

Blond hair that reminds you of the golden sand

Blue eyes that looks like the depths of the sea

He looks at you

You stare back

It’s kinda awkward for a bit as the crashing waves fill in for the silence between the two of you

You take a step backwards and you see him move as well

“I can leave if you’d like? I don’t want to bother”

“Your the one cleaning the beach. Why human?”

At him saying that you can’t help but feel a sense of confusion wags over you but you brush it off

Opting to instead just answer him

“It’s wrong how they treat the earth. it’s the least I can do considering I can’t change them”

He stays silent at that answer just watching you

Trying to see if your lying

But there is only truth, a guilty truth for it being the only thing you can do in this situation

He grunts and walks straight into the ocean

Beneath the sapphire waves as your left dumbfounded at what you just saw

Until realizing that he was likely a god

Specifically Poseidon

What the-

You return to the beach a few days later and find it empty as usual

Despite that you feel a presence occasionally watching you

Not threatening so to say but there

Watching with curiosity as you fish out glass bottles and old bits of torn cloth

It’s not much but you do your part

Along the way you pick up shells and string together small bracelets for yourself

All the while that feeling continues

And this becomes slightly normal until he appears again

This time though he approaches and your left cautiously letting him get closer

He stays a few feet away but it’s significant compared to the last time you met him

Let alone now knowing he’s likely a god or some other type of higher being

Now, you weren’t overly religious compared to a few others in the village that had pledged themself to worshiping the pantheon

But now having him in front of you is kinda having you question if you should go to a temple and pray

“I’m curious of you. Indulge me in this”

Your eyes widen a bit but you nod, soon finding yourself wrapped in conversation with the blond man

Talking with Poseidon is a bit of a challenge at the beginning

He is the epitome of a perfectionist, and rather cold to the point that you don’t know if something is pissing him off

Viewing himself as a perfect being despite how he had some glaring issues

Mainly being his arrogance and pride

But you suppose that’s how anyone would end up with such unimaginable power

But after many days of trial and error you find common ground with him

Mainly on topics such as the ocean and his family

It’s odd hearing myths you grew up hearing come from the perspective of someone actually there

Yet interesting nonetheless especially as you tell him the version you had heard through the grapevine

He seems to find some amusement in hearing the slightly skewered version of events from the humans perspective

Often times adding some snide remark about it that makes you laugh

The way in which you casually roll off the insults to both yourself and your entire race seems to catch his attention

He might’ve been confused, or maybe even angry to an extent but he didn’t bring it up

Especially as you asked of how the ocean worked

Its world and freedom that came with it

You can’t help but try to imagine the pictures he paints of the kingdom he rules

Colourful collections of underwater flora of sorts called coral

Or the deepest reaches of his domain where Apollo’s light can’t penetrate

At some point though it shifts from exclusively asking him things to him inquiring about you and your life

Why you kept coming here in the first place let alone felt obligated to try and keep the waters clean

Especially when in his eyes humans were all greedy and selfish

Nothing but bottom feeding scum

With all that reason it shouldn’t make sense as to why he’s so curious but you don’t comment on it and tell him the answer

From the moment you were born you were created for one purpose alone

Marriage

Before you could even open your eyes your father could see the money he could make off of selling you

Your mother couldn’t care less after being worn down over time

She could barely care for anything anyways when she was focused on pleasing him

Couldn’t even take care of you when you had gotten to the age of being able to walk and make conscious decisions

Leaving you to your lonesome in a place that would eat you up in not time

So with that you focused on survival

Ending up scavenging the forest for extra food to fill your empty stomach

Learning to see nature’s beauty in the process

Finding the beach that you’d come to see as an escape

A real home compared to that empty house full of nothing but violence and the possibility of getting screamed out

Growing up into a beautiful young woman didn’t help in all this

Getting the leering eyes from men twice your age within town

Your father’s greed growing as he realized he could capitalize off this even more

You can feel your freedom slipping away by the days now

Sand through your fingers into the inevitable fate of a loveless marriage to a pig of a man

One who would break you to his own satisfaction

Wanting to see the fire in your eyes be smothered by his own hands

With all that Poseidon asks something afterwards that makes you smile

“I insult you and your face, why aren’t you mad”

“I don’t mind when most of what you say is tinged with some sort of truth. Especially since your the only one who treats me as something other than an object”

During his visits after this he changes a bit

He sits closer to you on the sand

What used to be a few feet separating the two of you now becomes that of a foot

You don’t comment on it out of respect

Especially since the conversations between the two of you become longer

A few times you barely got back home in time to avoid a verbal battle with your father

You couldn’t come to care about that though

Especially as the conversations become more deep

Actual emotion leaking through the cracks and allowing you to see something in him that you hadn’t seen before

Even a few times giving you the honour of seeing a small smile

It makes something in you flutter at that

You bury those feelings though, it was absurd to think of him that way

A god

When your you

So you continue on without addressing it

It doesn’t help that he’s started gifting you stuff as well

Starting off as some pretty shells you craft into jewelry

To strings of pearls he says he wanted to get rid of

It sends mixed messages in your head

Especially since he continues his hating human talk

(Though he notably stops making comments about you)

And it stays that way

A limbo you found yourself pondering about until one night it all changed

The moon hung high up in the dark blue sky as you sit beside the sea god watching waves crash endlessly onto the shore

Foam coming up to gently nip at your toes, something that makes a small smile come to your face

The stars shined within the endless sea that was the sky held up by atlas

Yet another tale the tyrant of the sea had told you of during these taken

As of the moment he weaves pearls into your hair

He’s insistent to do so despite you telling him that it wasn’t necessary

But he is not one who listens often and this is a case of this

“Marry me”

“Huh?!”

Yeah so he just blurts that out

You certainly didn’t expect it, though anything from him is

“Did you not hear what I said? Marry me”

“I understand what you said I’m just confused”

“How could you be confused about what I said? It’s quite simple even for a simple human brain”

You deadpan a bit at that but quickly refute with “I’m confused cause I’m human and your asking that. You know I’m not a god”

“It’s not much of a problem”

“But I’m not-“

“I can make you one”

You go silent at that, watching as his eyes stare down into your own

Emotions bleeding out of those deep blue abyss’s

“Won’t your family be upset?”

“I don’t care”

“B-“

“I said I don’t care. If anything they’d be more confused than anything that I’ve found someone”

“I…” you pause for a moment

You love him, you know you do but your still afraid of being confined away

Loosing your freedom to a person you loved would be worse than that of a stranger

“Would I be able to travel. To see the world even if we are together”

He scoffs

“Of course you can. I’d give you the world if I could”

Whatever hesitation you had melts away

He sees this and holds his hand out

You take it

“Meet me here tomorrow. I will take you away from this place”

You nod, tears lining your eyes as a smile lights up your face

Going home you feel joy for once

Hopeful

Bbbb

When you go home that night your met with your father glaring you down

Before you can even walk through the door he’s yelling profanities

Accusing you of being a whore

That your a disappointment

As usual

Your mother is in the corner, staring yet not intervening even as he grows more angry

More violent to the point your getting legitimately scared

You may be a grown woman but you know he’s stronger

Your entire childhood is an example of that

Words are thrown between the two of you

A haze of anger blinding you as it did him

And then it happens

At first you can’t comprehend what had happened

Your mother screamed and look terrified

And then a pain entered your gut

You look down to see red staining your chiton

Staring back you see your fathers expression

He even seemed surprised by his action

Yet he holds up the blade again

Intent clear as to finish the job, it was too late to turn around now

You run

Bolting out the house and into the darkened streets

Through the old beaten path of the woods

Down into the sandy beaches you found to be a real home

But in that panicked state you found yourself in you end up tripping into the sand

Just by the waters edge as he catches up

The look in his eyes shines with intent

It’s almost immediate that Poseidon feels that something is wrong

There’s something that goes down his spine, a feeling of dread he’d never felt before

And somehow he knows it’s about you

In an instant he’s back at that beach, a place that was just for you and him

Now sullied by the sight of a man holding your form beneath the waters surface

He forgets to breath for a moment before that man is dead

Blood staining the sand as he kicks his disgusting form away

Your dead already

No breath filling your lungs except for the salt water he held domain over

There is no saving you

And that breaks something in him

Gently he takes your body into his arms, water absorbed into your clothes along with sand clinging to you

Those pearls in your hair are still there, glimmering in the moonlight as he holds you close

He destroyed the village

A large sudden wave completely decimating the inhabitants before they could even wake

He held no sympathy

How could he when they had only wronged you your entire life

Perhaps that’s why he hates humans so much

Because in the end they are selfish creatures that drain the light out of anything good

They lie

Cheat

And manipulate just to kill whatever spot of light is left in the abyss of shit they call a world There is no one left to tell the tale of that village

nor any landmarks left to signify it was ever even there

It’s name is only left on ancient maps, most of which are destroyed by time or by his own hand

It’s a petty act but one that is the only satisfaction he can get anymore

He sits alone in his throne room, the other throne long made for you is stashed away

Kept for his eyes alone that oftentimes can’t linger on it for more than a few seconds

He only allows himself to break on those lone nights when the crushing weight of it all come down on him once more

He hates that he cries, a perfect being such as himself shouldn’t do so

Yet you make him do it

A feeble human who had captured his cold heart

Only for it to be destroyed once you are taken

He never talks of your real name, only ever referring to you as “Amphitrite”

No one deserves to utter your name

Not even himself after he failed you

But Aphrodite knows

As does Hades who mourns his brother’s loss

Love and hatred coil around one another

Whatever respect he had for humanity forever died that day, leading him in a downward spiral of hatred

It’s amazing what love can do, isn’t it?

[goodomenskinkyrambles]

Disclaimer: I reference kink as a way of processing and letting yourself ‘feel’. Imo, this is a very legitimate and intimate experience if communication, consent, trust, and boundaries etc are respected, and it is not relied upon in place of therapy etc.

Aziraphale comes across as a pillow princess, but this is only because he fears repercussions / is in denial about being on ‘their own side’ when it comes to intimacy.

Whenever Aziraphale gains the confidence to be more himself, his dominance starts to show through. Here, we start to see a switch who is primarily a gentle dom with a subtle sadistic streak.

He enjoys making Crowley follow his orders. He likes to see him squirm as the Demon fights with his pride, only to ultimately give in to his Angel’s wishes.

Crowley is a masochistic brat / bratty sub.

But what about the “Rescue” scene in France?

In S2, Aziraphale reveals that he usually has a plan, but that Crowley loves to feel like he’s saving him. This is a classic ‘power play’. Aziraphale is in control all along —luring Crowley in, playing up to Crowley’s pride… only to rip it away.

And this is very reminiscent of Crowley’s fall.

It is shown throughout that Crowley struggles with the traumatic experience of his fall, especially given the circumstances. He was simply asking “why”. So, what better way to release this trauma, and process it, than in a safe and intimate environment? With his Angel, he can be vulnerable —though they haven’t fully gotten to this point, due to their perilous position with Heaven and Hell.

Being seen, especially through the intimacy of kink, can be a beautiful and healing thing.

And so, our Demon plays up to his pride —his protective shell, shielding him from his anger, his confusion, his pain— and Aziraphale lets him have this, until he doesn’t. As an Angel, he is the perfect person to deconstruct the Demon, and reveal those layers.

Here, Crowley can brat, and ask ‘why’, and be ‘punished’, and have the power taken forcibly away from him, but can still be loved and held and seen as ‘good’. He can writhe in anger and struggle against the loss of power, and still be comforted rather than abandoned. He can be ignored when he is in need, in favour of a good book, but still be taken care of afterwards and never truly discarded.

He’s been in free fall for so long, that for all his feigned confidence and self-assertiveness, the highest form of freedom he can get would be in the form of rope, and intimacy with his Angel, where he doesn’t have to pretend to be strong, or free of worries, or unaffected by things, or tough all the time.

But it is by NO means all about Crowley.

Aziraphale constantly doubts himself, and has constantly been patronised and abused by Heaven and his so-called ‘superiors’ (looking at S1 you, Gabriel).

What better way for Aziraphale to own his thoughts and freedom, and gain confidence in his words, thoughts, ideas, and his own *will*, than in the safe headspace kink provides. Many a time, he has shown himself to have a slight, tantalising edge to him. In S2, he looked every bit the dominant when asserting that /yes, Crowley would be doing the “I was wrong” dance/.

Aziraphale’s style of dominance is subtle but incredibly strong when you’re able to see it.

In S1, he subtly hints that Crowley should remove the stain from his jacket —an action he can easily do, but wanted Crowley to do. Although it can be argued that he wanted this as a display of affection and because it’s ‘not the same’ if he does it himself, it is also a power play —and there are many of these subtleties scattered throughout. Aziraphale’s gentle (but foreboding) approach to dominance shows when we see how little convincing it takes for Crowley to catch on and (brattily, begrudgingly) follow Aziraphale’s whims.

These moments of feigned petulance could be interpreted as Aziraphale himself bratting, but really, Aziraphale always comes out on top —no pun intended— and has an air of unknown power about him. His gentle, airy, and petulant moments makes it all the more hedonistic when he switches to steely, strategising, and commanding. He lets himself indulge in fine foods, intricate books, and good wine. If he let himself indulge in intimacy, I think his particular and exacting nature would show through. Like crepes —he knows exactly what he wants, and will go to great lengths to get it… be it a good book, or Crowley accepting that he is ‘a little bit good’ via an intensely emotional scene.

But what about Crowley throwing him against the wall?!

Well, it looks like said intensive scene would follow, if Aziraphale chose to ‘correct’ Crowley on his insistence of not being nice.

To conclude, though I will happily write more and converse about this all day, and would love to add gifs and examples some day…

Psychologically, it makes the most sense for Aziraphale to naturally side towards dominance. I sometimes feel that for Aziraphale, alluding towards submission just doesn’t do him justice. It would put Crowley —ever the tempter— in control. Previously, Aziraphale’s sense of duty has taken the angel’s control and will from him. Gabriel has taken his power from him. His own anxieties and worries have done the same.

Aziraphale’s growth lies in his dominance, and his self-assertion. By “taking down” his beloved Tempter & serpent, in the most intimate way possible, he is proving that he has made his choice with his own mind, is regaining and revelling in his own power, his own will, and his own desires.

By allowing himself to access this power, he proves this to himself, to the whole of Heaven, and to Crowley.

He proves that, regardless of temptation, he *chooses* Crowley.

[championofelysium]

Thing I wrote a bit ago to sorta summarize my thoughts on Their Complications:

for his whole life, Theseus felt a lot of complicated emotions about Asterius, and what happened within the labyrinth. Anger, guilt, responsibility, confusion, pity… and strangest of all, desire. Despite the circumstances, despite how much he hated himself for it at times, he found the battle exhilarating in a way no other had been. There was no one like the Minotaur, and thus no one else who could battle like him. Theseus felt his heart swell with pride every time his name is said alongside The Minotaur. Their legacies were woven into one another's, and Theseus badly wanted to have an opportunity to challenge Asterius once more, not as a hero slaying a monster but two peers engaging in a rousing spar.

When he later began to fall for Asterius, though, that's when his guilt really became intense. He was terrified he may be taking advantage of Asterius, and felt sickened with himself for developing feelings for a man he killed, who had wanted to die by a hero's hands.

He was confused when Asterius reciprocated, but such emotions never felt complicated to the bull. As confusing as it may be for any outsiders, Asterius will use his freedom in Elysium to make decisions for Himself, and one of those decisions is to love King Theseus despite everything. Despite how things began and ended between them upon the surface, Theseus has only ever been good to him within Elysium. They did not always understand one another, but they were always willing to work thru their issues regardless.

[rainy-astrology]

Mars Signs

My views on Mars in each sign. Mars is how you gain energy, motivation and drive, your aggression and anger expression. May change/add to this later.

Aspects to Mars, house placements, and degrees may affect your Mars expression.

___

Aries

Mars is domicile in Aries. Mars Aries people are motivated and focused, they'll always get things done. They seek independence and freedom. They're blunt and honest, even when you didn't ask for it. They can get physical when angry or just be really sour. Their anger will always show though.

___

Taurus

Mars is detriment in Taurus. The Taurus Mars people I've seen are quite slow. Kind of have old people energy lol. They don't like to be rushed. Value stability and structure, they'll work hard for this. However, it may take them awhile to actually start working on something. They may be slow to anger as well.

___

Gemini

Gemini mars people can be scatterbrained. A very mentally active sign seems to displace its energy in a planet concerned mainly with physical energy. They're always wondering what to do next and may forget to finish a task before starting a new one. Talking also seems like their way of expelling their energy. I also think it's pointless to fight with a Gemini Mars bc they will just talk in circles or just make it a confusing argument in general...I don't think they keep track of their own thoughts and actions well.

One of my siblings has this...She is a mess, even worsened with her Aries stellium. Both Aries and Gemini can be on the go. She likes to start several projects and not finish them.

___

Cancer

Mars is in fall in Cancer. From what I've seen, Cancer Mars people tend to repress their anger. They don't want to cause fights but Cancer is an emotional sign, so when under a reactive planet, they can only repress so much before exploding. This can be through tears or pure harsh anger (although some ppl do cry when angry...). Very limited patience.

___

Leo

Leo Mars people can be confident and charming people. We want to be successful in both our eyes and others' eyes. Often motivated and driven. A bit image oriented. However, if not self aware/underdeveloped, Leo mars people can be egotistic and prideful. Their insecurity will make them mean and hurtful towards others. Dramatic anger expression.

As a Leo mars, I've been called bossy and arrogant several times before lol... I have a family member with this as well and I will admit, we both kind of have dramatic anger. I think I am more controlled with it now though, especially with the help of journaling. I was definitely a lot more dramatic about it when I was younger.

___

Virgo

Virgo Mars like to keep busy. I've never seen a relaxed Virgo Mars. They're perfectionists who want to improve themselves everyday. They may be in constant competition with themselves. Can be critical on themselves and others. Detail oriented. They're a bit controlled with their anger.

The first person I think of ATEEZ's Hongjoong... He's a workaholic and a huge perfectionist for sure (legit recorded a song over a 1,000 times). When he gets mad at the members, he calls them into his room to lecture them. That's a pretty Virgo Mars thing to do imo lol.

___

Libra

Mars is also in detriment in Libra. Libra dislikes conflict and so may worry that being angry will disrupt harmony. They may try hard to control their negative feelings, which can result in awkwardness or passive aggression.

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Scorpio

Mars is in domicile in Scorpio. A passionate and ambitious placement. Scorpio is driven to achieve what they want. They like to have control and power - it may make them feel secure. They can be kind of intense when angry. Maybe a resentful, seething type of anger.

___

Sagittarius

Sagittarius Mars are opportunity seekers. Like to be on the move, learn, and experience new things. Their anger seems short lived. They do get annoyed easily and will argue, but overall it is not that harsh imo especially since Sags want to be positive. They may just end up being mad for a little bit before giving up and joking about it/acting like nothing happened. They brush a lot of things off to focus on things they want to do.

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Capricorn

Mars is exalted in Capricorn. These people are very hardworking, always busy with something. They like to be productive, will rarely catch them relaxing. They want to excell at whatever they do (could be a particular passion or multiple things). They want to be their best selves. They're blunt and straightforward, they may not realize their words can be offensive. I've noticed immature Cap mars energy can be overwhelming and insulting towards others. Arrogant.

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Aquarius

Aquarius Mars people are independent and usually calm people. They seem to only get angry if someone is being very rude to them or people they care about. Because other than that, they may not want to waste their time fighting with someone. Some may dislike/fear confrontations. They may gain energy being around others or by working on a new creative project/idea.

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Pisces

The Pisces Mars I've observed are quite calm, only get mad if you really push them that far. But even when they're angry, their anger passes easily. They would rather not indulge in it. They may also be slow moving people in general. I don't think they like to use a lot of physical energy lol.

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If you like kpop and typology, I do typology profiles for idols and notes on my main blog @rainymbti

___

Astro notes list

[wetcatspellcaster]

First of all, thank you so much for all you do! Your work has gotten me through a really rough few weeks dealing with the first anniversary of my mom's death. I'm so excited every time I get an ao3 notification for one of your stories. ❤️

Also I'm a huge Buffy fan and your Ascended Astarion has such presouled-but-in-love-with-buffy Spike vibes I love it. Especially his not understanding why his super romantic gestures of murder and abduction are not working on the object of his affections. I love how frustrated and baffled Astarion is by Rose's refusals. "These things are the *height* of vampire wooing? how's she not swooning?? She must be playing hard to get."

Also every time they get into a physical altercation, it absolutely feels like it may end in building destroying sex. 😏

I did have a question about Astarion's expectations about Rose (which feel free not to answer if its spoilers or you dont feel like it). I know he dumped her after she wouldn't be turned by him post ritual but it seems like he's definitely spent years getting things ready to have her living with him since then with the custom bedrooms and the rose gardens. Did he expect her to come back on her own since then? even after telling her he basically wanted nothing to do with her?

Anyway this was long 😅 but thanks again for sharing your talent and imagination with us. good luck with your surgery! ❤️

Hello anon, thank you so much for messaging me. I use fic writing as a mental health lifeline (and guess what! I have also bereaved a parent in my time!) so I'm glad I can pay that comfort forward to you and anyone else, in some small form. I hope the anniversary and any related feelings that come up pass smoothly.

(also, Ascendent/Spike parallels are such a call out at the particular moment I am in drafting. I think my approach to souls in D&D is very coloured by what meaning they hold in BtVS).

To your question! I'll try to answer as best I can.

The initial reaction and break up is obvious dictated a little by canon, but in my version of events, it's also coloured by the violent/traumatic nature of the Ascendent's 'birth'. On the one hand, Ascended!Astarion is drunk on power and his first real sense of freedom, but on the other, it has come at a dramatic and awful cost that everyone around him witnessed and cannot deny. Also, not to spoil, but I have aligned my reading of the events with the fanon interpretation that a romanced Astarion justifies his desire for Ascendency through Tav, or fear of losing that relationship. So Rose's initial rejection causes a lot of anger and deliberate cruelty, because of the confusion and pain behind it: he did the Rite, partly for her, Rosalie watched him do the Rite and didn't stop him, and now? she's suddenly having second thoughts? When it's irreversible? When he's stuck here, now? And she refuses keep him company?

The anger and pain around that was real, I believe, and causes him to lash out. Hence, the break-up. Much with the way I write the Ascendent in all guises, he does an extremely stupid thing, then commits to the bit and doubles down. Oh, he's dumped her now? He kind of didn't mean to do that, but now he can't be desperate and take it back, so he has to lean in and pretend that was what intended to do all along, etc.

Then she leaves for real? Well, fuck her. He didn't need her anyway - that's why he dumped her, after all. Nothing to do with the trauma, or his mistakes. So then, he commits to the bit, twicefold. He leans in further. Starts to perform the exact life he'd said he'd have without her. Gets new friends, new lovers, an underground network of power, etc. That takes a few years.

Oh. Wait. Why does none of this feel good? Why does it all feel awful???Must be because his girlfriend, the one he did this all for, isn't here (and who's fault was that again? by this point, he's forgotten).

But pride is still a major factor in the way the Ascendent conducts himself, and he can't go to her - he can't look desperate, or unhappy, or like he regrets his decisions. I've used this in a justification of why he never sought her out in places he couldn't pretend he found her by chance, even though he can smell her blood and knows she goes to Waterdeep - he can't be the one to go to her. And she must be miserable, right? He is. So he starts to engineer things for her return, because she'll be the one to cave first, and besides, he's got eternity anyway. He's so patient (lol).

And then, inevitably, when Rosalie continues living her life avoiding him, he's like "welp. I can't go to her (pride), and she isn't coming to me. Time to make her come to me (murderous intent)" and that's how he kills a ballroom full of people. He genuinely thinks what's keeping them apart is the distance, not the element of choice (because. um. we've seen what he thinks of free will). He believes that once they're in the same room together, it'll be impossible for her to resist. He can charm her. He did it once before. And he's not sad or conflicted about it this time. And he's the same person, right?

[author laughs in REDACTED]

So basically, his expectation of Rose was that she would be the one to break first. They both love each other, and she's a nice person. She's the bleeding heart. She's the one who was seduced the first time round.

When none of that happens, he decides to engineer the same set of circumstances in a lab, assuming that forcing her into returning will have the same outcome as her choosing to return (you may notice a pattern of behaviour emerging). So once the Ascendent has created forced proximity and given himself the chance to seduce Tav all over again, he's certain he'll win, because he knows the playbook, and it worked on them, and since he Ascended he's had proof it works on everyone else.

But unfortunately, a successful romance in this scenario relies on Ascended!Astarion not being awful, for 5 minutes which... um.... he hasn't achieved once in this fic, not once.

[allthingsmustfall]

Ted Lasso, Season 3, Episode 6

Look you know, I don’t even go here, but That Episode of Ted Lasso in Amsterdam, with Trent and Collin and the complexities of coming out has been sitting in my head all week (I mainlined the third season in about 2 days, sue me).  

I’m sure Tumblr has already had several schisms on whether or not this was done well, but as someone who came relatively late in life that I’m a dyke, the conversation between Trent, who has a complex backstory that implies that he came out while he was still married to his wife and whatever hell and heartache that followed after (even if she was unhurt and supportive, that could not have been easy), and Colin, a young man with very simple, heart wrenchingly wants and goals from his life, while they sit quietly, gently in front of Homomonument while the bells of Westerkerk chime is just - 

OK, back in ye olden times of fanfic, so many of the stories were a bit hamfisted (me, me, i’m talking about me) treatises on coming out or coming to terms with attraction or what have you.  Character A wants Character B, but to see if they really want Character B, they have to bang some chicks to prove they’re not REALLY gay or something something - it wasn’t always great, but what i remember from that era was that the fear of being gay/being exposed was a part of those stories.  And I’m not saying it was always necessary or done well, but it did feel a bit more grounded in reality.  In more recent times, probably as a function of fanfiction being more acceptable and some of the stigma around queerness that i felt in the 90s and aughts easing (things aren’t good now, not with our trans brothers and sisters suffering so acutely and publicly, but i’m just saying there’s been a culture shift), those sentiments have become more of a footnote in fanfic.  And good!  Not everything has to be a realistic take on every inch of what queerness looks like, and I am 100% behind the freedom of enjoying fiction in which the sorrow and anger and confusion that I have felt is not an important part of how the characters feel.  We deserve uncomplicated joy and happy endings.  

But what I think might be missing from stories now (and oh yes this includes my own) is how earth shattering a queer community is when you’re making your first forays into being out.  Pride is our celebration because for so long what the world asked of us was shame.  The celebration of a history that you weren’t born to but came to later, that you claimed as part of your lineage because suddenly, things like Stonewall aren’t just historical events of note, but your progenitors throwing bricks through the obstacles we’ve now never known.  

So yes, a young and somewhat fearful gay man sharing his pure hopes with another gay man, who has been through his own struggles, while they sit in front of a monument to queer folk who lost their lives to blind persecution, while bells of hope peel on - it reached into that small aching part of me that clawed my way to a community that loves and accepts me, and a community that taught me my own history.  

I just adored this representation deep down in the depths of me

[sheloves-toomuch]

Chapter VII: The Spawn and the Siren

Sorry, this chapter is LOOONG. Much of the story progression happens here. I really hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think?

Astarion makes some uncomfortable realizations, and the Siren proves just how far she will go to protect him- and how much of a danger she is to him.

Tw: Adult themes and topics, violence, gory battles, and mentions of Astarion's past abuse.

Word count ~6,000

Days turned into weeks in the shadowlands, and whenever they rested there was always little restoration to their morale. The only semblance of joy that they found in their endless journey was heartbreakingly bittersweet- an infernal mechanic named Dammon who provided Karlach with just enough of a modification as to cool her engine off for a time. It was not permanent, nor was it enough to keep her from burning with the constant reminder of her inevitable doom. But it was something.

Her excitement unfettered by the looming threat of her inescapable fate, she grabbed hold of Zeno with tears in her eyes. Zeno held her close, her chest burning up next to the embers that were Karlach’s heart. She could scarcely imagine how suffocating and hot it must have been before the upgrade to her mechanical heart, but she was not going to lessen the triumph of the moment by dwelling on it. She couldn’t take away from this moment from Karlach and forced a smile to her lips.

“You deserve it.” Zeno said simply.

Lae’zel stood back from them, keeping her distance from the tender exchange. She stood with her arms crossed, but Shadowheart chuckled to herself as she noticed a small smile tug at the hardened warrior’s lips. Shadowheart stepped in to embrace them both, and all three stood there for a moment in the dim light of the blacksmith’s fire, their hands joined around each other’s shoulders.

The moment of gratitude was not shared by all, however.

If only we all got what we deserve. What we’re owed. Astarion thought quietly, keeping his cautious optimism to himself. There was a bit of happiness there- no doubt. He wanted Karlach to touch and to feel after all these years of cruel deprivation. As Zeno had said, she deserved it. But there was a bit of reluctance to celebrate this… “upgrade” too. To receive good things from the universe was such a tricky matter. No good thing came without its consequences, in Astarion’s experience. Moreover, so few people really got what they were owed in the end. Karlach would be no different. This bought her some precious time among friends, but not complete freedom from Zariel’s shackles.

Zeno noticed how deep in thought Astarion was despite the small smile that he presented. She locked her eyes with his for a moment and gave an equally concerned smile. Her now relaxed shoulders and her pointed gaze said much without her uttering a word to him.

When he realized her quiet concern, he turned away to take his leave.

He didn’t want to be seen.

--

As the days pressed on, the weight of the curse over the shadowlands rested heavy on the shoulders of Zenosyne’s companions. She found that in time, even the strongest among them showed signs of mental fatigue and weakness. Lae’zel blinked away sleepiness, a scowl permanently fixed upon her face. Her pride, however, did not allow her to admit defeat. She straightened her posture to keep up the façade that she remained vigilant, though, she knew that even the mightiest of githyanki warriors had a breaking point. She turned her face to Karlach, Zenosyne, and Shadowheart who sat on the floor. They were curled up close to one other, hunched over a deck of cards- passing a bottle of wine around amongst them.

“I’ll raise you.” Karlach said loudly, taking a long swig of the dry red blend.

“You’ll raise�� but you will regret it.” Shadowheart said teasingly from behind her concealed hand of cards.

Zeno, already lightheaded from the now empty bottle of wine blinked off her confusion. She hadn’t quite gotten a proper understanding of how to play the game. Instead, she fell off to her side, into Karlach’s strong arms and laughed. Falling limp onto the quilt that they used as a rug and the pillows which served as their seating on the floor.

The truth was, Zeno had been overwhelmed of late by the dark urge that gnawed at her mind. The darkness that surrounded them here, even in the calm of Last Light Inn, stoked the flames of hunger she felt for violence. The others knew it too. She felt their cold stares behind her back and the fear that they could not deny.

If indolence breeds madness, as Lae’zel so often would say, then the darkness breeds something similar, she thought. The darkness was making her more and more mad each day, retreating inside her own mind with a detached gaze.

The chill of the night that never ended began to find its way into their bones and chipped away with slow and persistent resolve at their sanity. Nights like these where Zeno could put aside the tempest within her mind were few- and never lasted throughout the evening. She felt herself grow restless within her own skin again.

Sitting up from Karlach’s warm but now tolerable embrace, Zeno excused herself from the game she hardly understood. She slipped out of the back door towards the docks behind the inn. The water still called to her. Her steps quickened to a hasty pace- she felt the need to escape rising up within her like a sickness- and she eventually broke out into a run towards the trees. There was a lake nearby that afforded her just enough peace and quiet.

We must move out- we must press ahead from this godsforsaken place. We need to find that old enemy of Raphael’s and get out of here. For Astarion.

--

Astarion lay awake restlessly with his back to the cold wall of the room he had at Last Light. He always rested this way.

Even the tent he had erected in camp was in the best spot- just up against the security of a large rock edge. It meant that instead of having to keep his eyes wide open and his senses keen on all sides at night- he had only to protect himself from the angles exposed.

In any case, he rested a little easier with his back to a wall rather than with his back to any of the strangers that had come together for this unexpected campaign. He recalled nights spent in the “kennels” beneath Szarr palace, where he would breathlessly push his back up against the rough walls of his prison, waiting in anxious silence for days on end. He would find himself in a fitful trance with his fists clenched tightly, his shoulders tense and his brow burdened with the pain of his never-ending hunger. With his back to the cold and unmoving wall, he had once less place to look for the monsters that chased him.

On this particular night, he found himself unable to ease into a trance just as when he was in those harrowing hours. He stared at the wall opposite him- the night’s stars only just visible through the window, faded by the heavy dome that protected all of the inhabitants at Last Light from the magical darkness that threatened to hollow their bodies and souls. He watched the distant stars twinkle as his eyes glazed over- fatigue pulling on his pale eyelids more and more with each passing minute.

Why did you have to say that to me, Zenosyne? Why did you have to say it and mean it?

He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean what he says. You terrible, wretched thing, pull yourself together. Look at you.  Zeno’s mind raced.

She breathed in a long, deep sigh of crisp evening air as she stared out at the open balcony doors. Her arms were crossed behind her head, her neck bent forward as she started to drift away. The evening breeze rolled over her skin and pulled the leaves of the trees in in wild circles- their rushing river-like sounds calling to her- Rest. Rest.

I can’t rest. Astarion shifted uncomfortably on his bedroll, his thoughts turning to what had happened in the House of Hope. Had she not seen it? Raphael had been so close- inches from her horrified face. He had inhaled sharply, his eyes blinking slowly as he ruminated on something ever so briefly. He had inhaled her scent deeply… his scent… then, his dark eyes had darted in the direction of Astarion. He knew.

Shit.

A knock on Astarion’s door made him bolt upwards in bed with the inhuman speed and precision of a vampire spawn, his hands reaching for the blade he kept hidden beneath his pillow. He inched with one silent foot over the other, looking at the sliver of light from underneath the gap in the door to his room for a hint at who was knocking.

His long, pale fingers reached out to the door handle with all the silence of a shadow- the only sounds that were made came from the old, creaky wooden door that he moved aside slightly.

“Astarion?”

“Zeno.” He replied simply. He couldn’t bring himself to open it completely- just in case she was having one of those… moments again. Wrestling with the demons in her mind.

“May I come in and talk?” Zeno whispered.

Her voice was quiet, subdued. She was in distress, but not the kind of distress that he witnessed when she was overcome by the dark, unnamed forces that so often compelled her. She seemed in control of her faculties. He looked carefully into her eyes- they were not wild with rage. Her breath wasn’t labored with the effort and panic of one who was on the verge of drawing a weapon and inciting a bloody fight.

He opened the door just enough to let her slip inside and shut it again. He lit one of the candlesticks that sat in a rusty old metal base and stood beside her at the window, facing the outside and peering into the darkness for a hint at what might be troubling his bloodthirsty friend. He hoped desperately she would speak first.

“Tomorrow, we head out to find Raphael’s enemy. We will do what we set out to do and get answers for you- then out of this decrepit wasteland.” She said, her timid voice hardly reassuring.

“Tomorrow then.” He echoed, trying to keep his tone lighter and more assured than hers’. “But tonight is still young, you know… tell me what’s troubling you, love, and I will make it disappear.”

He reached out to place his hands on her back gently, but firmly, so as to bring her back to the present moment. She was far off again in the cloudy mystery of her thoughts.

She probably just wants another late-night tryst. All I seem to be good for, or so I’m told... Astarion thought to himself with well concealed insecurity. He thought back to the years of being told by Cazador just how beautiful he was- but that he was nothing more than that.

She let out a breath that he didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Nothing that you could remedy, I’m afraid.” She said, her face looking downwards at the dust that gathered on the moonlit windowsill. She felt Astarion straighten his back at her statement, her eyes quickly darting in his direction.

“I hope dearly everything will be alright with… with your… situation. Forgive me, I’m struggling to find words that convey my concern for you.” She said.

“Your concern for me?” Astarion asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. It was genuine suprise, not his feigned astonishment that surfaced every time she asked him to join the adventuring party. 

“Well of course. I wouldn’t have agreed to help you if I didn’t care. It’s not as though we have all the time in the world afforded to us to figure this out.” Zenosyne said, her honesty palpable in the air between them. “I have quite the road ahead, you know. Trying to figure out what I am.” She said, disdain in her voice when referring to herself.

It was true, she gained nothing by helping him learn more about his scars.

“Then why do it?” Astarion asked plainly. He didn’t want to feel like a burden to the party, least of all to the one who fed him regularly with her own blood.

She finally looked upwards to his face- glowing again in the moonlight like it had the night they ran off into the forest what felt like ages ago.

“Because I care, of course.” She said, her bluntness causing him to flinch at the word. His reaction wasn’t lost on her, and she frowned, quickly realizing her mistake.

Dammit. Astarion thought. His hands were still on her back, and he felt his icy skin more than ever on her warm body.

“I’m terribly sorry.” She said, stepping backwards into the bed frame with an uncomfortably loud collision. She jumped at her own blunder.

“You owe me nothing, you understand. Nothing at all.” She added hastily. “I expect nothing from you in the long term, if you don’t wish it yourself.” The emphasis on the last word was poignant for Astarion.

“I’m never asked what I want for myself.” He said, quietly, before she could run off.

“Your future is yours to decide, and where your heart lies… that is yours to choose for yourself too.” She pushed further. She knew it was uncomfortable for him, but he needed to hear it from her.

Normally he would have made a quick retort as to how terribly soft she was sounding now, and how she was talking like they were in some dime-a-dozen romance novel. He couldn’t.

She was about to go on, to belabor the sentiment more when she caught herself. Instead, she added sweetly,

“One of these days, when we’re out of this mess, I’ll show you what the ocean is like. Take you diving in the most beautiful reefs you’ve ever seen on a sunny day.”

She saw the pain in his eyes at what she had said to him. He couldn’t pretend anymore. She didn’t want him to. She advanced a little towards him, debating if he would want an embrace- but she decided against it. He had had enough from her for one night. Astarion wondered if she was fighting back the urge to chase a kiss from him. He was used to that from so many people… helping themselves to him freely.

She turned to the door to leave, and he didn’t stop her.

--

As they followed the stench of the hells to their target deeper into the halls of the abandoned Sharran temple where the unknown threat awaited, the party quietly took inventory of what spells and weapons they had at their disposal.

“Do not forget I can bring no more than one of you with me if I use misty step.” Gale whispered.

“I shan’t need your misty step to evade my enemies if I can help it.” Lae’zel said with a pompous tone.

“Very well then, for those of you that may avail of my humble skills… They are there.” Gale reiterated, trying to conceal his embarrassment at her harsh retort.

“I will make mental note of this Gale.” Shadowheart encouraged, keenly aware that he felt slighted by the Githyanki’s sharp tongue and cold manners.

Astarion stopped short, his hand held out towards the others to encourage their silence. “We are getting close now. Listen.” 

They all quietly strained their ears to hear it, but their senses weren’t quite as keen as the vampire spawn’s. Karlach tried to hear, holding her breath in, but shook her head. Wyll’s eyes darted with precision around the perimeter but he found nothing that could guide them further.

“Lead the way, Star.” Zeno whispered. It wasn’t the first time she had ever called him Star, but it was the first time the others took notice of it.

Astarion could tell they all waited now for him to guide them to their unseen target. For once, Astarion thought to himself, it felt good to be needed for something else other than his beauty and his body. There had been a few moments like this since they started their campaign, but he never grew tired of the feeling he got when he was asked his opinion. He did know things, and he was useful.

“Useless boy.” Cazador had called him, “Without me- without my gift to you- you could never have amounted to anything more than the pathetic boy you were.”

Astarion saw in his mind a blurry visage of himself- at least, what he remembered of himself. White curls atop a bowed head. His eyes were… well, he couldn’t quite remember now what color they had been… and he saw tears falling down pale cheeks.

He used to cry. That was a long time ago. He hardly cried anymore. He didn’t want to give Cazador the pleasure of seeing him weep, not after he had told him with twisted joy how lovely his screams were.

“Ungrateful boy! --”

Astarion’ s flashback was cut short when the ground shook beneath his feet. He kept his footing, but the others stumbled at the sudden change in the terrain below them. They had found the beast at last.

Zenosyne inhaled sharply at what they had come to find. This place was a pile of bones and ashes. Truly evil creatures were here- and an abomination of a makeshift bed was fashioned by heaps and heaps of bodies. No, not bodies. A very large mass made of many, many bodies. The flesh melded into one great monument of depravity and gore like none of them had ever bore witness to. It was a structure of vile corruption that set the precedent for what they were about to encounter.

An Orthon appeared from a craggy overhang, leaping off remarkably swiftly for such a massive, lumbering creature. It fell from the height from which it leapt for what felt like ages, though it was mere seconds. The party watched the massive creature from the hells smash into the ground with a thunderous roar. Its fist smashed into the rocks and created a cloud of dust and stones all around it. They felt the ground tremble again and drew their weapons with trembling hands.

“YOU!” It cried, it’s voice bellowing in an angry and menacing rage. “YOU are sent from RAPHAEL! You SCUM! You FILTH!” It raised its great arms, each one larger than a grown human being- and flailed a flaming hammer in both hands, ready to bring it down on all of them. It was dressed in the bones of slain enemies as a warning to those who would tempt their fate. They held their ground but the fear that overcame the party was undeniable. This foe was larger than they could have anticipated.

Then, like a Warcry from a general leading her soldiers into battle, Zeno advanced towards the Orthon without fear. The reservation that would have help back any sane person was lost to the darkness that surged through her in those moments:

“PAVE MY PATH WITH CORPSES! BUILD MY CASTLE WITH BONES!” She cried out.

It responded with a skull shattering scream, and brought down the hammer to the ground below.

Gale and Wyll had cast Mage Armour upon themselves and stood at the ready from behind the rest of the party. Karlach raised her own hellish hammer, taking the opportunity that Zeno had opened up by grabbing the Orthon’s attention and slammed her heavy weapon sideways into its shin. She took several hacks at it until it turned its attention to her.

Shadowheart ran to Karlach’s side, shouting almost inaudibly in the chaos:

“Ira et Dolor!”

A flash of golden lights emanated from Shadowheart’s hands and began to encircle both of them in the form of tiny glowing birds. A beautiful touch in a situation where the small details could not be appreciated.

The hammer that fell down upon them in response was followed by the sound of crushing bones and screams. Karlach stood back up, bloodied and bruised. Her eyes blinked away the dust that rose high from the impact, and Shadowheart remained silent on the ground in the wake of it all.

Gale wasted no more time, taking this split second of an opportunity to aim a ray of frost in the eyes of the monster, the hissing sounds of water on hot coals filling the Orthon’s ears as Lae’zel swung her ornate Githyanki great sword along its fiery flesh with a cry. Astarion quickly darted from behind Lae’zel to draw his bow, pulling back with all the force he could muster while being as precise as possible- aiming for the face. He drew a breath and loosed the arrow- the Orthon raising its arm just in time to deflect the projectile like a stick thrown at a tree trunk. With no further warning, it lunged forward, tossing Lae’zel and Astarion aside as if they were merely dolls.

While Lae’zel stood up again with quick resolve to fight, Astarion scrambled away from the scene of carnage. He found himself at Zeno’s feet purely by coincidence. She reached out to lift him up and bring him to his feet once again. She stood between him and the hellbeast, and the fire that Astarion feared was lit in her eyes anew. She trembled with the compulsion of the dark urge, and with no regard for herself sprinted towards the towering foe.

One, two, three slices were taken from its flesh in quick succession at Zeno’s hands. She let out a piercing scream, and several firework-like flares emanated from her hands, finding their way into the air and up to blind the creature with predefined accuracy. A very handy trick Gale had taught her of late.

The Orthon clutched its eyes and kicked its massive leg outwards in the direction of the offending light. Its massive shin made contact with Zeno’s body, and she went flying into the air following a guttural scream that was silenced on impact. Midair, all the wind had been knocked from her lungs and she silently accepted the impending fall.

“No” Astarion croaked out, his voice scratchy from all the irritating dust and smoke that surrounded him. He kept his keen eye on her form as she went flying through the air and followed it through the chaos.

Wyll and Gale tried in vain to reach her with a spell of feather fall, but they were not close enough to her for their reaction to take effect. She went tumbling down onto the ground, the sound of metal and bones filling the air once again. She cried out and lifted her head up. She wheezed something through her pain, and let her head fall down on the ground again.

A loud ringing in her ears kept her mind clouded, but the innate and unquenchable need for carnage overwhelmed her once again as she reached out her hand- inching her way on the ground arm over arm towards her dropped weapon. She waited until the Orthon’s back was turned to her- his focus once again on Karlach and Shadowheart- who were both now standing at the ready. From her place on the ground Zeno let another flurry of magic missiles fly through the air with perfect precision towards her intimidating target.

So little after that moment could be recounted by Zeno later. It was just like when she had slain the bard Alfira in the night. Her rage and bloodlust overtook her. It was just another reason she hated what she was becoming. She stood as though the pain that coursed through her body were inconsequential and continued to fight on amongst her companions.

In the end, Lae’zel and Karlach did the majority of the physical damage to the Orthon and ended the bloody fight once and for all, but Zeno was at the center of it all- her cries mixing incoherently with her deadly blows. The fallout was an eerie silence filled only with the wheezes and coughs of the party emerging from the mountainous piles of rubble they had made.

Zeno sat on her knees shivering violently, watching the unmoving carcass of the Orthon lay there as if she expected it to get up and fight once more. As if in a trance she enjoyed the sight that was before her with far too much excitement. It would not be the last time that the others were filled with dread because of the siren.

--

“My sweet, bloodthirsty friend.” Astarion mused playfully, trying to keep the mood between them light following all that had occurred.

Zeno was still mentally washing away the dirt and blood she had just physically scrubbed away at Last Light Inn as Astarion sipped lazily on a goblet of wine he didn’t particularly enjoy, one arm resting on his bent knee as he leaned on the other from his bed. He watched her quietly, thinking about all that she had said to him just the night before. She had said she cared, and then she slayed an Orthon to prove it. His thoughts were disrupted by her delayed response.

“There will come a day, you know, when I’m not so sweet. I fear that day has already come, and you are foolish to ignore it.” Zeno argued, sadness lacing her frustrated voice. Her gaze never lifted from her hands. Astarion had invited her to join him in his room once they returned, and she had accepted his offer with a weary nod.

Zenosyne shook her head dismissively at his trust and turned away from him, slipping under the covers of the bed. He lifted his arm, still holding the goblet up in the air and around her shoulders as she settled in.

“Foolish? I suppose I can be at times. But I have just enough experience alongside you, darling, to trust that you’ll make the right choices in the end.” He said, surprising himself at his honesty. He hoped desperately his hunch was correct. He didn’t want to think of a future where this was not the case.

Zeno finally closed her heavy-lidded eyes, and just as quickly as Astarion had finished his drink and laid down on his back did he ease into a restful trance. It was in stark contrast to the way that Zeno tossed with anxiety and nausea. She couldn’t open her weary eyes.

Not until she heard a disturbance in the floorboards. She opened her eyes sleepily at first, scanning the room for the unexplained noise. Then, she jumped in her own skin. The infernal butler Sceleritas Vel stared back at her. She held fast to the pillow she had been clutching.

“My Lady.” He bowed deeply with a flourish, “The pride we feel for your unmatched terror cannot be overstated. You are a most unholy paragon of bloodlust.” He raved, lifting his horrendous, twisted face to smile wickedly at her.

She did not respond.

“You know, while on this high note- you could finally earn the next portion of your most admirable inheritance…” He said provokingly.

“… Go on.” Zeno indulged her morbid curiosity by encouraging him to continue.

“The very one who lies so beautifully beside you this night. What a beautiful corpse he would make, no?”

Zenosyne bristled at the notion. She couldn’t even pretend that she had not thought the very same thing in the throws of her possession. It terrified her.

“No. You will stay far, far away from him. Do you understand me, Sceleritas? If you so much as touch him I will unburden you of your existence.” She said with venom in her words. She clutched harder at the pillow.

“No, no my lady not a hair on that delicate crown will be touched by me! I would not rob you of the pleasure.” He insisted with eagerness.

“I love him. I need to tell him.” She whispered.

“You may love him for more than his looks, but he will never believe that your majesty.” Sceleritas said, knowing just how hard that would hurt her. He wanted to stir all the emotion he could in the tempest that stared back at him.

“He is not worthy of the great plan that is laid before you, my lady. There is no shortage of eligible suitors that would befit your rank... your title... Tell him you love him as you drive a stake into his heart, then, you can keep it forever.”

She only stared at Sceleritas with hatred. How much had he seen? When he saw that she would not yield to his encouragement, he bowed, his feet beginning to burn with fiery embers as he disappeared back to the hells:

“I trust you will do what you know to be your true purpose… your destiny, my lady.”

Zenosyne gasped for air at his disappearance. The smell of sulfur assaulted her nostrils as she whipped her face around to look at Astarion laying there peacefully in a trance. His sweet lashes closed over his eyes, his lips slack and his neck completely exposed to her. That pale, beautiful neck that was begging for a few more scars.

Her hands trembled as she reached forward towards his perfect skin- perfect if not for the two small scars along his jugular vein. Her fingers fought to grasp him by the throat and shake him violently.

“No!” She cried out. “Astarion, wake up!”

He blinked awake from his trance. He looked up at the sight before him. He sighed.

“Oh, hello. Looking for a cuddle?” He asked.

“I’m going to hurt you, Astarion- we need to protect you!”

“Hurt me? What do you m-?”

“Just like Alfira. Just like that night! I’m going to hurt you because you’re the one whom I love the most.” Her words were rushed and breathy, her hands shook and Astarion calmly observed the familiar convulsions and the telltale twitch in her eye that preceded her unbridled ire.

“No, No! Darling!” He said, reaching out to her. “You must fight this and win” He urged, panic setting into his eyes. The confession of her love was lost in the urgency of the moment. It was time for him to act.

Her vision went dark, and a blurry mess of white curls and his ruffled shirt flashed by her eyes. He knelt by her as she fell backwards in a stunned daze. His hands held her shaking wrists as he lowered her back down towards the bed, a position not unfamiliar to him under other circumstances. He leapt towards the chest where his supplies were packed, and found the excess rope he kept stored away, unraveling it swiftly and pinning her down on to the mattress again. He tied her hands behind her back as she fought her disorientation, muttering something about tearing away at flesh and breaking bones.

“Darling, darling, look at me.”

Nothing, just an open mouthed empty gaze into the distance behind his head.

“Zenosyne. Look at me.”

A growl, and her eyes snapped quickly to his.

“You can fight this my love.”

She went to bite him, and he held her down still, his face jerking backwards out of the way just in time with a snicker and that seductive smirk of his that never failed to make her melt.

“Come now, we ask before we bite.” He teased. Then, he sat back on the bed as she flailed against her restraints, keeping watch over her until dawn broke and her madness subsided.

She groaned as she tried to move, finally coming to her senses after a long night of sweating and gnashing of teeth. She felt the expertly tied restraints loosen from around her wrists and her thighs, the only thing holding her back from kicking and clawing at him merely hours before.

“Good morning!” He smiled, his tone cheery. “Thank you for not killing me the other night!”

“Astarion, how can you bear it?” She whimpered, unable to face his light demeanor.

“You’re not alone in this, Zenosyne. None of us are.” He said calmly. “Hells, we can even compare notes if you like.” He sat back, his fingers running through his tousled white curls as he drew a long breath.

“I’m a monster.” She whispered.

“As am I.”

“I could’ve ended you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Someday I will!”

“No, no you won’t. Because this isn’t you. We will find a way.”

She fought back tears for only a moment before they fell in multitudes from her exhausted eyes.

“Thank you, Astarion.”

“You would have done the same for me. I know it.” He said, his eyes serious. For the first time in what felt like ages he looked at her with no pretense and let the pompous act fall to the side. He leaned his neck forward, keeping her gaze locked with his.

“We will find a way to save you from this.” He said firmly. 

“You don’t have to waste your time.” She argued, still weeping.

“You give me something to care for. For the first time in… as long as I can remember.” It was his turn now to confess. He felt naked and vulnerable. Then again, so did she. It was plain to see she was breaking to pieces at his confession, and he wondered if this was how she felt when committing her sword to defend and fight for him.

“You know it is only because of how I love you that you’ve become a target.” She noted.

“How very sweet. And disturbing.” He gently smiled, trying to deflect from the gravity of her confession. Deep inside, his cold heart felt a hint of warmth. Zenosyne closed her eyes and gave a half-laugh half-sigh.

“There’s the Astarion I know.” She said.

He reached out to her, holding her in his arms for a moment until they fell backwards onto the bed, clutching onto one another and sinking into the old mattress. She sobbed into his shoulder.

“You’ve got this darling. And I’ve got you.” He said smoothly, then took a deep breath. Zeno pulled back just enough from her tight grasp on him to look at him closely.

“Just when the lick poison behind my words of love is removed, your words of love become a sentence of death. What a tragic pair we are, eh?” He said, holding her tightly.

There was a hint of sadness in his joking. That was as close as he could possibly come to a confession of his love for her in this moment. There was still too much in his heart and on his mind. She knew this, and she respected this. He felt it in the way she melted into his embrace and nodded.

“At least the smut-peddlers of Sharess’ Caress will have a field day writing erotic verse about us when we’re both dead.” He added and got a chuckle from her. It wasn’t forced, but it was louder than she wanted it to be. There was so much pent-up anxiety in her chest after all that had transpired that threatened to come out now.

“Can you imagine?” She whispered. “The murderous siren and the vampire spawn, and their passionate, horrifying love affair.”

“When you put it like that” He admitted, an exaggerated interest in his words. “You must tell me more. We sound like quite the perfect pair of villains.”

She buried her nose into his curls, drinking in the scent of rosemary and bergamot once again. She wanted to tell him everything she was feeling. How she had no clue what she had been before all this, and that the only thing she knew now was how she never wanted to live a life without him close by. She couldn’t say it. It would put too much burden on an already burdened soul. He wasn’t ready to hear that.

“The Spawn and the Siren” she said.

“Oh, I like that.” He said, still clutching her close. “With a portrait of me on the cover, standing dressed in black- a billowing cloak lined in red velvet that is caught in the wind as you reach up to me from the ocean- bare breasts, and your rosy lips parted for a kiss.”

“Just me bare breasted?” She scoffed.

“We might compromise in this hypothetical scenario.” He whispered.

He brought her lips to his, grounding her once again in his touch. His soft skin quietly set her aflame again, and he breathed with relief at the feeling of her in his arms. How wonderful it felt to kiss his love, he thought, rather than simply to kiss.

"My beautiful siren." He whispered.

[howaboutcastiel]

Fire Within My Soul

Summary: Marc has a lot to come home to after leaving Cairo. He doesn’t even know where to start. Luckily, Steven does. 

Word count: 3.2k

There shouldn’t be any content warnings for this chapter. A pretty short introductory chapter. You might recognize the first few paragraphs as I published it a few months ago, but now I have adapted it to be a multi-chaptered fic (20 chapters, to be precise). Each chapter can be read as a one-shot unless otherwise stated. New chapters every 4 days. Masterlist.

~~~

For the first time in years, it was Marc Spector who woke up confused.

He stirred slowly at first, the most at-peace and well-rested he’d been in over two months, and the silence pressed against his chest as he opened his eyes to see where he was. The old London studio apartment wasn’t exactly where he had expected to be—though, to be fair, there wasn’t anywhere in particular that he did expect to be waking up. He peered as far as he could to the front door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the blue masking tape that still covered the seam. 

Marc retraced his steps. What was the last thing he remembered doing? He’d been in Cairo, in the Great Pyramid with his wife and Arthur Harrow. He could see the image in his mind of Harrow’s icy blue eyes, unmoving and glossy and somehow resigned to the blade that Marc had held over him. He saw himself in the reflection of them—not Steven, not Khonshu, just him—and he remembered the dull, squeezing pain in his lungs as the skeletal god urged him to plunge the crescent into Harrow’s skin. He had refused. 

He remembered being set free, the lifting sensation of Khonshu’s healing armor withdrawing from his body. He could feel it all the way in his heart, the bright white feeling of the sullen god withdrawing his hold and relieving Marc’s debt. 

He remembered his wife, Layla. She had reminded him of his freedom, of the autonomy he felt had been stolen from him. He saw the image of her shock and her pride and the resigned, blushing love on her face. Marc savored the picture of her in his mind. Yes, that was the last thing he remembered. 

So how had he gotten here?

“Steven?” His voice was stronger than he had thought it would be. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth. “You there?”

Marc’s eyes unfocused without his permission. His heavy limbs seemed to numb just a bit, to feel lighter to hold. The pressure in his chest released as he breathed in. 

“Hmm,” Steven hummed aloud. It was a sensation that would have to be gotten used to, Steven using the body while he was still awake. It wasn’t that he minded—quite the opposite, really—but it was such an odd feeling. He thought back to his own advice. Just breathe through it. This was much easier to breathe through than the constant thrashing back and forth for control. He could feel everything that Steven felt, though, and that was a hard thing to get used to. Steven was feeling much better than him right now. 

“Can’t believe it worked.”

Marc chuckled on the inside, feeling Steven’s satisfaction and slight disbelief. A low rumbling of hunger spread across his stomach as he drew another deep breath. When was the last time we ate? As he moved to stand up off of the bed, set on surveying the kitchen for something to eat, his attention was drawn to the floor. To the sand. 

The image was the same one he’d seen for the last two months—or what part of those months that he was awake—but it drew something different now. The cold, dry, and coarse powder underneath wasn’t the messy inconvenience that it normally was. It instilled in him something more than inconvenience. Something heavier. He brushed it off before Steven could feel it, forcing another lighthearted laugh. Steven let him to the front. 

“I can’t believe you live in this freakin’ mess.” Marc stood to his feet, still getting used to the feeling of Steven there with him, able to take hold of his body at a moment’s notice. It almost felt like being stuffed in a heavy winter coat. Marc preferred the new arrangement, and it had been nothing short of an advantage in his battle against Ammit’s cult followers, but it was foreign to the way he’d lived his entire life. He took another step, trying to acclimate his muscles to the shared control, and he noticed as he started toward the kitchen that there was a second fish in Gus’s tank. He didn’t think much about the new inhabitant, admittedly more focused on stopping the hunger pangs in his abdomen. His foot extended in front of him, nearing the entrance of the studio at full force, and—

Oh. Right. 

His weight shifted from under him as the ankle restraint jerked taut against the wooden column. Marc was able to pull his hands up just enough to protect his face from the fall, but the impact of the cold floor still knocked the wind from his lungs. He swallowed and coughed, rolling his eyes at himself for forgetting the same restraint he’d tied a hundred times before. After all, he was the reason Steven had bought the velcroed strap and the chain in the first place. 

‘Guess we don’t need that anymore, do we?’ Steven pondered. Marc grunted a bothered noise of agreement and pressed his forehead against the floor. He wanted to feel better than he was feeling. If he was going off of his last memories, there was more than enough to be happy about. He’d saved the world and freed himself from the servitude of a cruel god. He’d made amends with Steven, came to an agreement about sharing the body with him. Marc was not in danger for seemingly the very first time in his life. He was safe and he was not alone. He knew that he should be ecstatic right now, but he just wasn’t. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

‘You just gonna lie there, mate?’ He felt a gentle tug at his limbs, a warning from his alter that he was growing impatient with Marc’s use of the body. Or, lack thereof. Begrudgingly, Marc pushed his weight to the side, folding himself into a sitting position at the foot of the bed. He brought his calloused fingers to the light blue strap. The ripping screech of the velcro burned in his ears. ‘What’re you gonna make?’

“I don’t know, bud. Something specific you want?” He pulled himself to his feet, groaning at the dull ache of his limbs. “Pretty sure all your produce is spoiled now. Sorry about that.”

‘I could really go for some sugar right now. Do you know how to make pancakes?’

“Not vegan ones,” he admitted. Marc opened the dingy refrigerator, pulling the oat milk from its place on the top shelf. “You wanna just make ‘em yourself?”

‘That, or I could walk you through it.’

He didn’t know why, but those words brought a warm feeling to Marc’s chest. Steven had done so much for him, had given so much for him, mostly without even knowing it. They had spent the short while that Steven had known him fighting tooth and nail. Marc had never heard Steven speak to him with patience and compassion. At least, not in this life. His gentleness in the Duat was unforgettable, to say the least. It was heavy, though, and it was overshadowed by the looming threat of Ammit’s release—not to mention the glaring fate of resting paralyzed in the sands of an endless desert. 

Now, it was just them. Just Steven and Marc in their quiet, warm, and safe London apartment, and Steven was offering to teach him to cook. The feeling swelled in his heart, enveloping him in a glowing pink warmth that he was embarrassed to know his alter could feel, too. He shut the door to the fridge with a little too much force. 

“Thanks, man, but not right now. I’m actually not feeling the pancakes, so I think I’ll just leave you to it.” Marc pushed himself back, coaxing Steven into the driver’s seat before he even knew what was happening. The ache of his limbs and the hunger in his gut dulled as he sank backward, but the longing didn’t stop, nor did the itching feeling that something still wasn’t quite right. The more awake that Marc felt, the more he realized there was still something missing. He didn’t want to think about that, so he pushed himself down. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Steven huffed as he gained control of the body’s movements. He opened the cabinet to pull out a mixing bowl. “After all the sleep you stole from me, you’re gonna watch me make these bloody pancakes. You don’t get to take a nap right now.”

‘What the hell does that have to do with this?’ Marc felt Steven holding him near the front. It was frustrating, but he was silently thankful for it. He didn’t really want to go away right now, he just couldn’t bear being at the front. ‘You’re not seriously mad at me are you? I thought we talked through all of that. I thought you… forgave me.’

“I did,” Steven smiled lazily. “I do. I’m only joking. Really, I wish you wouldn’t go, though. We just woke up.”

‘Yeah, well, I don’t really know what you want me to do. It’s gonna be boring just watching you make breakfast.’

Steven’s cheeriness started to melt a bit. He continued to pull cooking utensils from the cupboards, along with ingredients Marc hadn’t even known were in the flat. Marc cringed a little as he felt Steven’s demeanor change. It turned serious, shedding the satisfaction and elation of before. Steven hung his head a bit, and Marc could feel his cheeks burning. 

“I just don’t want to be alone.”

So, that was that. Marc watched in silence as Steven mixed the batter, only adding occasional comments to remind his alter that he was still near the front. Marc didn’t think too often about eating good food. He ate out of necessity most of the time, not caring as much about the taste as he did fueling his body. 

Layla always cooked the best food. 

It was really eating at him. Of course it was, as it had been for the past two months. How could he have left Layla like that, with no explanation or word of assurance that he was even alive? How could he send those papers? How could he send them without signing them, forcing her to come and face him about it? He had put her through so much pain, and now he couldn’t even remember the way that they parted last. He couldn’t get her out of his head. 

Steven cleared his throat, and Marc became acutely aware of the stabbing pain inside of it. He was close to crying, which meant that Steven was close to crying. Marc tried to calm himself, ashamed that he’d let all of his feelings weigh on Steven. 

“Is there something you need to talk about?” Steven’s voice was soft and patient. It was funny how much it contrasted the voices Marc normally heard. Khonshu’s voice was never soft, and certainly never patient. Layla’s had been, once upon a time, but that was before he’d left her alone. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him with such gentleness. “Marc? You alright? You know you don’t have to hide these things from me. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

‘I didn’t mean to do this. I want you to be able to eat your breakfast in peace.’ Shame burned on his cheeks and Steven made a point of fighting the sensation. 

“They’re just pancakes, Marc. I’ve eaten a thousand breakfasts in peace before.” Steven wished, ironically, that they were still on that boat in the Duat. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Marc, to reassure him that he was really, truly there for him. Now that he understood, it was the strongest urge that he had. He wanted to protect Marc Spector. “I want to help. Let me help, yeah?”

‘Yeah. Okay.’

Steven sat them down at the kitchen table, pancakes plated with a dollop of vegan butter and a generous drizzle of syrup. He sipped his oat milk hesitantly, not used to eating with Marc so close behind him. “Now, then. What’s got you upset?”

“It’s, uh… it’s Layla.” He felt silly, saying it outright. It was no secret that Marc had trouble with sharing and caring.

“Alright. What about her?”

“I just--” Marc searched for the words. “I fucked things up so bad with her. I just miss her.”

Steven pondered over a bite of his food. His cheek felt wet, but he didn’t reach up to touch it. “Why don’t we give her a call, then? See when she’ll be back in London--”

“I can’t do that.” He was quick to interject. “She doesn’t want to talk to me, Steven. I can’t bother her now, not after everything that she’s learned about me. She probably hates me.”

“You don’t know that.”

Neither of them really knew what to say after that. Steven continued to eat his breakfast, slowly and deliberately enjoying the home-cooked meal. As he ate, even Marc had to admit that the warm feeling spreading through their stomach was somewhat calming. It was a long time before Steven had anything else to say. Marc had almost fallen back into that state of nothingness he enjoyed when Steven was normally at the front. His voice was startling.

“Marc, how much did she really know about you? Before Cairo, I mean. It sounded to me like you kept a lot of secrets.”

“Yeah. I did.” His throat was burning again. Marc’s shame spread through him like a fire spreads through gasoline. He had hidden so much from her, he may as well have hidden himself completely. “I don’t know. There was a lot she didn’t know.”

“You think maybe you should tell her?” Steven’s voice was hopeful even through the stabbing pain of swallowing. “ If she knows what it’s been like for you, maybe she’ll understand.” 

“She won’t.” 

“Well, I don’t believe that.” He was almost done with breakfast now. The sugar must be giving him a boost of confidence, Marc thought. Marc also thought that the confidence was in vain. Steven cleared his throat, fighting against the tension that his alter was putting in their body. “I think that you two can work it out.”

He stood from the table, taking his plate and fork with him to the sink to wash. Steven may have kept his apartment messy, but never dirty. As he began to run water over the dishes, Marc had a decisive thought that panged in his chest. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t try to work it out.”

“Marc, don’t be ridiculous. She’s your wife. You said it yourself that you miss her.”

“I know. I do. But I can’t ask her to forgive me.”

Marc wasn’t really sure where Steven got his wisdom from. His knowledge, he could understand. That came from all of the textbooks and documentaries that Steven sucked up like a sponge. Not that. Steven had some kind of true cleverness that Marc couldn’t understand. It was times like this that Steven pulled that wisdom from wherever he learned it. 

“You don’t have to ask her to forgive you, Marc. You can’t make her forgive you. What she feels about you is entirely up to her. You can ask her to listen, though. You can ask her to try to understand. I think after the last few weeks, she’d want to hear it. I think that you owe her that.”  

And despite himself, there wasn’t a damn thing Marc could say to argue with that, because it was true. He did owe her that. 

“Okay.”

Marc swept control of the body away from Steven. The feeling wasn’t so disorienting now. He even found it a bit welcoming. Steven watched from behind as Marc pulled the flip-phone from its place on Steven’s desk. It had been sitting there since the night Steven discovered it in the wall. Now, it felt ten times heavier in Marc’s hand. 

He dialed Layla’s number.

The phone rang once. His heart started beating in his throat. The pause afterward was so long that he swore he could have lived his whole life in that gap. The air shuttered out of his lungs as it rang a second time and he gasped it back in just as desperately. He clamped his teeth together. What the hell am I going to say? The third ring sounded like it was mocking him. Marc squeezed his eyes shut and balled his fist and tensed his jaw and—

Click. 

His heart jumped. It stopped mid-beat and sunk in his gut. He froze like a deer in headlights, suddenly forgetting every word that he wanted to say to her. The voice on the line was just as scared as him, and perhaps just as confused. It made his body run hot. 

“Marc?”

He couldn’t remember how to speak. How was he supposed to form words? What could he even possibly say? Marc’s breath quickened and his heart beat against his chest like an ax against a tree. His mind was racing as the seconds passed and the silence grew. It raced until it couldn’t go any further.

“Layla, hi! It’s Steven.” Marc had to strain hard just to hear the conversation in the back of his mind. He was nearly all the way back into nothing, but he held onto the sound of Layla’s voice to ground him. “Are you still in Cairo?”

“I am.” Layla sounded hesitant. It wasn’t the tone that Marc was expecting, but he knew that she’d never yell at Steven. “And where are the two of you, then?”

“Oh, well… we’re back in London.” Now that he thought about it, Steven couldn’t remember exactly how they got back to England at all. Maybe Marc had handled that. “I just--we just wanted to call and make sure you were safe. Will you be back in London soon as well?”

There was a pause, and Steven took the opportunity to check in. 

You still with me?

Marc focused as hard as he could. I am. 

“I’m visiting family in Egypt. I’ll be a couple more days at least.” Her tone was more casual now. She sounded more like her old self. The one that hadn’t been betrayed by her husband time and time again. “And yeah. I’m safe.”

“I was wondering…” Steven backtracked, choosing his words carefully, so as to not misrepresent his alter. “We would like to meet up with you when you get back. Just to talk things out.”

Her voice changed again, back to hesitancy. “I don’t know, Steven.”

“Please? Just a dinner date or something. You can pick the place or whatever, we just need to talk with you. Marc needs to talk with you.”

“...a dinner date?”

“We don’t have to call it a date. Just dinner.”

Layla was quiet again. Steven could feel Marc holding his breath, though he had complete control over the body. She sighed heavily and Steven was still.

“I’ll text you when I’m back in town. But Marc’s paying for the food.”

The line clicked. Marc exhaled and retreated back into nothingness. 

-

-

I’m tagging everyone because this is the most ambitious thing I’ve ever done.

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @magicwithaknife @rmoonstoner @nervouslaught3r @unavoidabledirewolf @sarcasm-n-insomnia @kbakery @mccn-bcys @gingermous @dennyreadsfanfic @rosequinn121 @avatarofseshat @damreonsgirl @dragons-are-my-favorite @k8esilver @competentpotato @theconsultingdoctor10 @notsochillnerd @rayrlupin @moony-artemis @nerdory10 @valkyrieace

@ahookedheroespureheart @mt2sssss @loki-hargreeves @starfirette @celeste412 @avengersinitiative2012 @sifinskies @unspokenmoon @maplemind @dear-odessa @mainstreambitchlife @hot-mess-express1 @toracainz @zarahbronstein @daughterofthequeen @am-3-thyst @romanarose @the-girl-king @stevengrants0wife @kezibear @eddiexmxnson @eveangeline-ishtarhani @wand-erer5

[cptnjeanlucpicard]

*a flash of light and a gorgeous woman with redish long hair arrives in his office. She does not look pleased to be here* 'Since 'he' obviously won't tell you, I am going to.' She sees Picards confused look and is mildly amused by it 'I am the, how would you mammals say it, 'mother' of Junior. But don't worry. After the humiliation he put me through he is all yours. As far as I am concerned, Q might as well have died in that war. Oh, he hasn't told you about that, has he? Did not tell you about another Q having committed suicide, the different fractions and the war this ended up leading to inside of the Continuum with some Qs fighting for more freedom and others for more control?'

She tries to act as if she is above it all, a bit snide but there is a certain agression coming with each rhetorical question

'Did not tell you that he harassed that little human woman on the stranded space ship to let him make her pregnant and that he would not have stopped doing so if I hadn't arrived? Did not tell you that he created a child with a long time political ally in order to create a child to qualm the war by doing something revolutionizing?'

Picard could feel everything around him shift, her anger was clear but (thankfully) it was clearly not directed at him but at Q.

'That he then got bored and aside from the childs upbringing now and again left me to be the one to do the boring work of reorganizing the entire Continuums political structure? That he left me to take care of what used to be 'our' political fraction, make reforms and do what your primitive mind would consider 'government work' all so he can ignore I even exist in favour of some primate from some nowhere planet?'

Her anger seemed to disappear and what was left was an arrogant snear

'No, he did not tell you that. But I did not come here to give you a little exposition. I came here to warn you. Because there is still a little bit of my pride left. I am already the laughing stock of the Continuum for having a former mate who obsesses and is married to a filthy little organic.'

She comes close to the Captain to whisper into his ear

'I will not be the one who mated with a Q who isn't even good enough for a human as well. You have him. All. To. Yourself. And if I even hear of you throwing him away I will visit you a second time.

But I won't be so nice then.'

*and with a flash of light she disappear*

*Picard sits back, stunned for a moment. His head is spinning from all the information that was just rather aggressively dumped on him. Q has clearly been hiding much of this from him--Picard plans to give him quite a harsh talking-to about that the next time he sees Q.*

*But not too harsh. He doesn't like the idea of angering Q's former mate. He regretfully sighs. He supposes this means...*

You have nothing to worry about, Q. *he says, hoping she can tell he means her and not his...husband.* If that's how you want it, I suppose I can...postpone any plans for divorce indefinitely. *Until he finds some way to safely get out of this, it looks like he's completely and utterly trapped with Q.*

[raviollies]

that last piece made me really curious about whats the deal with theta and blythe. like how do they see/treat each other and such. could you tell us a bit about how their relationship is??

I have a LOT to say

Blythe and Theta have a very complicated relationship, as that's my bread and butter, but giving a little detail as to why Blythe sought out a pact and the little blurb on her backstory would kind of give a better understanding of the specific themes I am going for.

Blythe is very much meant to embody the toxic expectations of society (and particularly women) and how that can mentally deteriorate you. There is a conversation to be had about the desire of validation from the public can force you to reshape yourself until you no longer resemble what you once were, and how that takes a toll on you but that's for another time.

Some aspects are not unique to being a woman but it ties together --- she excelled academically, got a job, was prim, proper and attractive; a good student, a good daughter, a good woman, and eventually, the expectation of good wife and mother.

However, this was not only not acceptable for her exaggerated sense of ambition and pride, and it being tarnished by being thought of as 'simple', the disrespect of being acknowledged for your looks and your mind being overlooked, and her rather rampant desire to be in control and not subservient (Internalized misogyny at conflating being a wife/mother to giving up your freedom and agency) --- she could not stomach to be just that, and wanted more, to really CARVE her name into history. She wanted to be on top, to have power, to be the top dog so to speak but felt confined by the cage she very much had a hand in constructing. You set up expectations for yourself, mold yourself and then find that mold restrictive.

At the time in the background of her life, floating in and out was a mysterious sorceress, Theta, who upon gleaming more and more of Blythe's desires, revealed herself to be a fairly powerful fey, and offered a Warlock pact. Blythe would get what she wants, and Theta, would get an apprentice, and an eventual member of her coven. The appeal was there, who wouldn't want to be a powerful witch?

Except Theta failed to disclose that the pact would involve Blythe becoming a fey herself, being transformed into a Hexblood. Having her trust in the process broken, she fled from her family in Waterdeep and went searching for a way to reverse her "curse" and return to being an Elf, and that's how she ended up in Barovia!

Blythe very much despises Theta, she sees her as someone that had ruined her life with her fey logic, someone that cursed her and parasitically permeates her existence. She wants nothing more than to rid her life of this hag. Theta on the other hand, does not hold any ill feelings towards Blythe, believing her to be confused, lashing out because of something she does not understand but eventually will. She is possessive over her, and will do things because of her own perception of "doing what's best for Blythe", uncaring of what Blythe thinks, after all. She just doesn't get it yet. (This is very much meant to be a parallel to Ireena and Strahd's relationship)

Like that one post of someone's mother turning a sunflower away from the sun to face the room because she enjoys looking at it, Theta is meant to represent this overbearing nature of "wanting better" of older generations. She does not do things because of any evil intent, but rather out of a twisted form of love ---- she genuinely cares, but does so in a way that only does further harm. She will berate, hurt people that Blythe cares for, dash her dreams because she EARNESTLY believes that's for the best, because she thinks that Blythe is meant to be like her (and who's to say that Theta, at one point, didn't walk the same path?). But that's not to say that Theta is not a major obstacle in Blythe's life, that has to be excised.

That's the JIST of it; I really enjoy writing and exploring themes that draw from my personal experiences to really provide an interesting narrative, so I hope it's engaging!