#more like crimson flower critical

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 22: This is Our Sanctuary

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 7.8k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

A soft kiss on your forehead and the feeling of the bond reopening, unfurling like the petals of a flower in your head is what rouses you from your trance. Astarion does not typically close the bond any longer, even when you trance, but he wanted to be sure that you would not be sucked into any of his nightmares so close to your wedding day.

“Get up, lazy girl,” he taunts, brushing your hair back and tucking the wayward strands behind your ear. He lets his finger trail down the ridge, which earns him something between a groan and a moan.

Your eyes open lazily to see Astarion in all his splendour. His hair is mussed from sleep, not yet combed and coiffed to perfection, and his waves tumble about heedlessly. He yawns, the early morning sun glinting along the edges of his fangs, and his eyes are still heavily lidded.

“It’s hardly even sun-up, Astarion,” you whine, curling into his chest and hiding your face away from the ever-brightening early morning light. “The ceremony isn’t until this evening. We can sleep for a few more hours. You cannot possibly need all fucking day to get ready.”

“You deserve perfection,” he purrs, twisting his fingers into your hair and massaging your scalp. “And perfection takes time.”

“You are perfect,” you coo, placing a soft kiss on his chest with a sigh. “And it has nothing to do with your physical appearance.”

With the beating of his heart under your palm and the heat from his skin sinking into the cool of your own, your trance beckons on the borders of your consciousness.

Astarion clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m… uh… I may be a trifle too nervous to trance.”

The sleepiness recedes like a swiftly moving tide, and you sit up and take his face between your hands. “Are you having second thoughts? If it’s not what you want, we don’t have to do this, Astarion.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, and you feel the wash of comfort he feels through the bond. The tension melts away from him, his shoulders relax, and the pinch in his brow eases. He nuzzles your palm and places a kiss on it before reopening his strikingly ruby-red eyes.

“Don’t be so foolish.” Astarion scoffs while his arms encircle your waist, and he pulls you into his lap. “Of course I am not having second thoughts. Good Gods, Illyria.”

“I just want you to know you have the option,” you assert, keeping your intonation tender.

“As much as I do appreciate the sentiment, I want this more than I have ever wanted anything in my very long life,” he insists. Astarion gently picks stray strands of hair out of your eyelashes, brushing them away. “So little in my life has actually been my own, and even less of that has ever meant anything, but this... Gods. This means everything to me. You mean everything to me.”

He looks askance, his eyes falling away from yours. “For so long, I never had anything to lose, and now I stand to lose so much.” Astarion lets out a long exhale. His brows downturn at the ends in a sombre expression. “I am... frightened.” He finally forces the word out in a rush. “I am scared that one of these times I will lose myself and I will be lost. For good.”

“Astarion,” you start, bringing your palm up to cup his cheek, but he catches your wrist and cuts you off.

“Listen to me. If that should happen, if I am truly gone, I need you to promise you will run, get as far from me as you possibly can, and never look back.”

It’s not a promise you’re willing to make, even with his eyes that plead, and you shake your head. “I can’t promise you that, Astarion. What I can promise is that I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen. I would not lose you to Cazador, and I will not lose you to this.”

You still haven’t told him about the deal you made. Every time you mean to bring it up, the confession will not unlatch from your tongue. The words stick in the back of your throat, like being caught in a spider’s web.

“Gods, you always were unbearably mulish.” Astarion laments with a sigh.

“I prefer to think of myself as adorably willful,” you quip, trying to lighten the mood. You rack your fingers through his hair and let the tips gently ghost down the edge of his tapered ear.

It earns you a delightful shudder, and he readjusts you on his lap with a highly arched brow. “Trying to distract me, are you? Naughty girl.”

“Is it working?”

Astarion shifts you once more, bucking his hips up and grinding his hardening desire against you. “Indeed it is, my love,” he purrs erotically. “We should get you fed, yes?”

Before you can answer, Astarion cants his head to the side, offering his neck with a smile that seems to be all heart. The offer of blood and the sight of the vein pulsing nearly make your strike like an angry viper, but you’re getting better with restraint. Instead, you curb that desire, lean forward, place a chaste kiss on his warm lips along the angular plane of his jaw, and rain them slowly down his neck.

His hands come to your hips, strong fingers firmly pressing into your skin. Your fangs pop through Astarion’s flesh with as quick of a pinch as your unskilled self is capable of. The groan that hums from Astarion is not one of pain but of need.

Blood quickly fills your mouth, breathing vitality into you with every swallow of the rich, salty sanguine poem. It is a call to prayer, the heavens chanting against your tastebuds, and good Gods, you worship on the alter of his neck in moans.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “I will tell you when to stop.”

Astarion’s guides your hips in a slow rock, back and forth, dragging your increasingly wet folds leisurely up and down his pulsing erection. He angles his hips so the head of his cock runs across the spot you need it most with every swipe. You can barely focus on both sensations at once, and blood starts to glide a trail down his chest.

He whines, a sound you do not often hear from the Ascendant, and his fingers slip between your folds to start teasing the border of your pining clit. You whimper, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily at the staggering sensation, and your hips buck, trying to persuade his finger to quicken their gentle circles and swipes.

With every shift of your hips, you feel the velvet of his length, throbbing and so very hard, nestled between your lips. His hips buck, rutting against you, seeking the friction that his cock is begging for.

You realize, perhaps a little belatedly, that he hasn’t requested you stop, but his heart rate is beginning to sound slightly irregular. You withdraw your fangs, sitting back on his legs with your brow creased in worry.

Astarion gives you a droll, half-smile, his eyes appearing slightly glassy and dazed.

“Shit,” you murmur, pressing your hand against the wound even though the skin is already beginning to knit itself back together. “You should have told me to stop. This isn’t a good day to have you laid up in bed because I drained you dry.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “What would you have me say? You’re as distracting as you are wet. You’ve made a positively delicious mess of my lap.” Astarion glances down at the trail of blood that’s made it to his mid chest. “And my chest, it seems. Messy thing,” he tuts.

Astarion’s fingers wrap behind your neck. He pulls you to his lips, shuddering excitedly when his tongue slips in and he tastes himself on you. His free arm wraps around your waist, guiding you to your back. Hooking your knee with his, he pushes your legs apart further before sitting back on his heels and taking a moment to look down at you sprawled out and panting for him.

He fists his erection, giving himself a slow stroke from root to tip, and then taps the head of his cock on your swollen bud. A sudden jolt of intense pleasure sparks through you with every strike, making you squirm. His eyes lock with yours, and he slides lower, grinding himself against your entrance but never sinking in.

“I would do it all again, you know,” he leans over you, lining up. “Those two centuries of darkness and torment, if I knew that you were on the other side of it.”

“Astarion,” you wheeze as he slides himself inside you inch by inch, rocking his hips to work you open. You gather enough presence of mind to shake your head. “No. Don’t say that.”

“Not saying it doesn’t make it any less true.” He presses your legs apart, sinking himself deeper with every stroke. His forehead presses against yours, his hips moving quicker with every pass. “I love you, and I have loved you for far longer than I cared to admit, even to myself, but I cannot love you gently.” As if to make his point, he pulls out most of the way, delighting in the way you whine at the loss of fullness, and sinks back in to the hilt with a fierce snap of his hips that makes both of you gasp. “I will love you totally and completely, and perhaps a little madly, for eternity.”

He angles himself, and once your breathy moan and a tight clench around him confirm that he’s succeeded in hitting that perfect spot inside you, his pace shifts from a slow grind to a more vigorous tempo that leaves you seeing nothing but white hot pleasure and his intensely red eyes that bleed into you.

You want to tell him you love him and that it’s okay if his love is a little mad, a little possessive, a little dark, because your love for him is not for the feint of heart. There is no limit to the lengths you would go for him, and that in itself is a frightening prospect. But your words are lost in pants and moans, the sound of skin smacking skin, and tangled limbs.

So you reach out and touch his mind, requesting him to open himself to you further, and let snaps of memories flow freely, allowing the emotions behind them to be fully felt. You give him glimpses of how his laughter infects you with feelings of warmth and how you would do anything to hear it. How his smile makes you melt into a puddle of pure affection. How his voice is your favourite sound. How your devotion is unlimited, transcending the bounds of time and space.

Astarion quietly whines as the memories embrace him, his hips stuttering and faltering in their pace. He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, along your jaw, your collarbone, and every place he possibly can, as if his lips cannot stand not to be on your skin. Your legs wind around him, tugging him close, and your hips rock to meet his every thrust.

The drag of him against your sensitive walls, the decadent fullness, and the heat of his panting breath in your mouth are too much to bear. Your pleasure builds, your core clenching around his every pump.

But your pleasure is not the only thing you can feel. You can feel his as well. The tightness and overwhelming ache of pleasure in his belly, the urge to release, building rapidly to a delicious acuteness as he tiptoes toward the precipice.

Hells below. It’s intoxicating to know just how intensely he desires you, how you fill him full of pleasure so profound that he cannot think straight, the waves of euphoria that bleed through the bond as your bodies move as one, connected as one, feel as one.

“Illyria,” he pants with urgency. “F—fuck. I’m—“

The words are lost, but you don’t need them anyway. “Come for me,” you whisper against his ear.

His lips crash against yours, his tongue sliding in, and he lets go, his cock pulsing and releasing streams of hot seed deep within you. His pleasure tips you over the edge of your own climax, and your walls spasm and massage his length, drawing every last drop out of him that he will give you.

Astarion collapses on top of you, nestling his head in the crook of your neck while you stroke his back. You’re careful touching his scars, paying close attention to both the bond and his body language, but Astarion only relaxes further into your touch.

Neither of you move for a long while after the throes of your orgasms subside, content to remain enveloped in each other’s embrace.

He nips your collarbone lightly. “There, now we are both a mess.”

You scoff, but kiss his forehead and tousle his hair. “I would not have made such a mess if you had just kept your hands to yourself.”

“Oh, darling,” he giggles with a disapproving click of his tongue. “Wherever is the fun in that?”

The mirror of the vanity gleams back at you empty — always and forevermore, empty. You glance outside at the descending sun. The ceremony is mere hours away, and you still haven’t begun to get ready. Various implements have been laid out on the shiny mahogany table before you: hairbrushes, combs, ties, and hairpins, some regular and others with small diamonds glinting on the ends. On the other side, lip sticks, eyeshadows, liners, and every other cosmetic you could ever ask for in every imaginable hue.

Your fingers grasp a comb and run it through your long hair, but you have no idea how you’re going to do anything with it. You can put it up or leave it down, but any intricate style is beyond your capabilities since you cannot even see what you’re doing.

You want to look beautiful. Of course you do. It’s your wedding day. Gods know Astarion will look perfect with not a strand of his silvery hair out of place or a wrinkle in his suit, and then there will be you, standing beside him, looking like you do not belong with someone so captivatingly handsome.

You wonder if he will be embarrassed and are suddenly extremely thankful that at least you won’t embarrass him in front of all your friends. Were you pretty? You used to be, you think, but what about now? Your skin has lost its once sun-kissed golden hue, and your eyes are no longer the bright colours they used to be.

You glance back up at the mirror once more, hoping against hope that, for at least today, you might be given the reprieve of its scorn, but you are not that fortunate. Its reflective surface continues to dismiss you.

Tears prick your eyes in frustration, and they sail to the villa’s ceiling while you wrack your fingers through your hair. How in the Hells are you going to manage this?

“Little love?” Astarion taps on the door before letting himself in. He had been adamant that he wanted to get ready in separate rooms, if only to give some normalcy to the event. “What’s wrong, Illyria? I can feel your distress. Do you… Do you not want to do this? We can still cancel.”

“No!” You bark in a cracked cry. “It’s not that.”

Astarion crouches down, turning the little vanity stool toward him with ease. Black velvet trousers hang loosely around his waist, but he is otherwise undressed. He places his elegant fingers underneath your chin, gently guiding your gaze up, and thumbs away the tears crawling down your cheeks from the corners of your eyes.

“Tell me what’s troubling you.”

You think about deflecting, lying even, but he will know if you do, so you settle on the truth. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but I don’t know how I will do my hair or makeup since...” You gesture toward the mirror. “I cannot see myself.”

Astarion glances at the mirror, and a forlorn look makes his eyes downturn as he sees his own reflection, but not yours. “Listen carefully, love. You could never embarrass me. If you walked out in a paper bag with your hair a mess, you would still be the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. But I do have a surprise for you.”

Astarion beams, his fangs on full display, and opens the door. “You’re late.”

Your brows furrow, and you try to incline your head to look around the doorframe to see who in the Hells he is talking to when you hear Shadowheart’s voice. “Could you put some clothing on, please? Gods, Astarion. This is not how you should walk around when you’re expecting guests. Where is your decorum?”

He grins roguishly and lopsided, slightly canting his head with a shrug. “My, my. Selûne has turned you into quite the little prude, hasn’t she?”

Shadowheart scoffs, pushing past Astarion while giving him a pointed look. “Get out,” she orders.

Astarion’s brows rise at the direct order, a small spike of anger raising his hackles. You can hear his thoughts. How dare she order him around. He does not take orders from anyone any longer. There is a melody in the background. It sounds like iced rain pelleting through wind-whipped trees.

You nearly jump out of your chair to calm him, but he takes a deep breath, and the twisting thoughts and song fade away into barely a hum. He collects himself almost instantly, adopting his typical easy confidence.

You reach out to him in your head. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t even glance at you, turning away as Shadowheart closes the door, but answers immediately. “I’m fine, my treasure. I will see you soon.”

“Thank you for this.”

“You are most welcome.”

Shadowheart smiles ear to ear, taking quick steps toward you, and you almost recoil. You cannot remember a time where you’ve seen her look so excited. “A certain vampire told me you might need help getting ready.”

“That certain vampire has been incredibly thoughtful lately,” you muse.

“Oddly so,” Shadowheart agrees. “Can I come close? It will be a little hard to do your hair and makeup if you cannot stand to have me near.”

You laugh. “He fed me. You should be safe unless you accidentally cut yourself.”

“Don’t cut myself, or my best friend might eat me… again.” Shadowheart nods with a wry grin. “Noted.”

Shadowheart’s hands hover over the implements, quickly glancing at the mirror that only recognizes her presence. She frowns, runs over and tears the sheets off the bed, and shrouds the traitorous mirror.

She grabs a brush and begins to gently drag it through your hair, working out the knots. “So, how do you want your hair done?”

Your forehead wrinkles as your brows pull down. “Honestly, I didn’t give it much thought. I… just never thought I would be here.”

“You never thought you would get married?” Shadowheart’s brow arches. “Truly?”

“I didn’t think about it much when I was mortal, and then there was the Netherbrain, I became a vampire, and...” You sigh, shutting your eyes against the memories that claw at your limbs and beg you to join them in a basin of despair. “Well, you know what happened then.”

Shadowheart rubs your arm and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you, Shadowheart,” you grin, and the tips of your fangs peek out of your lips just slightly. “Do your worst.”

Shadowheart sets to work, using all the brushes, combs, pins, and ties at her disposal. She twists locks of hair around her finger, pinning them into place.

“I have an odd question.” She breaks the silence. “About your vampirism.”

“Oh? Intriguing. Ask away.”

“How exactly do you feed? Is it like a bite holes and suck on them sort of thing, or are your fangs similar to straws?”

You burst out laughing, and you can hear Astarion howling from the room next to you. Clutching your aching abdomen, partly due to having her so close but mostly due to the blistering laughter that’s making your eyes water, you turn toward her. Shadowheart looks stunned and glances at the wall where Astarion’s laughter can still be heard.

“I mean,” you try to speak between breathy laughs. It’s a blessing you don’t really need air because you would surely be suffocating. “You are welcome to examine my fangs if you would like to check, but it’s a bite and suck thing.”

Shadowheart crosses her arms, a hairbrush still clutched in her hand with her nose sticking up. “It’s not that funny, you two.”

“It’s a little funny,” you tease her.

She huffs but chuckles softly, shaking her head. “That’s the last time I ask you anything about your vampirism,” she taunts with a crooked grin.

Shadowheart grabs a cloth and hands it to you so you can wipe the tears off your cheeks and dry your eyes. She gently tilts your head up and begins to swipe eyeshadow on, but having her so close in front of you, her wrist right under your nose, is starting to eat away at your restraint. You can smell her blood in her veins and hear it gush with each beat of her heart. It sounds like an orchestra to your sharp hearing, and you begin to grimace, digging your fingernails into the stool.

“What is it?” She asks.

With your vampiric speed, you swiftly move to the other end of the room and plaster yourself against the wall. Your lungs thirst for air they don’t require, but you hold your breath.

“I just need a minute,” you say tightly with a thick swallow.

Astarion’s voice drifts into your head. “I can compel you if you wish, but this will be the last time I entertain this.”

There is a keen edge to his timbre. You know it makes him uncomfortable. Even now you can feel his previously calm emotions metamorphose into a tumultuous blitz where you can hardly tell one from the other as they flicker through your mind too quickly to comprehend. You might not feel them or even know what they are, but Astarion feels them all with an intensity you can’t begin to comprehend.

You hate that you don’t possess the self-control and are once again forcing Astarion to do things he’s uncomfortable with, but what choice do you have? No amount of blood will fill the empty hole in your stomach, and you have already slipped and nearly killed Shadowheart.

“I’m sorry, Astarion. Do it. Please.”

His reply is only the command. “You will not feed on thinking creatures. You do not feel hunger.”

“What just happened?” Shadowheart asks.

“Sorry?”

“Your eyes.” She frowns. “They glowed for a moment.”

“Astarion compelled me, and before you worry, I asked him to.”

You take a deep breath of pure relief, ease away from the wall, and back to the stool. She starts doing your makeup again, but you note the lines of worry that crease her forehead and thin her lips.

Shadowheart lowers her voice. “That’s a dangerous game to play, Illyria.”

Though she is whispering, it’s not nearly quiet enough. Astarion will be able to hear her loud and clear. You point to your ear and then to the wall to indicate that he can, in fact, still hear her. Her eyes round, but she nods her understanding. Shadowheart isn’t wrong. You’re playing a dangerous game, but that’s what your life has become, hasn’t it?

Just one dangerous game after another.

“I trust him,” you conclude with conviction.

Shadowheart gives you a quick side look that you know means she’s not quite done talking to you about this, but she will let it go until you find yourselves in a more private setting.

“Look up,” she instructs, and your eyes sail to the ceiling.

You barely feel Shadowheart run the liner along your waterline or use her pinky to smudge it slightly. She holds lipstick after lipstick up to your face before deciding on a colour and handing it to you. At least this, you don’t really need much help with. The colour is a reddish coral that you’re not entirely sure about, but you put it on anyway.

Shadowheart peeks outside, closing the blinds quickly when the sun hits you. She looks horrified for a moment. 

“I’m safe, Shadowheart. Astarion is near. The sun won’t hurt me,” you remind her.

“Sorry. I guess I got used to you.” She halts her speech immediately.

“Being allergic to the sun?” You finish her train of thought for her with a reassuring smile.

“Yes.” Shadowheart quickly goes to the wardrobe where your dress is hanging. “We better get you into this. I think it’s nearly time.”

Pulling the curtains back, you glance outside. The sun is low, spitting fiery reds, burnt oranges, and halcyon pinks into the sky like watercolours across a painters canvas. It is indeed almost time.

You will be married to Astarion within the hour.

You slip out the satin robe, and Shadowheart helps you into your gown. Her breath hitches when she sees the scars on your back, as it does every time, and you have to clench your jaw and shut your eyes against the sensation of her hands rubbing over them while she does up the various buttons and laces.

“Do you know what they mean yet?” She asks softly.

“No.” You shake your head. “Astarion has scoured every book he owns, making several trips to the palace, but he’s not found anything that resembles them yet.”

“They must have some sort of meaning.”

“Yes, but they are unfinished. We can only hope that makes whatever they were meant to do useless.” You shrug. “We can’t know for sure.”

Shadowheart turns you around, steps back, and gives you a once-over. “You look beautiful, Illyria. Truly. You clean up rather well.”

You half laugh, half snort at her comment, but smirk at her jeering. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirms. “Astarion is a lucky man.”

You glance down and look at the dress. The bodice hugs your curves flawlessly; each diamond is pristinely polished and catches the sunlight, filtering it into prismatic hues. For some reason, the seamstress added moonstones to border the swirling pattern of the lace, and the silvery light they emanate gives the appearance of silver-spun stars.

“I should probably get going,” Shadowheart says, picking up her bag.

“No,” you object, reaching out and grabbing her forearm before you have time to think. “I think you should stay if you want to.”

She looks around a little unsure. “Will Astarion be okay with that?”

You don’t doubt he heard your offer, but you ask him anyway. “Can Shadowheart stay?”

“Of course, my love. She’s most welcome to join us.”

“He doesn’t mind.” You assure her and offer an easy smile.

Shadowheart beams, putting down her bag, but then she looks at her clothes with a ruffled brow. “I have nothing to wear. I didn’t bring anything else.”

“You can wear what you’re wearing, but if you would rather wear something else.” You walk over to another wardrobe and open it. It’s filled with various fine silk dresses and opulent gowns to modest trousers and shirts, and even some robes. “You can take your pick.”

She shifts through the dresses until she pulls out a light blue silk dress and looks to you for permission.

“It will look beautiful on you.”

You watch Shadowheart hurry around, slipping into the dress, running a brush through her hair, fixing her makeup, and you cannot help but find entertainment in the hurried scattering. You’ve hardly ever seen Shadowheart act like this. She’s usually composed, calm, and a little bit stolid.

You’ve never felt closer to her than in this moment, and your heart swells with affection but also guilt, because even though you’ve been compelled, there is a small part of your brain that continues to see her as prey.

Did Astarion ever watch you running through the battlefield and be tempted to give chase just like you are now? Is this a vampire thing or something more sinister? You would like to believe that it’s a vampiric instinct. After all, the living are technically the typical fare for your kind.

The other possibility is much more sinister.

“I’ll see you out there?” Shadowheart suddenly asks from the doorway, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Yes. I’ll be right out.”

The quartet has started playing the soft music, signalling that it’s just about time. You shake out your arms, take several deep breaths, and pace for good measure to expel some of your nervous energy.

You hear a groan, the slight moan of hinges on the door, and then a light rapping on yours before Astarion walks in.

“Apologies.” His eyes are downcast, and his fingers curl and uncurl. “I know I said we should not see each other until you walk down the aisle, but...”

“Astarion.” You approach and slip your fingers under his chin. When he will not allow you to guide his eyes upward, you instead lean down and catch his eyes anyway. “It’s fine. Look at me. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you…? Do you need to go?”

“No,” he’s quick to spit out, his eyes finally coming up. “I just… Bloody Hells.”

He fidgets with the cuff of his suit, huffs exasperatedly, and you see the problem. You take his hand carefully, pop the buttons he was struggling with through, and then take the teardrop ruby cufflink from his trembling fingers and secure it.

“Thank you.” He takes a deep breath. “I missed you.”

Your brows pinch. “You were in the next room.”

“I hardly see why that matters.” Astarion leans in, buries his nose in your hair, and inhales deeply, pulling you close. “Every second away from you is agonizing.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I may embellish a little here and there, but I am no liar.” Astarion leans away slightly to look deeply into your eyes. “I really did miss you.”

You kiss his cheek and cup his face with your palm. His hand comes up to cover yours, and he leans into your touch. “You look positively exquisite.”

He takes your hand, forcing you into a small twirl, and you giggle. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I have an idea,” he taps his temple. “I believe you can see through my eyes using the bond we share.”

The sensation of Astarion removing barriers he’s erected feels much like a dam when it opens its doors to allow water through, and you are hit with everything all at once. It’s overwhelming at first, painful even, but the pain fades as you adjust. He’s not let you into his mind quite like this before. It’s almost unfettered access to every thought, every feeling, and even memories, if you were so inclined.

But this is a sign of trust, and you will not betray it by rifling through his most intimate thoughts, so you focus on seeing through his eyes. If it’s like anything else that has to do with the kinship, your intent should simply translate into being.

You blink, and all of a sudden you’re looking down at yourself. You’re taken aback for a moment. Your body jerks slightly away, and you have to reorient yourself. It’s the first time you’ve been able to actually see yourself since you were turned.

By the Gods. I am terribly pale!

Taking your time, you scour every detail of your face and commit it to memory. How long will it take me to forget again? You look at your cracked scarlet eyes and the colours they were before peeking through in splotches and slivers. You take in your dress, your hair, and your makeup, and tears threaten to spill, but you swallow them back down.

You release his sight back to him, blink, and you’re once again staring at your husband.

“Well?” He asks expectantly.

You lean into his chest, your palms flat against him. “Thank you.”

His arms encircle you once more. “You’re welcome. I suppose I should get out there. I will see you soon, yes?”

You nod, releasing him. “I’ll be right behind you.”

You stand in the inner foyer, waiting for your music to start. There are roses everywhere, of every shade, and they fill the air with a sweet scent. You’d peeked earlier and seen the arch being set up. Well, it’s less of an arch and more of a circle, which you decided was more appropriate — circles are never-ending, eternal.

Shadowheart scampers in to see you pacing around in a circle, and she grabs your arms. “Deep breaths, Illyria.”

You snort. “I am dead. I don’t need to breathe.”

She snorts in reply. “Don’t be sassy. Deep breathes, and stand still! You’ve made a mess of your train.”

She crouches down, quickly spreading the delicate lace back out so that it flows as it should instead of being all twisted up. You take the deep breaths, though they do little to calm your nerves.

Shadowheart clasps her hands around your arms. “Don’t pace, or you’ll wreck it. Your music is about to start.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to make sure, but you ask anyway. “Is he?”

Shadowheart nods. “He’s out there waiting for you.”

You can only muster enough presence of mind to nod, and Shadowheart dashes back out to take her place wherever that is. The music starts to pick up, and you stand there for a few nerve-wracking minutes until it shifts into your song.

It’s time.

Steeling your nerves, you take one last deep, useless breath and walk toward the open doorway.

The sun strikes your eyes first and leaves you blinded until your eyes adjust. As your vision clears, the aisle comes into view. Rose petals are scattered across the terrace, the circular archway has been hung with sheer drapery that sways in the slight breeze, and the quartet plays beautifully off to the side as well as an artist sketching away that you were not expecting.

Astarion stands with his hands clasped together behind his back, his face warmly neutral until he sees you, and it transforms into a tender, nervous smile. Your eyes link with familiar, vividly crimson pools that invite you to get lost in them. Time seems to halt its perpetual march forward, the gears grinding to a stop just for you.

All your uncertainty, worries, and problems seem to just slip away from you. None of them matter. Not that the Hells await. Not that you still have yet to tell Astarion about the deal you made. Not that time is running out. It’s like all of that ceases to exist, and you are left with the only thing that does matter.

Him.

Your mind barely registered the drag of your dress, or the breeze in your hair, or the way the sun warms your skin. You take one step, and then another, and then another, carefully so as not to trip. Walking in heels isn’t exactly something you’re accustomed to, and it’s been brought to your attention that you’re a “clumsy thing,” as Astarion so lovingly puts it.

With each step, Astarion’s smile widens, and you’re brought closer to him. His eyes are wide and shiny, unshed tears catching the dying light of the sun. Memories play out in your mind’s eye — strong arms around you and a shoulder to lean on when you were so tired after battle you could barely walk back to camp. Nights spent laughing in the shelter of your tent. Cuddling by a roaring campfire. The soft press of lips to your forehead as you faded into your trance. The aroma of bergamot, rosemary, and brandy — the scent of home. You can hear the gravelly sound of his voice when you sought him out, always first to hear his thoughts, quips, witty remarks, and even those godsdamned roguish insults.

You blink, and the tears begin to fall, gliding down your cheeks. A few more steps and you’re in front of him — your fate, your destiny, your thiramin.

The only thing that has ever truly mattered to you and likely the only thing that ever will.

Yours. Once lost, but brought back together by the threads of fate.

His smile fades, replaced by a gaze that is equal parts affection and limitless devotion. Astarion takes a step closer, swallowing hard, and holds his hands out to you. You place your hands in his.

You stand side by side as the priest of one god or another recites the rites. The words are mostly lost on you, just a garbled sound in the background of the drumming beat of Astarion’s heart.

You try to keep your eyes ahead, but you cannot help but sneak little glances his way. His silver hair, perfectly styled with not a strand out of place, is cast in a golden glow that makes him look otherworldly. His raven-black ensemble with dragons up the breast is perfectly smoothed—not a crease or crimp to be seen.

Perfection. Exactly like you had envisioned.

Keeping your eyes ahead, you reach out, and Astarion responds, slipping his trembling hand into yours. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. His lips quirk up slightly, crinkling the corners of his eyes, but he keeps his gaze trained ahead.

“Lord Astarion Ancunín, do you take this woman to be your wedded wife?”

He turns toward you. His eyes are round, wet, and painfully striking in their vivid warmth. He grins, his eyes falling to your clasped hands, and then back to you. “I do.”

Shadowheart approaches with a velvet-wrapped box, opening the lid and offering it to Astarion. He thanks her, to your great surprise, and takes the ring out. The band is delicately twisted silver and black. You faintly see an inscription running around the underside of the band, but your eyes are too misty to read it.

“I didn’t prepare a fancy speech or elaborate vows. I thought it better to speak from the heart. I am admittedly not good at this, feelings, or public declarations of love.” He fidgets with the ring. “I had long had any faith in people, in Gods, in life purposefully carved out of me when you came along. Truthfully, I wasn’t very fond of you at first. I’d lost the ability to care for anyone, and I certainly never expected anyone could care for me. You met my ice with your fire at every turn. When I tried to push you away, you were still there waiting for me to come to my senses.

“You treated me like a person right from the very start, trusted me, which honestly was an objectively stupid thing to do, darling. I grew to love you frighteningly quickly. You melted the ice in my heart and taught me how to love again. I cherished every second we spent together, even when it was curling up and sleeping in the dirt.

You see me. Really, truly see me even through my darkness. I am safe with you. Whatever the future holds for us, I do not intend to lose that. I vow to love you with a depth that not even the stars can fathom. When it gets cold, I will be your warmth. When life is too loud, you can bury yourself in my silence. When you are hungry, I will be your sustenance.” You exhale a small laugh, and he smirks and winks. “I will love you long after the last stars have faded from the sky and the world is bathed in darkness once more. I will always love you.”

Astarion takes your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger easily. His voice cracks with emotion. “Ai armiel telere maenen hir.”

He clears his throat and straightens up, discreetly wiping a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand.

The same question is levelled at you next, and Astarion seems to be tense as he awaits your response.

“I do.”

As soon as he hears you utter the words, he exhales in a lengthy, drawn-out release like he’d been holding his breath the entire time, and his shoulders relax.

Shadowheart seems to pop up at your side, nearly enough to make you jump, bringing your focus back. You take the ring, and your fingers glide over the smooth metal, feeling the etching inside of it. Astarion’s eyes jump down to the ring, and he looks at it hungrily.

“I never had a family. There was never anyone to tuck me in or kiss me goodnight. I was alone for most of my life, and at some point, I guess I started to believe that’s how it would always be. I accepted it. I wasn’t supposed to be in Baldur's Gate the day the nautiloid took us. I had only stopped there to get supplies and had planned to leave the same day, but then something made me stay. I cannot even recall what it was anymore. It scares me to think that if I had left like I planned to, I would never have found you. Despite the threat of turning into a tentacled monster, I’m glad we were taken that day, as strange as it sounds. It brought us together.”

Your brows pinch. “I’ve never been one who put much faith or thought into Gods and fates. I never gave any credence to destiny. To be perfectly honest, I thought it was all bullshit. But now I stand here with you, and I can’t help but feel this was meant to be — that our meeting wasn’t mere chance. When I met you on that beach, before our shared plight connected us, it felt like my soul recognized yours. I saw a home that I had been homesick for all my life in your eyes, even with your dagger pressed against my throat.”

Astarion chuckles lightly, and you look up at him. He gives you an encouraging nod. “There are no words that adequately express how much I love you. I could say the cliche things like I love you more than life itself, which I think is rather obvious at this point. The truth is, my love for you is unfathomable, unquantifiable. There are no lengths I would not go for you. I vow to love you eternally. Know you are cherished, cared for, safe, and seen, always. I will be your sanctuary. Allow me to be the place your heart finds shelter and peace. I vow to be your light in the darkness, and I will always bring you home. For as long as we exist, I am yours.”

You grab Astarion’s hand, and he holds it up for you, trying to keep his quivering fingers still enough so you can slip the ring on. He smiles, though it looks a little odd, warring between nervousness and excitement, with neither side winning. Tears sway on his lashes, and wet trails glisten down his cheeks.

The ring slides on his finger with no resistance, sitting perfectly as if it were always meant to be there.

Astarion doesn’t wait for the priest to acknowledge it. You vaguely hear being pronounced husband and wife, but the rest is lost when Astarion instantly wraps you in his arms, tugging you close and catching your lips. You lean into the kiss, into him, desperately trying to press your bodies closer together. His tongue teases your bottom lip, and you open for him. The approving groan rumbles deep in his chest, and you visibly shiver as electricity seems to run down your spine.

You very nearly whine out loud when he pulls away, but catch yourself quickly. He keeps his arms wrapped safely around you while he thanks the priest for his services and dismisses him.

Shadowheart runs up. Her makeup is smudged down her face. “I never thought I would say this, but Gods, I am so happy for the both of you.”

Astarion shoots her a pointed look with an arched brow.

“Yes, even you, Astarion,” Shadowheart half teases, half reassures him. “Thank you for letting me stay. It was beautiful.”

He still does not know exactly how to take Shadowheart’s genuine gratitude. “You’re, uh, welcome?” It sounds like a question. “We are planning to stay here for the night. If my wife has no objections, you’re welcome to stay and join us for some wine—”

The thought is abruptly cut off when you and Astarion hear a commotion, a clattering of boots running up stairs. Both of your heads swivel towards the sound.

Shadowheart cannot hear it and arches a brow, but follows your gaze. “What is it?”

“We’re not sure,” you answer, and go to move forward, but Astarion pulls you back.

“It’s the wizard,” he snarls, teeth bared.

There is no time to react to what he’s said before the villa door bursts open, and Gale comes running in red-faced and huffing. He’s wearing his robe, with his quarterstaff slung across his back, and you instantly tense.

How in the hells did he find you?

“Illyria!” Gale shouts, sprinting onto the terrace. “Don’t do this! You can’t marry him!”

“Gods, Gale,” you growl, but your panic is increasing. If something is going to set Astarion off, it will be this. “Give it a rest. There will never be anything between us. I love him. I want to marry him. I did marry him. It’s done.”

You know it’s harsh, but it needs to be said. Whatever ideas Gale has gotten into his head need to be ceased.

“You don’t understand!” Gale points accusingly at Astarion. “He’s compelled you. He’s poisoned your loyalty. None of this has been your choice.”

“You did this!” Astarion grabs Shadowheart’s dress, heaving her forward roughly. “You led him here!”

“No!” Shadowheart tugs at Astarion’s wrist, but you know she has no hope against his strength. “I would not do this, Astarion. I swear on Selûne. This is not my doing!”

“Astarion.” You grab his wrist, squeezing with enough force that if he were mortal, you could have broken it. “Shadowheart wouldn’t do this. Let her go. Please.”

He shakes violently as his grasp on Shadowheart loosens and tightens until he finally manages to pry his hand away. His eyes flash so quickly you cannot make out which is which from one second to the next. Astarion notices the rising panic in your expression.

“I’m trying,” he grits out with a pained desperation in his voice.

You turn toward Gale with your brows pinched, magic swelling. “He has not compelled me, Gale! I’m here because I want to be here. I am with him because I love him. Why can’t you accept that?”

Gale straightens. “I can prove it.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

This is the longest chapter yet in this series! You can consider it my apology for the last chapter, which was short 🤣

Oh, Gale.... But, could he really be speaking the truth? Has everything been a lie?

[yuri-is-online]

You Simple Vile Monstrosity: Rook and the Flowers of Evil

My other two dumb history posts have at least a semblance of fun fact to them, but this is mostly going to be literary analysis and some theory. There's some interesting stuff here sure, but I don't really think it adds much to the overall landscape of twst theories. But it does make Rook make more sense to me so I am making this post anyway.

So without further ado, if you are like me and enjoy reading twst theories, you might know that the beginning lines of Twisted Wonderland are something we have been debating the meaning of since the game came out really. While I think we have been closing in on their true meaning as Chapter 7 progresses along, the phrase "Flowers of Evil" can actually refer to something specific: a french poetry collection of the same name (Les Fleurs du mal in french) by a poet name Charles Baudelaire originally published in 1857. The collection was extremely controversial, but today it is highly lauded and has inspired several other literary works, including a manga series by Shūzō Oshimi of the same name. I found out about the poetry collection while working on this request and finally finished reading it... and another essay by Baudelaire for reasons we can talk about later on in the post. For now let's talk poetry.

Beauté! 100 Points!

I don't speak french, so I read an English translation done by Aaron Poochigian that does contain the original french text in the back half of the book. The Flowers of Evil is split into seven-ish parts: The Flowers of Evil (just containing "To the Reader"), Spleen and the Ideal, Parisian Scenes, Wine, Flowers of Evil (again but with 12 poems this time), Revolt, and then Death. The sections are more or less organized by the subject of the poems, Spleen and the Ideal is the largest with Baudelaire musing over what the ideal concept of beauty is while Wine deals with getting drunk (on wine mostly if you can believe it.) One of the things that jumps out very quickly about Baudelaire's work is that his concept of beauty is almost synonymous with his concept of evil. He writes a lot about maggots eating corpses, about decay, he has a few poems that talk about vampires appearing to be the highest form of beauty but really being husks of rotted flesh; it's all very much about this acceptance that evil is a part of life and human nature, so therefore there must be beauty in it. The concept of "ideal beauty" must by it's nature be divorced from the concept of "morality." When Rook talks about the potential for Leona or Malleus to kill him and how beautiful that would be, I think he means the act of destruction itself would be beautiful. The circumstances surrounding it and the consequences of it are irrelevant to the concept; this is also why while he initially says he cannot find the crimson lotuses in GloMas beautiful Deuce accuses him of doing just that after everything is said and done. He cannot find beauty in Rollo's actions, but the visual and the fight are beautiful because of the effort he and the other students put in to stop them. And perhaps most importantly, it's why he is willing to drink Vil's poison and look upon what is supposedly ultimate ugliness and say "In this moment you are the fairest of them all." Because how could an act born out of such raw and genuine emotion be anything but?

Le Chasseur D'Armour, The Hunter of Love

Baudelaire wasn't just a poet, he fancied himself a critic and wrote multiple essays, the one I read for this post is The Painter of Modern Life. Which is actually a collection of several but they are all related, and I was directed to them by this wordpress post. In it, Baudelaire muses over how things can be both beautiful and ugly, and why:

"Beauty is made up of an eternal, invariable element, whose quantity it is excessively difficult to determine, and of a relative, circumstantial element... which severally or all at once, the age, its fashions, its morals, its emotions."

He was talking about fashion plates that depicted outdated costumes, but his point was more or less that if you strictly look at the design of the costume they look ridiculous: ugly. But when you take into account their historical value (these particular plates were all from the around the time of the French revolution) they become exceedingly important: beautiful. He also mentions in this same essay the importance of not just taking into account the opinions of so called "masters" and sneers at people who think they understand what is beautiful just because they have seen a painting done by a professional:

"... to declare that Raphael, or Racine, does not contain the whole secret, and that minor poets too have something good, solid and delightful to offer... that we might love general beauty, as it is expressed by classical poets and artists, we are no less wrong to neglect particular beauty, the beauty of circumstance and the sketch of manners."

In chapter 5, while helping Vil judge the auditions for VDC, Rook gives every audition 100 points because, well, in his mind they are all an example of perfect beauty specifically because they are the work of amateurs, and that is no less valuable to him or less worthy of praise that the work of the master. Now granted he clearly does value professional quality (he did have reasons for voting for Neige other than being a massive simp. Valid ones even if loosing does sting) but that's only in the context of strict rules and guidelines. When Rook is asked for his opinion, while he certainly does believe there is an absolute, academic definition beauty, he doesn't place any value on where that beauty comes from. Baudelaire muses over how human life "accidentally" puts mysterious beauty into the world, and the true appreciator of beauty must make himself not strictly a poet but:

"...an observer of life, and only later set himself the task of acquiring the means of expressing it... For most of us... the fantastic reality of life has become singularly diluted. [But he] never ceases to drink it in; his eyes and memories are full of it."

I strongly dislike suggesting in these posts that xyz is "the definitive reason" for why a character acts the way that he does, but I do think it is very interesting how well this describes Rook's ethos. He thinks of himself as a hunter, but in order to do that he needs to observe. Sure he takes it to exceptionally extreme lengths, but it makes him one of the most lively members of the NRC cast. Baudelaire is right, there are a million things about life we miss on a day to day basis wherein true beauty lies, but Rook sees all of it. His eyes, memories, camera, and secret photo albums are fit to burst with it.

My Noble and Beautiful Flower of Evil

I mentioned the opening text at the beginning of this post, and I stand by my interpretation that the phrase "flower of evil" it uses likely is not a specific reference to any of the poems themselves... beyond the obvious note that it is a collection of poems about finding beauty in, well, evil and most of the characters are based off of villains.

But there was something that started gnawing at me when I read the introduction to my translation, which was written by a poet named Dana Gioia. It was a very well written summary of Baudelaire's life and the significance of his work, but it mentioned a connection that I have seen brought up in twst theorizing before: Edgar Allen Poe.

You see, Baudelaire was obsessed with Poe. To the point that (according to the introduction) "He considered Poe a sacred martyr for art and referred to him as 'Saint Edgar.' In his morning devotions, Baudelaire prayed first to God and then to Poe."

I have nothing to say on that (because really what could you) but the point that Gioia wanted to make in that introduction was that Poe had a massive influence on Baudelaire's writing style. He wrote multiple essays on his work and translated them into French because he felt like Poe deserved the recognition, so while Gioia used this to argue that Poe's influence on Baudelaire shouldn't be underestimated...

I can't find the post, but someone was talking about how Malleus's mother's name Meleanor is very similar to "Lenore" and I recall people sort of brushing that connection off. I don't that name is a coincidence. I think the poem "Lenore" might very well have been something thought about when constructing her character, and that the themes in Poe's work might be very relevant to the overall story of Twisted Wonderland.

Something about ravens and telltale hearts just feels like they fit; maybe we have got it all wrong and Yuu's visions aren't coming from the mirror in Ramshackle, but the floorboards.

Semi- Unrelated Fun Facts:

If you read the name Baudelaire and thought to yourself it sounded familiar, you might have be thinking of the Baudelaire children from A Series of Unfortunate Events. This isn't exactly a coincidence as the author of the series admits to his writing being heavily influenced by Charles Baudelaire to the point he actually wrote the afterword to the translation I own.

Dana Gioia is the former Poet Laureate of the state of California, something that deeply confused me. Apparently the Governor of California appoints someone to a 2 year term and they travel around the state to promote poetry and literacy which is apparently something that 46/50 U.S. states and D.C. does to????

My glorious motherland of Pennsylvania is not one of these states, apparently we only ever appointed one, then eliminated the position entirely after he retired, and then started just. Handing out ones to people in individual cities and counties. Which is so par for the course here I don't know why I am surprised.

One of the first things any college level literature course will try to drill into you is that you don't examine the life of an author when examining their work. It might sound silly, but I think Baudelaire is a great example of why that's important. The man was addicted to drugs and sex, refused to get a "real job", lived off his inheritance from his wealthy father and eventually whatever money he could convince his mother to send him his entire adult life, and had her use her political connections to bail him out of legal trouble multiple times.

If I thought too hard about that it would make his lines in "Skeleton Laborers" (Nothingness is treacherous.//Even Death is a deceiver.//Alas, forever and ever,//work may be awaiting us) fall terribly flat, which I think does them a disservice. The man was very talented and I am glad he wrote them because I felt very seen when I read them.

Baudelaire opened his publication with a note to the reader, but he made it a full poem entitled "To the Reader." I liked the ending stanza so much I used a version of it to title my blog, and eventually my current masterlist: (Boredom! Moist-eyed, he dreams, while pulling on//a hookah pipe, of guillotine-cleft necks.//You, reader, know this tender freak of freaks-//hypocrite reader-mirror-man-mytwin!)

Likewise the title of this post is also taken from part of a poem, "Hymn to Beauty" (Beauty, you simple, vile monstrosity,//I cannot care about your origin,//provided that your gaze, smile, feet show me//a sweet infinity I have never known.) I think that fits Rook's ideals rather well, don't you?

[ocean-blue-orchids]

“It would be nice if magic didn’t exist so we could avoid all this fuss. Don’t you agree…?”

Characters: Rollo, Yuu

Summary: What if Yuu and Rollo had continued their conversation for longer during Topsy-Turvey day? What if Yuu liked magic, or hated magic…or even knew some magic of their own?

Type: Bullet points, with a drabble at the end for the pathetic Rollo simps (me)

Warnings: None that I can think of but I’m new to this so if I missed something let me know!

A/N at the bottom!

A Yuu who is fascinated by magic:

-“I think you’re a bit confused, buddy. Getting to see real magic every day has probably been one of the only good parts of getting warped here!”

-Rollo just. Looks at you.

-He genuinely has to hold in so many emotions in his face; confusion, disgust, a bit of fear(?)

-Eventually he settles on a slight frown and decides to not think about this critically, because god forbid something shatter his worldview when he’s this close to enacting his plan.

-“Ah, you poor thing. You don't understand. If only you could see that your non magic world is much more ideal…”

-“Haha yeah I guess I do miss it! When I find a way back you can visit :D”

-Rollo.exe is crashing

-He decides that clearly this prefect is tainted by the evil surrounding them every day and it’s a Stockholm syndrome type thing.

-When the flowers start to spread and he reveals his true intent, he may even offer for you to join his side, now that he’s “purging the evil”

-“Human of a magicless world…together, we can fix this flawed world and rid it of magic-“ “ROLLO YOU ARE SO UNINVITED TO MY HOME WORLD” “Ok, trapdoor it is.”

-Even after everything, he wonders how you can love magic and a world that was likely responsible for you being torn from your home. It haunts him.

A Yuu who is a bit afraid of magic:

-You stay completely silent.

-Looking at Rollo feels like staring into an awful funhouse mirror. I mean, you find magic a bit scary, but trying to outright destroy it? Especially knowing that it also functions as a source of life!?

-Rollo has seen you flinch at the fireworks, frown at the mention of past magical incidents at NRC, and he miiiight have lowkey stalked you a bit to see that you only showed interest in non magical items. And when he sees you hesitating after he does his little evil monologue?

-Well he just assumes you’re stunned by how right he is. 

-Later, after his reappearance during the flowers spreading for the first time, he takes a special interest in your reaction.

-And he’s very, very confused.

-Why are you afraid? Isn’t this what you wanted? Don’t you agree with him?

-He puts you on the spot by telling the others how they’ve “made the prefect so stressed and fearful by using their magic! Don’t you agree, prefect? We talked about this before…”

-You shake your head, under so much pressure that you almost want the flowers to take you down.

-“I see. You’ve been corrupted by them. Don’t worry, prefect. I’ll allow you to apologize after I finish my job here. For now…you must forgive me for this.” Aaand the floor underneath you disappears.

-After the events of the night, he tries one more time to appeal to you. If you tell him that “magic may be scary, but your hatred is far, far worse…” he will be absolutely EFFED up man. Effed. Up.

A Yuu who has learnt magic:

-“Uh…Rollo, I don’t think you’ve got the full picture, buddy.” 

-First he’s confused. And then you show him a basic flame you conjure in your hands. (It’s a little trick Tsunotaro taught you.)

-He is revolted.

-How? How could someone like you, someone who was untouched and pure, fall to this disgusting power?

-He hides this, however, and invites you to his office to “see a surprise I have for all of our visitors. I think you may be able to help me.”

-You give Trein a heads up and head out, where Rollo shows you a very stunning, crimson flower…

“This flower is beautiful, Rollo! Is it a souvenir?”

Rollo gives you the same calm smile he’s given you all day, and holds it out to you.

“…in a way, yes. Pick it. It won’t work unless you do.”

Assuming this was another fun item rigged with magic, you pull it from the glass pot Rollo is holding. Sure enough, the pollen scatters like sparks, and the flower is warm in your hand.

“Rollo, this is amazing! I’m sure the others will love it! They-uh-they…”

Your train of thought is interrupted by the feeling of the flower’s root around your finger. Even more unsettling is the fact that the root’s end is now stuck to your body. The warmth spreads from your hands to your upper arm, and it starts to feel numb.

And then you feel your feet go numb as well. You look down to see flowers rapidly growing at your feet.

“Rollo…”

“I’m sure the others will love my gift, Angel.” 

The mage has backed away from you now, moving to his desk and staring at you coldly. You try to yell at him, to call for help…but nothing comes out of your mouth and you suddenly find yourself on the floor. You think you probably fell, judging by how close you were to the ground. As you close your eyes, you heard Rollo speak one last time.

“Perhaps I will keep you here. Fix you, and make you pure again. There is still hope.”

————

The next thing you remember is waking up and feeling so intensely groggy. It was as if you had taken a nap right after school, and now you were waking up feeling strangely warm and stiff. 

Well, you definitely felt strangely warm and stiff. As you tried to stretch, you heard the sounds of vines shifting. Slowly sitting up and opening your eyes lead to you seeing where you were. 

Rollo’s office had turned into a flower garden. And you were the main piece.

One by one, you plucked the flowers off of you. They were attached to your skin, yes, but they peeled off easily with a tug. You still felt half asleep, but memories were coming back to you.

Rollo.

His “special gift”.

“I’m sure the others will love…”

The others.

You noticed the open door. The flowers were spreading.

The others.

You stood up, leaning against a wall as your head pounded and your legs shook. As soon as you could walk, you did.

The others needed you.

You followed the path to the main hall, realizing the flowers had spread more than you could possibly have imagined. 

…how long had you slept? Hours? Days?

Your fears were lessened as you entered the main hall, and saw that Rollo looked exactly the same as he had a few hours ago, the sunset outside now replaced with moonlight.

But the sight you were greeted with in the main hall was nothing short of disturbing.

Flowers everywhere you looked. Screaming, shouting, and…Rollo.

He was saying…something. You couldn’t hear well over the chaos and your head ringing, and frankly, you didn’t care what he had to say. 

He was hurting everyone. You had to stop him.

So you did.

You used all your strength to tackle him with your whole body.

Unfortunately, your weakened status meant it wasn't enough to knock him down. He pressed himself against the banister with one hand, pulling you forward with the other. You were able to try and turn around to face him, but he grabbed one of your arms and used his free hand to push you against the banister.

There’s a chance that someone screamed your name, but it was hard to make out.

Rollo frowned at you.

“I suppose the flowers couldn’t fully handle someone who wasn’t born with magic. In a way, it’s a blessing.”

He pressed himself closer, moving his hand from your arm up to your own hand. He pressed his thumb where you had summoned fire for him before, as if he were trying to extinguish the flame.

“Darling angel…come with me. You’re already almost completely cleansed of your magic…together, we can make you, and this world…perfect.”

You raised a shaky hand to cup Rollo’s face, and although he seemed shocked at first, he slowly smiled into your hold.

“Very good, my obedient Angel, I knew you’d-“

You pulled his stupid hat over his hair. He screamed in a way you had never heard before, and pushed you.

If it was an accident, it certainly didn’t feel like it as you fell through the air.

Well. 

Hopefully someone will catch your fall.

Either way…that was worth it.

A/N: Oh boy! Hi…it’s been a while whoops. I made this blog before my Senior show tech week, and life just has not slowed down till now. But I finally posted something!! Yay! Requests are open, and it would make my day to get one! Ok that's all have a nice day :>

[katyspersonal]

I played more SOTE today!! I have mixed feelings because today just happened to be pure RAGE because of my awful skill issue.. but at the same time I feel so ALIVE xD (two parter)

1) So first of all, I got back to Specimen Storehouse to finish whatever was that business with Ansbach and Freyja! She gave an interesting dialogue about how yeah honor and shit but what Radahn would actually like is to live so he could wage war forever 💀 Definitely the character of all time gghguj

2) So I decided to explore a little more of that Church District below before I continue to seek my way to upper area! Turned out that Tree Spirit did NOT die due to a bug..... but it did now. XD

And dropped edgy (literally) sorcery lol

3) NEW NAMED CHARACTER!!!!!!!

Yeah, I've been noticing that this area has Fire Knights with another variant of the head piece! I even had an idea to grind these guys for it, but I just felt as thought it'd be pointless. And I was right! This mask dropped from non-respawning enemy! So yeah, the fire zombies raising in this area were given lore, I was pleased by such amount to detail yet again 🤔

4) So I kept looking for the way back in the Storehouse, but took the turn I did NOT try to take, and ended up in that weird golden-black area on the map that has been making me curious for a while!

5) ....ъ_ъ So, I was running around, surprised by how empty it was, and even questioned whether it was pointless sort of? So I decided to just check the giant flower and.. ..... oh my fuuUCKING God.

6) So it was another time where I kept howling about how awful/unfair/hard/etc this battle was and wanted to quit except I didn't! You see, at first I was playing as usual, and the stage 2 was a surprise. But the LEVEL of my skill issue started to show up at its finest here, because I absolutely could not dodge its briars attacks and I barely managed to heal in time!

I had to die MANY times, learning from my mistakes and just trials what to do and slowly adapting.. You see, it SHOULD have been obvious that hitting the "face" was the most effective, but nope! I only figured many attempts later! Just as how """pointless""" critical hit before phase transition was not pointless at all! At least I learned to 1) block strike attack and roll magic attack 2) that I can't use magic so it'd be better to place all 14 flasks at Crimson 3) figured to summon mimic in a creative way; since it gets summoned in the equipment I had at THE moment of summon but AI can't be trusted with blocking normally, I summoned it while two-handing the weapon so it hits stronger and then got my shield back XD

7) .........

I swear, sometimes I regret not being able to stream, because y'all should have seen my reaction when it turned out that this enemy had THREE stages, not two...... :')

8) I actually died just just JUST the very last moment ;-; I screenshotted it, it is on PS for now, it was SOOO infuriating. I can't even explain how I resisted the urge to scream and throw my controller because that required inhumane willpower. But hell if I didn't feel ALIVE at that moment xD

9) AND I KILLED IT EVENTUALLY FGFGCGGB

^ Got genuinely surprised by this drop!

10) I came back at Storehouse, FINALLY, and THIS TRAITOR @val-of-the-north IS NO LONGER MY FRIEND!!!!1

I asked him about this symbol being here since as I said earlier, I assumed that the reoccurring symbol with a fire and a circle on flags and such found here and there represented Messmer and Rellana; an impression I've got because I first saw it in her castle!

....but then Val, this RAT, casually said that it is actually likely another symbol of Messmer: snakes rather than fire. And of course. God of course it makes much more sense. It is all over this Storehouse. Yes we found a shield Rellana used for the ritual to prove loyalty to the Erdtree once here, but the overlapping circles straight up coil like snakes. And yet you TRAITOR never corrected me when I wrongly assumed that the symbol of fire + two circles overlapping meant Messmer and Rellana being allies. Goddamit STOP LETTING ME LOOK STUPID ON PUBLIC *bonks you with the newspaper*

11) So after some running and collecting (got a golden spell that some Fire Knights use), I've found my way out and first ran into some really strong knight that used GRAVITY MAGIC! I attempted to fight him but like, no. Nope. So I left him for later, and Val recommended me to use 'O, Mother' gesture to finally open the secret passage to where I was actually looking.

12) And hoooo boy... I already suspected where this was going because even on the map there were depictions of Golden leaves (on the Finger Ruins) part.

It was THE spoilered area itself!

13) What instantly struck me was that I could SWEAR it had to be the exact same flowers as on the painting of 'healthy' Midra Manse. I did not have a good image as I hit it early by a mistake, so I asked Val to fetch me the image, annnnd....

Look, sure, it could simply be blue curtains and obviously just a 'normal' flora of this realm, so of course it still exists in THE one place Messmer didn't burn, but dead everywhere else. (Here because of Frenzy + no sunlight). But also Hornsent Inquisitors did bully Midra and his followers (which did lead to Frenzied Flame business), and Ymir mentioned something about Marika's roots being placed in madness? Who the hell knows anymore...

14) NOOOOO WAY, WHEN YOU GET TO THIS POINT, A FRAGMENT OF THEME OF MARIKA/RADAGON STARTS PLAYING ;-;

THE IMPACT

15) Definitely visiting this place by myself felt more impactful than simply reading/watching this part of the lore..

16) I got SO angry at the Tree Sentinel though that for the first time EVER I decided to try and fight while on Torrent! And it was so effective that it gave me an idea to not follow further today but go and get that boss' ass from earlier like this! Which was the start of a big waste of time, but perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.. -_-

(Will share in the next post because Tumblr doesn't respect the way I choose to share screenshots for the girls ( @heraldofcrow ))

[mollywall-e]

The sky above is blanketed with billowing clouds. Strobing flashes of lightning cast a reddish light across the sky, revealing the familiar landscape ahead of her: the field behind her homestead, the quiet stretch of land between her house and Flat Iron Lake.

She’s alone, wading in the knee-deep grasses, spattered crimson and whipping violently in the wind. Then, over the roiling thunder and smattering of rain, a seemingly sourceless voice calls out to her, pleading.

Imogen, run!

Imogen doesn’t recognize the voice, not exactly. But she knows it, deep in her bones. It feels safe. It feels inviting; feelings that are so alien, Imogen almost fears them more than the storm itself.

Almost.

Desperate to squeeze out every ounce of that addicting and foreign comfort, she holds fast amongst the storm, searching for the source of the voice. The lightning strikes closer and closer, the whole sky flashing red. The booming cracks of thunder echo in her ears, as the winds whip at her hair. Pellets of rain and flecks of dust stinging in her eyes, Imogen’s unable to see anything beyond the raging tempest that threatens to swallow her whole.

Half-convinced she imagined it altogether, but entirely certain she'll die if she stays out in this storm any longer, Imogen does as the voice commanded. She runs.

Her bare feet sink into soil as she makes a break for her house, the reddish mud squelching between her toes. It feels like she's moving in slow motion, like the shelter of her home will always be just out of reach. But with each splattering step forward, the fuzzy details of her homestead begin to crystallize.

The fence surrounding the property is covered in a fresh coat of white paint. Not a single picket is out of place.

The grass is well-maintained and sprinkled with flowers, a stark contrast to the sea of weeds Imogen knows the yard has turned into.

The house stands solid against the surrounding tempest, no crumbling foundation or rotting wood, no broken stairs or shattered windows.

It’s just like the picture on the mantle. It's safe. It's beautiful. It's all Imogen's ever wanted.

She throws open the gate (not only is the latch intact, it doesn't even squeak!) and charges forward. She's clambering up the perfectly stable porch stairs when another sourceless voice reaches her ears.

“Immm…Gennnn”

The voice is hoarse and muffled, as if spoken from another room, and it’s desperate. It’s Laudna, her unique cadence recognizable even in choked whispers.

“Gennnn…plll-ease...waaa-ke…UP.”

As the words reverberate across the clearing, the world around Imogen falters. The clouds part. The rain stops. The thunder dissapates. The fields lose their focus, devolving into a blur of greens. Her house loses its structure, more of a brown blob than a building. It's disorienting, it's nauseating. The nightmare she'd fallen into unravels around her, pulled apart at the seams by Laudna’s voice.

As the dreamscape fades, Imogen suddenly finds herself staring up into a familiar set of eyes, bloodshot, bruised.

“Laudna…?” Imogen murmurs, bleary with confusion. “What happened?”

“ ...Immm…Gennn…” Laudna rasps out. Her voice isn't any stronger than it was in Imogen's dream, cracking and breaking off at the end. She doesn't try and speak again, choosing to answer by delicately lifting the fabric of Imogen's shirt, revealing the gunshot wound underneath. The bullet carved a near-perfect circle in the flesh underneath her collarbone, and it’s steadily pouring blood.

“Well, shit.”

[emblemxeno]

Three Houses has its own plot holes though

Why does killing Rhea in Crimson Flower destroy the crests when that doesn't happen in other routes? What happened to Anselma? Why does Claude never call out House Goneril for owning Almyran slaves? How did the Agarthans cover up the deaths of the 9 Adrestian princes and princesses they experimented on? Why does Ingrid blame the people of Duscur for what happened when Dimitri keeps saying the perpetrators weren't from Duscur?

Whether or not you still like your games despite plot holes is up to personal preference

Maybe you enjoyed the gameplay of Engage enough that you didn't mind the story's flaws. Maybe you loved Fates royals too much to stop yourself from finishing the story. Maybe you became too attached to your students to even notice certain inconsistencies

It's perspective

Yep! It's all perspective and it's why we like certain things more than others. It's why the term guilty pleasure even exists. There's definitely blinders on when it comes to certain games, but even so, I feel like there can-or should-be more wiggle room to criticize without immediately defending by saying "oh but the games YOU like are bad and are notoriously poor stories" like okay you can think that, but I'm not talking about those rn and I think there's foundational writing issues that are unique to this game and no others that are worth scrutinizing.

If we were more mellow and open to just... thinking before we post or argue deeply, I think discussion would be more productive. But I guess that's what everyone has been saying ever since humans learned to speak however many millions of years ago lol

[lananiscorner]

Pumpkin Carving with the Black Eagles

In the last two years, I posted some pumpkin carving with the Blue Lions / Church of Seiros head canons for Halloween, so let’s do the Black Eagles this time. Including Jeritza here, but not Monica, since this is based on playable characters in Black Eagles White Clouds and Crimson Flower.

Bernadetta: Has to be dragged to the pumpkin carving and nearly takes off her own finger when trying to do so in front of the others. She still ends up with the most amazing pumpkins in front of her door after going at it in the quiet and comfort of her own room.

Caspar: Is the one who started it and approaches the task with way too much enthusiasm. Every single one of his pumpkins has a scary face. None of them turn out particularly well. Still thinks it was fun.

Dorothea: There is no part of this that she likes. Risking a finger trying to carve up a stubborn vegetable? Not her kind of fun. Spooning stringy, slightly moist innards out of the gourd? Ew. Having to wash her hands a dozen times to get rid of that orange tint? Annoying. She spends most of her time encouraging the others as well as penciling designs for others to carve.

Edelgard: Approaches this with her usual perfectionism and ends up discarding her first four pumpkins for not being good enough. Spends more than 2 hours on the final one. Is very perplexed when some of her classmates don't appreciate "constructive criticism".

Ferdinand: Naturally tries to out-do Edelgard, so models his pumpkin after hers only better, which naturally ends up screwing him over when she discards the first four. He eventually goes with one of Dorothea's designs and creates one of the best pumpkins ever carved by a Black Eagle.

Hubert: Is scarily competent with a knife, but wouldn't bother with this triviality if Edelgard hadn't requested it. Goes way overboard on both the details in his designs and their general creepiness, to the point where some students muse they might summon an actual ghost if they light his pumpkins up. Much to Hubert's amusement.

Jeritza: Is only there because every student group needs to be overseen by at least one teacher and refuses to take part for the longest time. He eventually gives in at Edelgard's insistence and proves to have all the skill of Hubert and the imagination of Caspar.

Petra: Hands down the Black Eagle most excited for this activity. She's wicked good with a carving knife and ends up carving depictions of some of the scariest spirits and folk tales from Brigid. She's also the one who makes sure to collect all the pumpkin seeds for roasting and the rest of the innards for vegetable broth, so nothing goes to waste.

[arkus-rhapsode]

I want to talk about Crimson Flower and 3H as a narrative

So... after FE3H discourse makes the round every other week, I end up thinking about it for a bit until I realize, hey maybe its better to not focus on a 4 year old game at this point and occupy your time with something else. Everything has basically been said about it at this point and you know where you land.

But this time my thoughts were just getting too strong for me to ignore, so that's why I'm writing this both get it out of my system and maybe just be another voice in the crowd that some people might want to listen to on the divisive topic that is Crimson Flower route.

Now I really hate that I have to put this disclaimer up front, but I feel like the well of this discussion has become so poisoned that I have to before I make my piece. I want to say that if you enjoy Crimson Flower, if you love Edelgard and believe she did nothing wrong and this is the right route, if you are a Black Eagles stan and you genuinely do not have any issues with Crimson Flower route as a whole-that is perfectly fine.

This will be a somewhat critical examination of the narrative choices about the execution of CF, which I feel like whenever 3H, specifically Edelgard is discussed, there is often very disingenuous arguments people make. Which I believe can create more defensive fans of a particular aspect of a story that we should be able to criticize freely. Which perpetuates this never ending cycle of discourse of legit criticism and defense against that criticism becomes drowned out by trying to decouple these very disingenuous claims from legitimate flaws. So I at least want to make it known that I am going to try my best to be in good faith with this post about this tricky subject.

I also want to just say, this is also going to be mostly an examination of narrative. The thing that I personally enjoy the most in an FE game, but we need to genuinely acknowledge that narrative isn't the only reason why people may like Fire Emblem. The ability to form parasocial relationships with fictional characters and being able to experience something the genuinely brings you emotional fulfillment is not invalid. Being able to enjoy fighting against establishments or ideologies you in the real world disagree with through the experience of a video game is not invalid. The same way someone who plays this game for the experience of gameplay isn't invalid when their primary enjoyment stems from the actual mechanics rather than the "logistics" of the story. The point I'm trying to make is that everyone will engage in media in different ways and will enjoy it other ways and that you don't want to invalidate those feelings someone had with their personal experience. So this is going to be about me and my experience as someone who primarily enjoys narrative.

I am just one guy with opinions who is going to layout what I had an issue with and how I think for me that could've been improved upon. You don't have to agree with me on that, and I'm not saying my way is legitimately better. This is all opinionated.

Buckle this is a long one

First things first Im gonna say Im not going to be using any information given in Three Hopes that may contradict what Im about to say. As in my opinion Three Houses came first and does not include the content from Three Hopes so I should think that Three Houses can stand on its own merits and the content that was provided.

Next thing is I want to catch people up on what in my opinion are the points I think CF did for me that ultimately left me unsatisfied

The post time skip Fodlan was too different and felt contradictory to Byleth's role

Edelgard's Characterization in CF in comparison to the other lord's in their respected routes

The role of Rhea

The role of Those who Slither in the Dark

SO the first thing is probably the thing I'm mostly going to have to defend if I haven't lost you already, but Fire Emblem Three Houses as a narrative provides us with a five year time skip in the game that depending on the route will change who is control of the monastery at this point in the war, with each route providing a lord the chance the forge their campaign. However, something I don't think is brought up enough is talking about the liberties that CF takes with their time skip vs the other three routes. Azure Moon, Verdant Wind, and Silver snow all paint a post five years Fodlan as one where the monastery territory has been abandoned, Rhea has been captured, the Alliance territory is split between an imperialist faction and an anti imperialism faction, and the Kingdom has been split with Cornelia making an alliance with the Empire to create the Dukedom of Faerghus as the houses of Gautier and Faldarius hold up the Kingdom.

There are obviously minor changes like Dimitri camping out in the monastery in Azure Moon rather than in the care of Kingdom Allies, but for the most part there is a consistently defined world between the three routes. However, Crimson Flower's post Fodlan is much different. With a grid locked Fodlan after five years with just the church territory falling under the control of Adrestia, Rhea wasn't captured and instead made it to Faerghus, The Alliance is still feuding amongst itself, but most importantly than all, Faerghus is a complete kingdom with Dimitri as King and no Cornelia's Dukedom.

So there are two main reasons why this bothers me.

The first is that Three Houses as a game wants to present you with three options at first, with the idea that your choices will effect the outcome of the war when Byleth returns, however there's enough consistency to imply that this is what Fodlan would be like regardless of whose House you would join, with the primary effect being your class making it to the church for the festival which in turn will make the monastery your new territory for which route. However, Crimson Flower decides to do away with the consistency, implying that the effect Byleth had on the situation is far greater than that of any other route resulting in a drastically shifted Fodlan. So this is more of a problem with FE3H as a whole with the consistency of choice. Fire Emblem has never really had a BioWare style choose your own adventure type of game. There's only one real choice you're given in the case of 3H and that's which house you side with, which you are essentially locked into. Black Eagles is really the only route that offers a choice beyond that with choosing to side with Edelgard or Rhea which will effect who the class sides with in the time skip. The reason I bring this up is that it essentially means that you the player are for the most part on rails for a predetermined plot where all the choices for the series have already been made. So the Fodlan post five years being consistent makes some sense as essentially mostly everything that happened in White Clouds was the same with the acceptation of the class. However, the Crimson Flower one not being consistent and being so radically different based on a game with so minimal choice feels more like an act of narrative convenience. That this is what happened because of a writer fully independent from me the player had decided that this is how Fodlan shall be for this story because it fits what they want to tell.

Somewhere I had once read that FE3H shouldn't be treated as one story, but since its a bunch of routes they're all a different universe. Everything might look the same but everything is fundamentally altered that you should accept it as an independent universe. And I can't necessarily say that's wrong as the concept of multiverses is to create a world/scenario that allows to explore familiar characters in unfamiliar settings and you could say that Byleth effect on Edelgard in picking this universe was just so much greater that it would result in such a different universe.

I personally disagree with that which brings me to my second point as I believe this one is going to be a more philosophical point on game design. But I feel like the effort to make three routes so consistent with each other with one so different seems to deliberately undercut the core themes of the game. Offering you a choice that this is who you get to spend your happy schools days with and it is what is going to result in them returning to the monastery one the day of your return. That is the true effect of Byleth on the characters. But as you play through white clouds you can't change what happens to other characters which will result in a brand new scenario. Byleth's presence can never stop Dimitri from going blood mad, Byleth's presence can't stop Claude from discovering the Immaculate One research, and Byleths presence can't stop Edelgard from declaring war. And that is a good thing for this type of on rails route story. Byleth while a player insert who can help their lord in the future, right now everyone is on a path that Byleth can only lightly change. With the characters acting independently of what Byleth and the player desire. And the post time skip Fodlan is a sign of that. Its Five Years without Byleth. This is what these characters would do, that they were always capable of doing and that is why Byleth's return and effect on them is important. This also gives us the ability to observe what a lord is like now after the war, and Byleth's effect on them but also see what a character could be like without that Byleth effect on them. Without Byleth Dimitri stays mad, without Byleth Claude always flees Fodlan, without Byeth Edelgard... well lets put a pin in that.

The only other true choice the player can make beyond the initial one is the side with Edelgard or Rhea which radically alters her. Which honestly feels kinda defeating in a game that has locked Byleth so much on a path and the one time it can deviate actively alters everything. It just feels very hollow as there are parts that make you realize how great the effect Byleth could have on people's lives could be if the game actively wanted to integrate choice with the plot. But it didn't. It wants to make one early choice then lock you in that route for several chapters then remove Byleth and then have their return effect real change on the future of Fodlan. Except for this one route. Its why Crimson Flower feels so much like an asterisk compared to the other route. And I don't just mean the lack of chapters, but this feels like a route that can only exist because it was the one that the developers bothered to create something overly deviating from everything else.

Which brings us to Edelgard's role in Crimson Flower as a whole. Now lets just get this out of the way. Im not going to be talking at all on the morality/realistic implications of what Edelgard is doing. I feel like the "Is she a fascist/authoritarian" conversation is not really helpful to talking about FE3H as a work of narrative and mostly exists to create a bunch of petty beef. This is also not going to be a deconstruction of ever minute detail of Edelgard as a character. This is an examination of her as a character in the narrative that we are presented. This will also involve comparison's to Edelgard and other series lords and I want it to be known that this is not a talking down to the only female lord in the game as being something "lesser" than her male contemporaries. I believe there is genuinely sexism when discussing Edelgard as a character, so I want to say that I am approaching Crimson Flower and Three Houses as a whole in a good conscious that there is not a "right route." That this is a game that where all choices have their pros and their cons. Because that's why we like this entry, right? That 3H would provide us some genuinely complex lords who were all capable of doing great and terrible things regardless of gender?

That's why I had such a long winded discussion about why the change in the post time skip Fodlan is so important both for narrative consistency, but also just generally keeping with the tone, but also it reinforced that Fodlan and its lords while all righteous in their own way can be dangers in their own way. Well that's when I return to the pin about Edelgard. So first I want to go through how the lords are characterized in non devoted routes.

Dimitri in non AZ routes is portrayed as someone so damaged by loss that his who response is to avenge and fight. To never stop making those pay for the damage it has brought on his kingdom as well as any lives lost during the tragedies in places like Duscar and Remire.

Claude in non VW routes is portrayed as a brilliant individual with a lot of charm but seems to be hiding something from everyone. He's a lot smarter than one could assume and that he has some mysterious tie to the kingdom of Almyra that he departs after leaving his land to the stronger kingdom that has come so far, be it Dimitri or Edelgard or the Church.

Edelgard in non CF routes is portrayed as a conspirator to overthrow not only the church but all rule in Fodlan as she believes the Crest based system is flawed and that the only way to enact systemic change is through a single rule. And while she is aware her ideals have costs, she believes that those costs are worth it when weighed against perpetuity of the crest system.

Now I want to talk about what happens to those lords as you play them in their routes.

Dimitri in AZ is portrayed as someone burdened by loss and his quest for vengeance has led to a neglect for his own health and his own actions. That his kill everyone attitude will perpetuate more loss of those he loves and that he needs to learn to rely upon others. That is his true responsibility as king.

Claude in VW is portrayed as an individual who is outside of Fodlan's system who has observed it more as a third party and believes it can be a great place if people work through diplomatically. He too is not a fan of inequality and racism and wishes to make a Fodlan that is more accepting and able to work through negotiation. While he still leaves Fodlan at the end, this time he has been able to implement real systemic change and make one that is sustainable beyond that of a ruler.

In CF we find out that Edelgard is a traumatized girl who was experimented on for the purposes of Crest Research. This makes her a conspirator to overthrow not only the church but all rule in Fodlan as she believes the Crest based system is flawed and that the only way to enact systemic change is through a single rule. And while she is aware her ideals have costs, she believes that those costs are worth it when weighed against perpetuity of the crest system.

Hey wait a minute, that's the same?

So this is where I get to the most glaring flaw for me in this case of narrative and why I think altering the post time skip so much did a lot of damage. Edelgard is a good character and a fascinating one, but in the practice of her narrative, her character journey in her own route isn't like the other lords. Rather she is "right" from the start of the time skip and with the world altering in ways to justify why she is that way.

Now look, I know right now someone could be saying I can't read, that its clearly stated in the text that Edelgard says without Byleth she may have turned into a complete monster to see her goals through to the end. This is referring to how in non CF routes she is on the backfoot getting beaten back and forced to take more drastic measures as whoever Byleth comes closer to ending her ideals. Unlike Dimitri or Claude there's not really a psychological arc she is working through with her sociological arc. Dimitri's arc is almost entirely hinged on him as a character changing in his route. And while Claude the character is also mostly the same, you get an understanding of how his continued participation in Fodlan's politics is so important as he effects sociological change. Claude also does the less stuff that could be considered questionable in Fodlan. He neither initiates the war nor does he intimate greater conflict that is tied into a character arc like Dimitri. Claude action's through the war are mostly to keep the Alliance fighting against each other with avoids giving one side a greater advantage. The truth is Claude real "flaw" is that by being an Almyra he is from a race outside of Fodlan that is inherently untrustworthy in society so his continued prescience in his expanded campaign is done with changing that mentality.

Now one could look at everything I said about Claude and say "well isn't that Edelgard though? She's not the one who needs to change but rather society needs to and this is you making it a fruition?" And I would agree however, then why did post time skip need to change and not Edelgard? So going back to the altered Fodlan, the Fodlan post time skip we see in non CF routes has what can be argued Edelgard's biggest moment of political conquest, making an alliance with Cornelia inside of Faerghus using her authority and influence to expand and bring over a chunk of the kingdom underneath Edelgard's wing. And this makes sense with what has been proposed before us-Edelgard had released a manifesto to lords that would side with her and become her allies in the war to come. This act of subversion is something that benefits her goals for conquering all of Fodlan. However, this is one of the key alterations in CF's time skip. Faerghus is not broken in half, with Edelgard having not empowered Cornelia over the five years. In fact, you do battle with Cornelia with her as a kingdom general.

So if Edelgard isn't a character who is subject to change, why did the world change? Well there is speculation in universe that perhaps Rhea fleeing to Faerghus didn't give her the ability. But I do believe the most likely reason is that narratively the writers of 3H wanted to avoid a scenario where while Byleth was gone Edlegard may have empowered and individual like Cornelia. One of the most objectively evil characters in the game. Now I won't go into to detail if I believe Edelgard knew Cornelia was a TWSITD or not, but as it is presented to us, she seems unaware. Instead I'll focus on the primary point is where they don't want to discuss that while in her route Edelgard was capable of doing something that would potentially cast her in such a negative light. After all, the point of her campaign is the while the bloodshed is worth it to make a new Fodlan free of crests, she's willing to show lenency to those who bend the knee. Again, an action not unreasonable for her character. However, I feel like this not happening in CF genuinely robs us from exploring the flaws of Edelgard's path/showing us what Byleth's effect on her truly is.

This is compounded by my issues with how CF is the only route in which you have an active choice beyond class. That by choosing to side with Edelgard when given the option in the tomb would result in this much radical history alteration. But also all of Byleth's effect on her not being as much conqueror over the last 5 years was all done pre time skip. That all that change was done at that moment rather than being something that prompted her to return to Garreg Mach where they'd remeet Byleth and then that would get them to claim it as a base of oppositions in their future war. In CF, Garreg Mach is already claimed rather than the formation of the Dukedom with no real progress. So it makes it seem as though Byleth's real effect on altering this lord's path was always possible in the short time they knew them before disappearing over five years. Of course this is again a bit miffling given that CF is the only route this is a possibility. We can't Change how Dimitri will act in the pre time skip. That he will make choices without Byleth even if they feel urged to remeet at Garreg Mach. But in the case of CF, Edelgard has apparently been changed despite the only real difference in white clouds fighting beside her in the tomb and against the church pre timeskip. But that has sociologically altered so much of Fodlan.

And maybe you genuinely believe that one extra change is enough. Perhaps that one extra choice is enough justification for such a radically new scenario. For me personally, I find that unsatisfying and feels more like the writers traded in a level of consistency for this new scenario that greater justified being on the side of someone who is portrayed as a more active antagonistic force in other routes (Reminder this not me saying the Empire route is an antagonist route. All routes are antagonistic relative to which side you are on).

This is where we get my first what I would've done to make it more narratively satisfying for me. Keep the same post time skip Fodlan as the other routes. Keep Edelgard having brokered a deal with Cornelia to establish the Dukedom and have Byleth find out about it. Be some that either Byleth or another character close to Edelgard questions the extremity of. Then have Cornelia do something evil like she's experimenting on people for TWSITD or maybe she's just abusing the power. Then have Edelgard clean it up. Have Edelgard realize that while she still wants to make her dream of a crestless Fodlan a reality she can't just back lords or nobles that are willing to go along with her for more power. She can still keep the Dukedom territory, but instead she'd be now more understanding what it means for there to be a ruler with a noble soul. So she continues her campaign of conquest but has realized that if she's going to be emperor, she can't just empower people arbitrarily.

In my opinion this not only would tie together some more TWSITD plot while also paralleling it to Edelgard's past and how there was no authority figure to step in and help her all those years ago. But now she is that authority figure. And while it doesn't call her method in question and like Dimitri and Claude she can continue her expanded influence over Fodlan, but now we actively see that Byleth has helped show her that her allies aren't just those pledging loyalty, she actually needs to empower those who are good. She gets to have her fight with Cornelia level and this won't stop her from killing Dimitri in the future.

Like I said, this is what I'd do. And in my opinion it would give Byleth's presence in CF more purpose beyond the bond with Edelgard is nice and fun. But also stay consistent with each route. Showing that there are flaws in Edelgard's sociological plan, but not undercutting what her actual goal is. You can still believe her quest is just and the only right one with her taking an active role in not making the mistakes she perceives Rhea as doing.

And if you are still with me up to my third point, lets talk about Rhea.

So Rhea as a character can best be described as a neutral evil throughout White Clouds. She doesn't really do anything but there is a lot of ominous foreshowing and presentation that Rhea may be up to something or at the very least complicit with many of her policies and tendencies. And when I say "evil" I don't mean she's bad (please don't skewer me Rhea fans). I mean that if the crest system is flawed and the church is emblematic of the systems maintenance of that flawed system. Then Rhea as the face/founder/head of that church bares some responsibility even if all she does is passive.

In all other routes, Rhea is captured by the Empire. Imprisoned in their capital. Anytime she is seen after she is characterized as somewhat docile or defeated, having been imprisoned for so long. VW goes a step farther to reveal what she did as Seiros and all of her actions leading to this point presumably all thanks to be imprisoned and rethinking her life over. CF is the only one Rhea is allowed to be an active player, she is now portrayed a ranting self righteous warrior priest who swears vengeance upon Byleth for being the reincarnation of her mother but not being a proper vessel as she intended and fighting against her. Naturally, if Byleth being the potential for the reincarnation of Sothis siding against her is what her drives her mad, that is believable, however much like the altered Fodlan Rhea in this version is not captured. This is now for Rhea to serve as Edelgard's true climatic opponent. With her symbolically killing the representation of the church and the power of crests being slain by Byleth and Edelgard. Its very poetic. But once again we reach my issue of the time skip altering so much in CF.

As stated before, Rhea was presented as a neutral evil, in doing so she's not really a direct antagonist in any route. Except of course Silver Snow. Where she is deployed as a weapon against Byleth. In this case killing the immaculate one symbolically is cleansing the church of Rhea and allowing it to pass into the hands of the new archbishop. However, Rhea in that fight is under control. Rather than be conscious as an opponent, they make her more of a beast without choice. Thus making this less a flawed character meeting their end and rather a forced confrontation by the evil cult of evil. Now Rhea I think being kept a neutral party was ultimately a good choice. We are given enough about her to understand she has done things questionable and should possibly not hold the authority she has. But she also has not instigated any open any hostility. As such Rhea is more a symbolic player. By making her an active player, CF has to make Rhea more domino and more a threat. She can't portray constant neutrality in a war. But by making her the active antagonist, it makes her less of a symbol and more if just a rotten character who Edelgard is justified in wanting dead. And much like Cornelia and the Dukedom, this alteration comes off as an attempt by the writers to never truly challenge Edelgard's plans for Fodlan. That Edelgard has no flaws in her plan and the bloodshed is beyond justified more than just philosophically. Had Edelgard captured Rhea in CF this would lead to some genuinely uncomfortable questions of keeping her a prisoner. And to 3H's credit they were actually willing to make the player uncomfortable already in Dimitri's route showing him as a mass murderer. Once again, I want to express this isn't me saying Edelgard's quest or goals are wrong and the plot should undermine it. This is me saying that for a game that wants to genuinely have nuanced and uncomfortable political choices made by their character, this is the route where they opt to alter the scenario so that Edelgard is the most justified and does less things that one could find objectionable. Flattening a lot of interesting implications this would raise and what Byleth as a force in this route could possibly able to influence.

Now one could again say, well the reason Rhea wasn't captured because Edelgard didn't use crest beasts this time. Edelgard not using crest beasts is a sign Byleth is changing her and thus that greatly alters the future. Once again, I can see that as understandable justification, but again, my issue off only ever being able to effect this lord pre time skip comes in again. If it was possible to get Edelgard to not use crest beasts, then how come it wasn't possible for me to get Claude to have Almyra support? How come I couldn't stop Dimitri before the war? The answer is again as a game the only other narrative choice that could possibly alter the story happens in CF which is the side with Edelgard in tombs choice. And while I'm not against the idea of angry pope Rhea, but I feel making her CF's full on antagonist was almost making a straw man antagonist for your opposition.

As an aside we also know Arundel is still on Edelgard's side and he is Thales so while she might not know his entire deal, I hesitate to imagine he'd stop using crest beasts in the war over the two years Byleth was gone.

If I was going to once again alter CF to be something I would personally find more satisfying. Have Rhea captured and then have Arundel use the same rage stuff he uses on her Silver Snow. This way you can facilitate an Edelgard vs TWSITD conflict AND you still get your symbolic victory of Edelgard and Byleth killing the symbol of the crests and church. Again, Edelgard is able to do what she wanted to originally, but now we are also confronted with the role TWSITD did play in her life and allowing her to rectify it as well as truly killing the old world by getting rid of Rhea and Thales.

And final point TWSITD. TWSITD are bad. They've always been bad. And they genuinely damage the overall story of CF because this is beyond just a narrative choice, its very clear CF as a story wasn't complete. I feel confident in saying that given the numerous chapters missing compared to the other routes, but also the epilogue needs to say "Oh yeah there was totally a bunch of war against them. Totally." I know this point is probably the least controversial when talking about CF, but I still think its a glaring flaw.

So what's the tl;dr?

This is not an "I hate Crimson Flower or Edelgard post" I genuinely have no interest in debating people about characters that like or enjoy. Nor did I want to turn this into a moral argument about the implication CF. I feel like these topics do real damage to any real criticisms one can have for CF as a narrative.

Which for me, CF as a route fails to really mesh with the rest of 3H as a whole. It feels like it takes a lot of narrative ways out to avoid potentially making their lord seem objectionable, despite much of this game wanting to be about how tragically flawed everyone is. Im not saying Edelgard needed a come to Jesus moment of "Are we the bad guys?" No absolutely not. In my opinion we just lack seeing Edelgard change the same way post time skip as others have due to creating an entirely brand new setting that keeping her as a mostly the same character is not questionable. Nor does she have to do anything that could truly be seen as flawed. Things that Byleth's influence may overcome.

Edelgard is a good character and her goals are understandable. I just personally find the narrative bending to accommodate her in ways so different from the other time skips genuinely make it a weaker narrative for me.

If you enjoy CF as it it. More power to you. Please keep loving CF. This isn't supposed to be a dissuading post. This is merely me as one guy who likes a lot of FE because of the stories it can tell sharing why he personally didn't enjoy this one. Maybe I helped put it words for some who might feel similar. But this is just my opinion

If you have something you'd like to add or reply in the replies or tags please flee free, but for the love god, please be cordial about it. There is so much toxicity and disingenuous takes around Fire Emblem Crimson Flower and Edelgard and Rhea in general, that I would like for us to please be able to talk about this in good faith.

[sanctuary1988]

~ A Flower For A Flower |6| Gwi

French: /the petals of love/

Pairing: Gwi x fem! noble! Reader

Summary: A heartless vampire falls in love for the first time in centuries of loneliness. Passion, secrets, betrayal and love drown the royal palace. Will your love for Gwi prevail through time or will it wither away like a fallen rose petal? Maybe love was his punishment, maybe love was your salvation. Or wasn't it a curse to you both? Because, who can beat a race against time? Who can love in the dark? Who can love without truth? After all, even the most beautiful flower will wither away and end in ashes of time, remembered only by the one who cherished her the most.

Warnings: strangers to lovers?, fluff, angst, SO MUCH TENSION, I CAN'T-, creepy man tries to hurt flower, language, food ingestion, blood, minor injury, general vampire stuff, power play, secrets, criticism, period typical misogyny, age gap (huge), dark romance, historical! AU, royal! AU?, cannon copilant, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 4.2k words

A/N: Hi, everyone! So thanks to @yumisventingmachine and @my-day6 and their lovely comments I got inspired and chapter 6 is early for you, darlings of mine!

Please let me know what you think in the comments! I'd love to hear from you, loves 🫶🫶🫶

You were getting ready in your room. The candles around you flickered softly as you brushed your hair, pinning two strands to the back of your head with golden pins. Tonight you were to have dinner at the royal palace. Gwi told you to accompany him and honestly, you didn’t know why he desired your company that much, especially at an event that was exclusive for high officers and the royal council. 

With delicate motions you straightened out the outer skirt of your dress. It was white with a single layer of red fabric on it that matched the bodice. A simple black ornament dangled from your waist and even though you chose a non-traditional hairstyle, you felt beautiful in your dress. In your own skin. 

Gwi had told you to wear red. You had obeyed. You were there to obey his every command. His every request. His every wish. You softly bit into an inked paper with red tint to paint your lips in a crimson shade that matched your beautiful dress. And just as you were satisfied with your look, you saw the vampire lord enter your bedroom through the mirror. 

With slow steps he approached you, his hands were behind his back while his eyes took in your beauty. That same beauty that had captivated his mind the first time he saw you. That beauty that had poisoned his dark heart with a beam of light. 

Your eyes met his through the mirror, (e/c) danced with a crimson sea as you looked at him. Eyes stoic, not revealing another emotion other than the mesmerising feeling that gripped his heart a bit too tight. 

You swallowed as he stood behind you, his tall frame towering over you as he looked at you with his scrutinising gaze that was enough to make you shiver. Gwi also wore red, a beautiful red gown with a black outer robe that trailed behind him with every step he took. 

“I’ve been mesmerised by your beauty since the moment we met. And yet you always manage to look more enchanting before my eyes with each new glance, sweet flower.”

A subtle blush dusted your cheeks, illuminated by the candles in the room that was now your home. You lowered your gaze, suppressing the smile that threatened to spread across your lips at his confession. For you, as well, had been mesmerised by him since your eyes locked with his. 

“I have something for you.”

His words made you look at him once more through the mirror, curiosity swarmed in your eyes as you watched him untangle his hands from behind his back only for you to see a beautiful hairpin in his hold. It was brown with delicate red flowers on it and two tear pearls hung from a small silver chain that sparkled in the dimly lit room. 

Your lips parted at the beauty of the jewel he was gifting you.You were no stranger to luxury, your life had always been filled with jewels and precious things with great value but this gift, even though it was as elegant and equally luxurious as your other hairpins held something special within. Something unique. 

“A flower for my flower.”

He murmured as his fingers grabbed a piece of your hair. Gwi marvelled at the softness of your hair, silky in its nature, shiny in its complexity. It almost felt sinful to touch it like this, with such intimacy, with such delicacy. You watched in contemplation, in admiration to the man who kept you close to him as he twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers before he tangled it in the hairpin that was now yours. 

“It’s beautiful.”

Your words were whispered into the air. Said almost too quietly, afraid to break the sudden intimacy you were dancing in with the mysterious lord that had you under his power while your eyes shimmered with unspoken emotions that hung in the air. 

His hands rested on your shoulders, the sweet perfume of your hair invaded his senses and Gwi realised in that moment just how close he was standing to you. He looked at the mirror in front of you only to find your eyes were already looking at him. 

“I’m glad you like it. I bought it for you.”

And there it was. That innocent smile he adored so much danced once more over your lips. His hands slid down your arms and you felt a shiver run down your spine, you could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“You are truly the most beautiful flower in my garden, petal of mine.”

Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest that you were scared for a second he could hear it. You were too cold and too hot at the same time. Too close and too far. With a bold move, you turned around now being face to face with Gwi. His hands left your shoulders and tangled once more behind his back as he looked down at you. 

The tension in the room was palpable, nearly suffocating but neither of you dared to move. To break such tension that strangled you with a vice grip. That clutched at his heart with poisoned claws. 

“Thank you, My Lord.”

His eyes, dark as the night with a tinge of crimson, softened at your words. Simple but sincere. You were looking up at him with a delicate gaze that was melting the ice in his heart. Something stirred within him at the sweetness of your gaze alone. His hands clenched behind his back, desiring to touch your hair once more. It almost felt as if you had casted a spell over him, enchanting him with something he couldn’t quite see.

“We’ll leave in a bit.”

That voice of his made you tremble as he spoke so deliciously. You nodded and bowed ever so softly at him, the light from one of the candles around you was caught in the hairpin that now decorated your hair and he felt a sense of possessiveness come over him. So Gwi turned around and left in silence, leaving you with a racing heart and mixed thoughts while he was no different as his own dead heart beated for a blossoming flower. 

Gwi walked next to you through the palace gardens bathed in the moon’s silver light. You weren’t entirely sure why such a big event was being held at the palace, not that it was your concern either way but being in this moment, with Gwi by your side made you feel special. Made you feel at his level. As his equal. As his partner. Even when he hadn’t verbally expressed it, why would he want you to accompany him? 

He couldn’t help but steal glances at you from time to time. You were simply too beautiful to not admire. He delighted in your grace and beauty, in your company and how you were, too, fluent in the silence he seemed to navigate all these years he had lived in solitude. 

He gave you your place as his lady when you both entered the palace. You walked at his right with your hands clasped in front of yours. Despite you walking next to him, you suddenly felt left out from his presence. As if he had casted a wall around himself and kept you out of reach. It pained you. It hurt because you didn’t understand him. Gwi was a mysterious man that had suddenly entered your life like lightning striking the skies. He had made his way into your life in such a mysterious way you still had to grasp this new way you had of living. This new man that was now your lord and protector and this new life that entitled you to serve him for eternity. 

As you walked through the palace corridors, you felt a tension rising within the servants as they saw him walk through the candle-lit hallways. Gwi was someone who commanded power, he was strikingly beautiful but also as mysterious as the night itself. 

The people around you bowed with stiff movements as you both walked down the path that led to the main room where the grand event was to be held. Yet the sight of the servants and maids nearly trembling under his presence did not settle well with you. 

But nothing could have prepared you for when you entered the Grand Hall. Important people, nobles and members of the royal council were in that room. Even the king of Goryeo himself was in that very same place and it was when you realised you weren’t just anywhere but in the presence of the man who ruled over your world. 

You witnessed how everyone stood up from their seats, and just as you were about to bow down to His Majesty, Gwi’s large hand stopped your movements so abruptly you had to swallow the gasp that nearly escaped your lips. 

He denied you to bow down to the man who sat at the throne. Your heart quickened in your chest at what he had forbidden you to do. Because whoever dared to disrespect the king was to be executed. However, in that exact moment in that very same room, who exactly held the most power was unclear to you. 

In silence he guided you to a table that was in front of the throne itself. He sat down, pulling you with him as you landed on the soft cushion on the ground. 

“You may continue.”

Gwi spoke. His voice cold and detached as his hand left yours only to grab the drink that was already poured for him. He took a sip while his eyes roamed around the Grand Hall. He nearly smirked at the confusion of the noble men as they stared at him with wide eyes. The council members, however, knew about who he was. They knew about his power. They knew who was the true king of Goryeo and they bowed in silence at the vampire lord that brought a flower with him for the night. 

You still couldn’t believe what was happening. Your stomach rumbled softly and you could have sweared Gwi let out a soft chuckle before he leaned towards you and your heart quickened softly at his closeness. 

“Eat as you please, flower of mine.”

His murmured words made you look at him with doubt in your usually warm gaze. As if asking him if it was alright, he nodded at you with a subtle movement. You grabbed one of the cups and took a sip, enjoying the delicate taste of the warm tea and it was until some tense seconds later that the men around you continued with their meal as well. 

“My Lord,”

You knew that voice. It was the one of the Chief Councillor. It was the voice of your father. Gwi noticed how you tensed immediately and he wanted nothing more than to pull you close and let you know you were safe while being with him.

“You have honoured us with your presence tonight.”

Gwi nodded, not being in the mood to chat with the bitter old man. Instead, he focused on you. Watching with a warm gaze how you enjoyed the meal displayed in front of you. 

“Why is she here?”

A whisper that sounded like an echo. Gwi heard it all. His instincts and enhanced senses allowed him to never be fooled by the humans he ruled over. He looked at the man sitting next to your father. Maybe you didn’t recognise him but he surely did. He was Kang Ju Won, your former fiance before he had broken the engagement in exchange for your life. A life for a life. 

Tension filled the room as what was originally intended to be a whisper was heard all over the place. You swallowed and looked at Gwi whose gaze was narrowed toward the man who had insulted his judgement and your stance by his side. 

“Lady (y/n) is here as my guest and her presence is not up for questioning.”

You nearly flinched at the harsh tone with which he spoke. Gwi’s posture tensed as he watched the man clear his throat. The vampire was challenging him, daring him to do or say another word so that he could have the excuse to dismiss him from his council. But Ju Won was smarter than that for he bit his tongue and stayed quiet, not even your father dared to utter a word. 

The meal continued though with a layer of tension on it. You lost your appetite upon witnessing that side of the man who had you under his power that you had never seen before in these few months you have been at his service. 

“My Lord,”

Your voice brought him out of his turmoil and you saw the way his eyes softened when he looked down at you. 

“Can we go back to our palace?”

Uneasiness drowned your gaze as you looked at him with a subtle expectation that he’d comply with your wish. You had done as he had asked you to, but the evening was not enjoyable anymore. You wanted nothing more than to go back to the underground palace and rest in your beautiful bedroom with the large cherry blossom tree as the aroma filled your senses. He looked you in the eyes before he gazed softly at your mouth as you nibbled on your bottom lip. 

There was something that stirred within him when you spoke of the underground palace he had spent decades living in. You had called it “our palace”, not “his”; “our”. And the fact that you saw his home as your sanctuary from the world as well, warmed his cold heart. 

He didn’t utter a word, his hand simply found home around yours before he stood up, pulling you with him, and the subtle conversation died down. Gwi did not speak, he simply walked out of the room hand-in-hand with you. The stares of the people around you felt like arrows, but Gwi was your armour. You felt protected while in his presence, you felt safe. And you softly squeezed his large hand as you both left the Grand Hall and ventured out of the royal palace, leaving the tension behind as the night embraced you both with its large wings of fresh autumn. 

“Lady (y/n)!”

You turned around when your name was spoken into the night. Despite your wishes to go back to the underground palace, you had stopped Gwi near the roses and asked him if you could pick some fresh flowers. He didn’t deny you. And that was why you found yourself cradling a bouquet of red roses as you turned around to the voice that had addressed you. 

Kang Ju Won had followed you and Gwi after you both had left the event. With a polite smile you acknowledge the older man that now stood in front of you. 

“Minister Kang.”

Gwi was admiring you from a distance. His senses were clouded by your beauty as you bent down and picked flower and flower. Rose after rose. Just like that first time he had ever laid eyes over you. Just like when he was mesmerised by you. He heard the man approaching before he had called your name and he watched with attentive eyes as he seemed to engage in conversation with you. Something that did not set well with the vampire. 

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself, let alone at night.”

You frowned at what he said. Clutching the flowers tighter to your chest as you felt a sudden uneasiness wash over you. 

“Is that a threat? Because may I remind you, I am never alone.”

The man before you smirked down at you. You held your head high, not allowing him to notice just how small he made you feel. Where’s he? You asked yourself, wishing that Gwi was by your side now more than ever. 

“Is that so?”

You took a step back on instinct. Wanting to put as much distance between you and the man who was now a threat to you. 

“I am not scared of you. Whatever happened that made you so unhappy, deal it with my father.”

But he simply laughed. 

“Come with me. You belong to me either way.”

He attempted to grab your arm but you took another step back. Fear clearly painted your beautiful features but before he was able to do something else that would endanger you further, Gwi stepped between you both. His hand clutched the wrist of Ju Won in a tight grip that made the old man grunt in discomfort. 

“Enough! I’ll deal with you later”

He snared. Pushing him away while shielding you with his body. Gwi turned to look at you, his eyes roaming your figure, needing to reassure himself that you were alright. When he looked back, he saw Ju Won hurriedly walking back to the royal palace. 

“Fucking bastard.”

Gwi muttered under his breath, clenching his fists with the urge to suck the life out of the man who frightened you. 

“Thank you.”

He turned to look at you as those words left your lips in a breathless whisper, carrying by the cool wind of the night. His eyes softened when he gazed down at you, something clutched at his heart fiercely with a sudden need to protect you. His flower. His perfect petal of forbidden desire. 

“Are you alright?”

You could only nod, still feeling your heart in your throat. You pushed the thoughts away of what would have happened if Gwi hadn’t been there for you, instead you focused on the soft crimson that bathed his intense eyes. You swallowed, taking a deep breath as you looked down at the flowers in your hands, they were so beautiful, as beautiful as the evening you had experienced with your lord but that beauty had been shadowed by storms you weren’t able to see beforehand. 

“Petal,”

His fingers lifted your chin ever so delicately, as if you were a glass doll and he was afraid of breaking you. The words stuck in his throat for a second. Just a second. A moment in time where he lost himself in your eyes. Where he marvelled at the softness of your skin at his fingertips and when your eyes, filled with emotions he wasn’t quick enough to grasp, met his own. 

“you will never have to endure something like that again, I promise you. I will protect you even though I know your thorns are sharp and could poison a man’s heart.”

You have already poisoned mine, sweet flower.

But he refrained from saying that last sentence out loud. He refrained from cradling your cheek in his palm. He refrained from letting you in further into his heart. However, you smiled. And that smile melted the wall of ice he so fiercely wanted to put around his heart and protect you from the pain that would come if you were to love him just as he wished you’d do. 

“I know, My Lord. I know.”

His eyes flickered to your lips for a split second. A second too long. A second too short. Tension rose between you both at the closeness to which you two stood. To the intimacy of the glances shared in the moonlight. 

“Let’s go back, then.”

Before you could agree, his hand left your chin and grabbed one of your hands. Gwi walked you back to the underground palace, your hand in his. He held it in a firm yet still gentle grip, as if trying to reassure himself you were there with him in the midst of the night. You were save while standing next to him, it was something you know understood and cherished deeply. And so, as you looked up at him for a moment, you took in the sharpness of his features but the delicacy in his gaze when it came to you and that made your heart flutter, just as a single rose escaped your hold and landed on the ground. 

Leaving behind another layer of ice into his heart, a petal fell from your soul. Prompting him to discover your heart engulfed in sweet petals. 

“Go back to your room, flower. You look tired.”

Gwi spoke, his voice soft. His hand let go of yours and you felt the instant coldness in your palm. You nodded, looking up at him with so many thoughts swirling in your mind, drowning your eyes. There were things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask. But he took a deep breath, his eyes left your as he glanced down at the flowers in your hands as you clutched them to your chest. 

“Put those in water, petal, so that they don’t dry out that quickly.”

You smiled at his murmured words. 

“I will, My Lord. Goodnight.”

You turned around from him, walking down the hallway that led to your bedroom in the magnificent underground palace. 

“Goodnight, sweet flower.”

Gwi said to himself, watching you walk away from him. The sight itself was painful to watch. It almost felt as if you were walking away from his life, leaving him behind just when his dead heart was starting to beat again. But then you turned, smiling softly at the man who had saved you in more ways than just an arranged marriage. He saved your life, your spirit, your future. Your heart. 

It was small but it was there, the smile you sent him. Filled with utter gratitude before you bowed softly and continued on your way back to your room. Not having the slightest idea of the turmoil you had eased within his heart with that sweet smile of yours that was starting to get engraved in his mind, like roots from a rose sinking into the earth below. Never to be forgotten. 

Never to die. 

When you entered your room, the first thing you did was put the roses on a vase, filling it with fresh water as they rested beautifully. A sigh left your lips as you contemplated the enchanting flowers before you. Thoughts of Gwi invaded your mind, his eyes, his hand holding yours, his voice softening as he spoke to you. You thought about him and couldn’t stop your mind from doing it. 

Your mind was clouded by his presence, your heart was confused at what you were currently living. So you sighed to yourself and walked to the mirror, your hand went up into your hair to take off the hairpin he had gifted you only for you to hiss softly when your fingers brushed with it. 

You brought your hand back only to discover a small bleeding wound on your finger, probably because of the roses’ thorns. The sight of crimson on your skin made something twist within you. A knowledge. A truth. A desire. A need. And the never-ending tale of a beating heart for another soul. You sucked on the wound, the soft taste of iron coated your tongue. It was subtle but it was there. Your eyes met your own through the mirror, feeling a storm of emotions rack within you, all thanks to the handsome vampire lord who was as confused as you were. 

Gwi had stood in the hallway, watching you go but this time with a lighter heart to carry. He turned around, walking to his throne before he sat down. The flickering candle around him sharpened his features, accentuating his beauty among the night. He looked down at the hand that had held yours and his eyes turned crimson as he spotted a drop of blood on his skin. Your blood. 

The temptation was there. To taste it. To savour it. But he knew the dangers of it. He feared he wouldn’t be able to stop. He feared he would hurt you. Yet the blood was too tempting. The fact that he had it at his reach, literally at his palm and tasted that sweet scent of yours that drove him mad was enough for him to lick the blood from his palm. 

The taste was heavenly to him. Sweet in its nature. Just like you. Was it because you were not scared of him? Was it because you didn’t know the truth about him and what he was? Maybe fear poisoned the blood. Gwi had never tasted something as delicious as your blood, and he had to clench his fist in order to control himself. 

If that drop was the only thing he’d get from you, that was fine with him. He closed his eyes, marvelling on the taste, feeling his instincts trying to get a hold of his mind. Of his body. But his heart, for once, was stronger. He remembered your smile, your laugh, your touch. 

He wasn’t going to harm you. Not his flower. Not his lady. Never you. 

So there he sat, fighting over heart and mind as he tasted your sweet blood. Sweeter than honey. The both of you completely oblivious to the fact you both had acted at the same time, sucking on the blood that was yours. Only to connect in a deeper sense through fate. 

A flower for a flower. 

A punishment for the sinner. 

And a taste of heaven that painted everything grey.

May/06/2024

A/N: How are we feeling about this? O.O

Are we excited? What would you like to see next, darling? My inbox is open 🫶

~ Masterpost

[zeenmrala]

The Ladies Nienna and Ayane

this beautiful piece was created by @kimageddon, commissioned by @stardustbee for my birthday and it has to be one of the most special and gorgeous pieces i have ever received!!! it was inspired by a fic i wrote for bee about the friendship our OCs have between universes, the second time they meet. nienna (left) is my oc who is also the reader character from my fanfiction by the light of the second moon and ayane (right) is bee's oc from her fic the dance of sun and moon. this piece is part two, part one was a gift from bee last year which you can find here here. i'll post the new fic below just in case any friends are interested. love you, thank you so very much!!!!!!!1

The lady Nienna sits alone in her gardens, on the edge of a shallow pond, beneath the branches of draping swaying trees. It is a fragrant dusk evening on Naboo, and the growing summer breeze licks at her skin, her lower arms exposed from her sweeping green gown. 

She is sketching privately in a little book, a habit from her youth that she was never able to forsake. Her drawings are much more profound than they were when she was a young woman, her skills and precision having improved over the years during her career as a portrait artist and art-critic. What has stayed the same however, is her muse. Her lover from her days as a young adult, and once again now, as a grown woman of thirty-five: the renegade Sith Lord Maul. Her reacquaintance with him did not go as smoothly as their first meeting all those years ago did, with petty squabbles and resentment and unspoken words muddying the waters of their reunion. But in the last year they have comfortably settled into a relaxed yet unusual dynamic. She cannot call it a relationship, no - he is much too damaged and maddened and chaotic for such a thing. However, whatever it is that they have now, it suits them well enough. 

Nienna assesses her work, the sketch is of her lover from their meeting a couple of days ago. He had paid her a surprise visit, handsomely stylish in new robes and a pendant around his neck, an emblem of a rising sun that signifies his underworld criminal venture, Crimson Dawn. She thinks that his new aesthetic suits him now that his frame has grown larger with age, power and wealth. The dark tunic and gold regalia fits the powerful vision of him impeccably. His durasteel legs gleam in the same way that his brushed chromium weapon does, the hilt of the thing bold and dangerous: he carries it constantly at his hip like another cybernetic limb. She hums softly as she looks over her rendition of this strange man that is inexplicably tangled up in her life, feelings of an even stranger love tugging at her heart. She thinks over all that they have been through together, all that they have faced alone. How they have found one another again. 

She notices a change in the air, then. A hazy sweeping density that plunges her into a soft weightlessness. She blinks rapidly, dropping her sketchpad to the plush grass as she stands. It is a unique dreaminess that she has felt before, in a life long ago, but cannot seem to place. She spins around, searching between the trees and exotic flower-beds as she senses that she is being observed. The forest before her morphs, the rich greens and browns of leaves and soil twisting into deep reds and hazy ochres of a rocky landscape. Before she can register the ominous curiousness of her current predicament, a silhouette emerges from the blur, the definition of the figure slowly morphing into full clarity. It is a vivid and feminine shape, tall and striding with purpose. 

A woman that is heavy with child.

She is wearing a black dress with silver detailing at the waist and the dark fabric flows around her exquisitely as she walks, her thin hand resting protectively on her large belly. Her pale shoulders are exposed, but the reddish light of the strange scene warms the tundra of her skin. A choker of gleaming metal adorns her throat, the necklace engraved with the emblem of a raven, bold and solid. She has dark inky hair that is swept neatly from her face, half is up, braided with a twisting delicacy at the back of her head, the rest of it straight and silky, falling shiny and rich down her back. 

Nienna becomes painfully aware of her own appearance, of her hair, which sits wild and bushy and curly around her head, her fingers stained with charcoal, her long dress, though custom-made, artisan and beautiful, has foliage and dirt littering the materials of her skirts from lounging in the grass all afternoon. Why must she always appear moonstruck and crazed, especially when facing strangers in the woods? It is a commonality of her whole life, her wild, earthy aesthetic always coinciding with strange meetings in the forest. She sighs, attempting to maintain her dignity and embrace her own rugged beauty in the face of the regal brilliance of the stranger's own. 

The woman stops when she is a few strides from Nienna, squints her eyes at her, as though trying to place her. Close up, she seems less ravishing and more…frightening. Ethereal wrath burns beneath her expression, the weight of experience roaring in her irises. Those eyes…

"It's you," says Nienna, recognition morphing her expression into awe, astonishment lacing her words. "Ayane. The friend from my dreams in girlhood." She tilts her head, takes in the image of the looming, elegant woman before her. "My, you've changed."

Her friend’s eyes are the same colour as she remembers, but where they were once the blue of open summer skies, they are now the iced rage of a stormy sea. Though she seems more mature and wise, there are no lines of age marking her skin. Those lines are around Nienna’s eyes though, the years of her life beginning to stain her complexion, the youth slowly being leached from her skin. Ayane looks frozen in time, yet vibrant with the wisdom of a lifetime. 

“Nienna,” greets Ayane, a soft smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. “It has been a while.”

“How are you here?” The shorter woman asks bluntly, her confusion overriding her politeness. She reaches forward into the red mist that has followed Ayane into her vergant gardens, wiggles her fingers in it. It's cold.

Ayane purses her lips, looks around her. “Curious, isn’t it?” Her palm circles her pregnant stomach as she wanders. A silence settles around them, both unsure of how to approach this odd reunion. A crater of years rests between them, a vast distance between universes, as well as the inherently perplexing nature of their meeting. Nienna has thirsted for knowledge since she was freed from her home planet, and has scoured the worlds in search of it. She is an intelligent and well read woman, the itch to learn and rid herself of that childish naivety she has always loathed in herself as necessary for her as breathing. She researched her dreams, her strange visions and the odd meeting she had with Ayane as a young woman, and has only discovered one potential connecting factor - The Force. It beguiles her, frightens her. Mystical and maddening, its clutches have haunted her for her entire life. Is it the cause of this meeting now, too?

Nienna watches Ayane closely, following her movement with wide, green eyes. Then the woman stops cold, and a wash of menace sluices down Nienna’s spine.

"What is this?" She asks sharply, danger rippling in her voice. Nienna follows her extended finger, which points to her sketchpad on the ground, its pages open to her newest sketch of Maul.

Nienna frowns, blinking. "My art," she answers defensively, not appreciating the sneering nature of Ayane's tone.

"Why are you drawing him?" There is confusion and accusation in her eyes as she glares at her. The grave shadow in her gaze starts to become literal, the whites of them darkening to black. Her anger burns her irises red, and her lips instinctively pull back, revealing sharp fangs. She all but hisses at her.

Nienna flinches. She is perplexed at her friend’s sudden wildness and grim transformation, at how she recognised her lover in the sketch. "You know him?"

“Know him?” spits Ayane violently, "He is my husband. The father of my children."

Husband? Nienna is dumbfounded, completely taken aback. “Impossible.”

Ayane looks down at her body, swollen with the very opposite of Nienna’s truth. “This babe will be our third.” When she looks back up again, her darkness has dissipated, her anger quelled by the reassurance of their unborn child. Her eyes are the familiar blue Nienna first recognised, her mouth and lips returned to normal. It is as though Nienna imagined it. 

Perhaps she did. 

Third. The word rings in her ears. Three children? How could he possibly reproduce? It is physically unfeasible. A fantasy. Nienna bends to the ground and picks up the book. 

“This sketch of him is an image from three days ago, Ayane. Look closer. At his lower half,” she insists, assuming this all to be some terrible mistake. 

The pregnant woman takes the sketchpad from Ni with gentle fingers. She straightens upright, then brings the drawing closer to her eyes. She looks over the subject of the drawing, making note of such a unique face, a face that definitely belongs to Maul. It is unmistakable, what with his casual expression of contempt, the imposing crown of horns, his handsome nose and jaw: her soulmate's features are as familiar to Ayane as her own body is. She sees the cybernetics of his legs, and her bewilderment grows. Why does he have those? Why is Nienna drawing him? 

“Who is he to you?” she demands coldly.

“I don’t have words for it,” Nienna replies truthfully, unable to make sense of what he is to her. Ayane stays silent for a moment, and Nienna tries to further explain, but the words do not come easily. “He is my liberator, my tormenter…my…” she tapers off. 

Ayane disappears from herself for a moment, her gaze vacant as she looks into the distance, as though she is searching for something. And she is, internally, reaching out to her bond with Maul, trying to pass the bridge that connects their minds in the Force. But there is nothing there. No bridge, no connection. No bond.

“I cannot feel him,” she whispers, fear and awe strangling the reality out of her. “Not here.”

Nienna’s sense returns to her at these words, and she recalls her previous experiences with Ayane. She is not from this world, this galaxy, this universe - that much is clear. Perhaps she and Maul exist together as husband and wife, as parents…somewhere else. A different set of circumstances, a separate path. 

Another Maul.

“Was he not bisected, where you are from?” she asked tentatively, her stomach twisting. Marriage. Children. How would he be capable of such things?

“Yes,” Ayane says sadly, to Nienna’s shock. “He was grievously injured in battle. But he was healed.” Her watery blue eyes meet the earthen green of Nienna’s. Nienna raises her hands to face, turning away from her friend. Healed?

“I don’t understand,” mutters Nienna, her heart pounding. “How does one heal from an injury of that magnitude?” She has never heard of such a thing, not once in her life. How does a man regain his legs, his reproductive organs, when they have been detached from his body? His survival itself was a miracle, and now this?

“We are from different planes,” assumes Ayane calmly. “My dimension is vastly dissimilar to this one.” She pauses, her lips pouting, her hand on her chin, her eyes glowering in thought. “It appears this…connection…that you and I have, Nienna, is somehow attached to our relationship with him.”

Nienna turns back to face her, and her expression is painted with disbelief. "We are connected…by him?"

“It is our commonality, is it not?” She asks, running her eyes over Nienna. “What is your relationship with Maul?” She spits, and she waits for that violent rage to erupt inside of her, the horrific rush of vengeance that rattles her bones when another woman is associated with him. Nienna doesn’t answer, and Ayane’s patience runs thin, unable to prevent herself from adding, "Do you love him?”

The air is sucked from Nienna’s lungs as she nods. “I do,” she admits breathily, in slight fear of Ayane, the image of her strange eyes and sharp teeth so recent in her mind. She braces herself.

But Ayane does nothing, says nothing, because she is taken aback by her absence of rage. Then she suddenly makes sense of it: it’s because the man Nienna loves is not her Maul. She is not connected with him in this realm, which is why she cannot reach him through their bond. It isn’t him, here, he isn’t hers. He is Nienna’s. Nienna has the same realisation, as she registers that she has not felt any resentment or animosity to Ayane since discovering their shared lover. That she has felt no need to lay claim to him at all.

“Oh,” Ayane murmurs, then smiles, the lack of fierce fury a soothing relief. She looks at Nienna, fondness in her eyes. A pause. “Nienna, this is ever so strange.”

This was not what Nienna expected to come from her friend’s lips. Compassion and empathy courses through Ayane, as she considers the Maul in this dimension, his disability and trauma. The toll this must have on her friend.

"I'm sorry," says Ayane softly. "That in this dimension you will not be able to bear him children."

Nienna snorts. "Don't be. I'd never have his children, even if he could give them to me." Ayane steps back, starting, her hands protective over her stomach.

Nienna’s eyes widen. "Forgive me. What I mean is that I never would have children. Not his, not anyone's."

Ayane seems confused by this. 

“I birth enough creation with my art,” Nienna explains. “This world, this galaxy, this universe. It's no place for a child.” She shakes her head. “Not here.”

“What about marriage?” she asks.

“No,” Nienna insists. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you…happy together?” asks the dark-haired woman curiously.

“That is a complicated question. Our…romance,” Nienna answers, “is not at all conventional.”

Ayane giggles, and it is a heartfelt melodic laugh that breaks the tension between them. “I suppose that’s an intrinsic element of loving him.”

Nienna nods, then pushes her hair from her face. Hesitates.

“Can I ask? Your eyes. They changed colour…”

“Ah yes,” Ayane says nonchalantly. “That happens. I’m not exactly human.”

Nienna does not need to know any more, doesn’t want to. She accepts Ayane’s answer, happy to move on. A hard lesson she has learned is that though truth is sweet and enticing to her, sometimes it is the best course of action to resist knowing more than you need to, more than you are entitled to. She has become rather skilled at treading that line.

“Tell me, Nienna,” requests Ayane, extending her pale hand towards her to give her back her artbook, “of your non-conventional relationship with my husband. I am curious.”

Nienna snorts a laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, and Ayane begins to giggle in tandem with her. Nienna takes the sketchpad back from Ayane, then reaches out and takes her friend’s hand. “I shall enlighten you whilst I take you on a tour of my gardens.”

The two wander in the timeless dreamscape, and Nienna identifies and shows off her multitudes of flora as she weaves her life story into words. She tells her of the Moons, her youth as a surgeon’s daughter, Maul’s sudden imposition on her life and the harrowing changes he inflicted upon it. She leaves out the details of their physical relationship, because though integral to their story, it does not seem to have a place in this conversation. Nienna sensed the depth of Ayane’s jealousy that rages in her blood. It is less painful for them both this way.

The walk of the forest is hazy, littered with odd watery scenery that indicate they do not walk the physical realm of her world. It is perplexing, how they are together, why they are together and what relevancy it has to their relationships with the former Sith Lord. The two recall their time in the woods, all those years ago, how they both awoke with a physical remnant of the dream; their flower crowns. 

“I treasure that gift,” Ayane confesses. “I still have it, to this day.” 

“So do I,” says Nienna. The delicate blue crown made with flowers from Ayane’s world sits under lock and key, alongside her other most valuable and sentimental artefacts. It lies in the pages of her secret sketchpad that she treasured all those years ago.

After a pause, Nienna turns towards Ayane and asks, “What do you suppose is the meaning of our meeting tonight? Do you believe there is any rhyme or reason to these events? You are clearly much more knowledgeable and experienced in these matters than I am.”

Ayane sighs softly and shakes her head. “I have not the slightest idea. But I am glad that, for whatever reason, we were able to be reunited again.”

“Me too.”

The two women have now completed a lap of the entire gardens, and have returned to the spot where they were first reunited. They both perch on the edge of the pond, and Nienna retrieves her pouch of pencils that she placed between the rocks. 

She smiles softly, then places her sketchbook and tools on her lap. She has an idea, and is slightly nervous to ask Ayane about it. Eventually, she takes a deep breath, and flicks through to an empty page and looks at her friend. 

“Ayane, would you mind if I did a quick sketch of you? I am a portrait artist, I’ve spent my life perfecting my technique and collecting the faces of those from across the stars. It would mean an awful lot to me to put this beautiful evening to paper, to be able to draw…you.”

Ayane blinks slowly, her hand still resting on her pregnant belly protectively. She seems unsure, but after pondering it for a moment, she ultimately nods, and a tender smile forms on her lips. “Of course, my friend. I would be honoured.” She looks around herself, and reaches for her hair. “Do you want me to…should I…?”

Ni shakes her head. “No, you look great where you are. You’re perfect, Ayane.” 

And so she begins to sketch her muse, starting with an outline of the vampiress. Nienna’s wrists and fingers glide swiftly across the page, and she works fast but precisely, her expertise apparent in her quick fingers and the concentration painted on her face. 

Ayane feels awkward at first, and doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. She shifts, and looks at the ground, her body rigid. She looks more and more uncomfortable as the time stretches on.

“Try and…relax,” advises Nienna kindly when she notices Ayane’s discomfort. “Just look at the stars, at the moon. Watch the sky. Think of your family. Think of…him.”

Ayane nods, and exhales softly. She shifts again, and then looks up into the sky, and smiles. “I’ve always loved the stars, the moon.”

Nienna smiles, sketching as she replies. “As do I. It is a joy to be able to walk beneath the light.”

After a while, Ayane inquires softly. “Do you know of Dathomir, Nienna?” 

“I do.” 

“Dathomir is where I reside,” she says, looking around her at the abundance of flora, the vibrant greens and earthy browns. Nienna’s gardens appear to be the very antithesis to Ayane’s home of rock and red mists. “It is rather…different from yours.”

“Stars,” Nienna exclaims, “you live there? How do you stand it?”

“What do you mean?” asks Ayane, somewhat shocked. 

“It’s not the…um…most comfortable of environments?” 

Ayane nods, and smiles knowingly. “I suppose it can seem that way to some. For me, it’s my ancestral home, the residence of my kin. It is where I was born to be.”

“I do not have the same attachment to it. I went once, at the request of…him. It was not the most pleasant of atmospheres, to put it lightly. I haven’t returned since.”

Ayane giggles. “I can only imagine what the humidity did to your hair.”

“Exactly! It was awful. He said I looked like some kind of wild woman.”

Their laughter fades, and then the peaceful silence returns until Ayane breaks it. “Tell me Nienna, have you watched the moons from the Dathomiri mountains?”

Nienna pauses, and exhales. “No, I haven’t. I have yet to accept another of my lover’s invitations to his native home.”

“The next time he requests your presence, oblige him,” Ayane suggests. “Allow him to walk you up to the mountains. Watch the skies at night. It is the most beautiful thing - I can hardly bring myself to describe it. If your Dathomir is the same as mine, that is.”

The artist pauses in her sketching, and looks into the ocean eyes of her friend. “I will, Ayane. Thank you, that is very thoughtful. And I shall think of you when I look upon the moons of Dathomir. I will give the place another try.”

The two women sit beneath the Naboo night sky as Nienna continues to sketch Ayane under the moonlight. The breeze remains gentle and floral, and it brushes against them in a soothing caress, the leaves around them rustling softly. The evening stretches into the timeless dreamscape, and then, it is almost finished.

Nienna completes her sketch, drops her pencil and flexes her fingers and wrists. “Ah,” she sighs in slight pain. “My hands aren’t what they used to be.” She then shuffles over to Ayane and presents her the portrait. “What do you think?”

Ayane sucks in a sharp breath as she appraises the image of herself on the paper. Lady Nienna is highly regarded as being in possession of a rare and unique talent: in laying bare truth. She is able to present to the world, in full clarity, the hearts and desires of her subjects through their eyes and expressions. 

The drawing of Ayane presents a softened reflection of the vampire, as though Nienna has delved deep into her mind and forced forth the girl from her younger years. Hope and loss and confusion gleam in Ayane's eyes, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as though in anticipation - as though that young girl she used to be is poised and ready to run from her life. 

It's raw and candid and real: exquisite. 

"Oh, Nienna…" Ayane says, her voice trembling with emotion. "I've not seen this version of myself for many years." 

Nienna smiles softly, her eyes glazing across her work. "That's the person I first met. The Ayane I know." She meets her gaze. "The Ayane you are, deep down. My friend."

A tight fist of sentiment twists in Ayane's chest. Then, a soft breeze flickers the pages, revealing a self portrait Nienna sketched a few moons ago. 

"This is you," Ayane says. The woman in the sketch has darkness in her eyes, yearning warping the clothes she is dressed in in a strange darkness. Her face, though neutral in expression, screams for purpose and liberation. Haunted. 

"It's who I was. Who I am."

A pause. The dreamscape warps and glitches, and Ayane becomes slightly…transparent.

"It's fading." Ayane looks around herself, hesitance and resistance paints her expression. "Our time is coming to an end."

"Take this." Nienna tears out the self portrait, crushing it into Ayane's palm. "Remember me. I'll remember you."

Ayane's eyes water. "I hope to see you again, one day."

"As do I." Ni swallows, holding her sketchpad to her chest. "Goodbye Ayane."

"Nienna," Ayane says as she begins to fade, reaching her hand towards the shorter woman. "Remember the Moons."

And then she disappears, the crimson dawn of her home, universes apart, evaporates into the dark swamp greens of Nienna's gardens.

Ni takes a breath, the weightless feeling dispersing. She is grounded again. With charcoal stained fingers, she flicks to the page in her book that held the drawing of Ayane. 

It's still there.

-

[sleeplesslionheart]

Arianrhod's One-Year Anniversary; Burning Update

Today marks the one-year anniversary since I published Arianrhod, my first Three Houses fanfic - and the first piece of fanfiction that I'd written and published in over a decade (and my first fic on AO3, and...well, there are some other firsts with this too, but I won't keep belaboring the point, lol. Suffice it to say that it was kind of a big step for me).

Arianrhod is a oneshot, fill-in-the-gaps, but mildly canon-divergent scenario that contends with what I still regard as the greatest failing in Crimson Flower's writing. In it, rather than quietly going along with Edelgard's coverup like she does in the game, Byleth instead makes a reckless (if well-intentioned) attempt to goad Edelgard into addressing the horrific devastation in the wake of Arianrhod's destruction.

On the one hand, I do see the game's treatment of Arianrhod as a terrible problem in Crimson Flower's incredible but also very sloppy writing. But on the other hand, I also perceive it as evidence of some fascinating flaws in Edelgard's character (which are consistent with her characterization throughout the game otherwise). I think that Edelgard's handling of Arianrhod is emblematic (lol) of her tendency to try to skip over processes of grieving, even in the face of catastrophic circumstances and personal tragedy. She's so fixated on achieving her goals and seeing the war through to its end that she's often completely single-minded in her pursuit, even in the face of actual human suffering...which is understandable, given all that she's endured and experienced, but which is also a mistake. She's a complex, flawed woman (which I love about her); but, critically, she's also someone who actively wants for the people around her to call her out when she makes bad decisions. It's for this reason that I decided to "correct" the game's mishandling of Arianrhod not by dismissing its canonicity, but by holding Edelgard accountable (via Byleth) and making her do some important self-reflective work. As such, the fic is largely focused on themes of guilt and culpability - and not just Edelgard's, but Byleth's as well (as she is not off the hook here, and does not let herself off the hook either).

My mental health was at an all-time low when I wrote and posted Arianrhod, which is reflected in the story's subject matter and preoccupations. Periodically, when I look back at it now, there are regrets that I have with it...things that I would do differently, other decisions that I would make if I were writing it in the present. But I have no intention of ever revising or changing it. The story is very much an artifact of that moment in my life, and I want it to stay that way.

Arianrhod then served as the foundation for Burning, my ongoing post-Crimson Flower, multi-chapter fic.

Poor Burning got put on the back-burner (lol again - sorry y'all, I have covid right now and my judgment where puns are concerned is not great) while I got completely derailed with that long-ass Haunting of Bly Manor essay that I posted last week. But now that that's off my plate, Chapter 5 of Burning is my priority again. I currently have 2,800 words on it, so I swear that part of it does, indeed, exist and that I have not forgotten or abandoned it. (I'll confess, however, that I have not ruled out the possibility of writing some Bly fic at some point. But idk if that will happen or not, don't hold me to it).

So...more Edeleth to come (eventually).

[raxistaicho]

The Javelins of Light really aren’t as powerful as people think

One of the most common criticisms of the Agarthans is that they could have easily won the war just by firing Javelins of Light at wherever their enemies were at a given moment.

Now first, they try that... it results in Shambhala being found and destroyed in Verdant Wind and Silver Snow, and firing them at Arianhrod probably plays a large role in Shambhala being destroyed in Crimson Flower as well. Now notably, in Azure Moon, the one route where the Agarthans never fire a Javelin, Shambhala is left unscathed in the end!

It’s almost like Thales shouldn’t have fired them for petty and vengeful reasons...

So, nuclear weapons are the most common point of comparison for the Javelins. They... don’t remotely live up to those heights.

The first time we see them, at Merceus, Byleth and their army were on the fortress’s outer walls when the Javelins hit. They haven’t even begun to flee til after the first falls. You could argue that they survived because the Death Knight lured them toward the outer walls in the first place, but that’s still a very poor showing for a superweapon. You can’t just evacuate an entire army from a fortress in under a minute, and yet there’s no word after the event in either SS or VW about the army being ruined (the desperate situation in SS is more due to the loss of Merceus itself).

Then there’s the fact that the javelins only create craters, and the range of their destructive power doesn’t extend far beyond the actual blast radius. The buildings aren’t on fire, for instance, and the blast shockwaves doesn’t seem to have done as much damage as you might think.

This is consistent with their performance against Arianhrod in CF as well:

The Agarthans shot multiple (note the plural) Javelins at Arianrhod and only destroyed the northern wall and the fortress main hall. They also killed only a third of the Imperial garrison, rather than all of them as you might expect if the Javelins lived up to their real-world hype. As you can tell from looking at the map while in battle, Arianrhod is massive.

But if you thought their performance at Arianrhod and Merceus didn’t live up to the hype... hoo boy, wait ‘til Shambhala.

Edelgard’s detractors would have you believe the Black Eagles could never take Shambhala without Rhea’s aid, since Thales would certainly just fire all the Javelins he has at Shambhala, as he does in SS and VW.

So how do they do in those routes?

Well the first one is spent cracking open Shambhala’s roof.

A second follows it shortly after:

(That barely-visible twinkle is the second javelin lol)

As Rhea flies off to intercept the second one, we see the result of the first:

It struck a forest without starting a fire. Additionally, the damage circumference barely extends a single tree-width past the actual impact site. This is the weapon that some people would have you believe would grant Thales a world record LTC clear of Three Houses: a missile that can’t even take down a forest with a direct shot.

Rhea shoots down one javelin, and misses a third:

Now notice that the first impact isn’t even on-camera. So on top of not being very destructive, their accuracy is pretty damn bad.

Rhea hits a fourth, but the explosion of the fourth one catches the fifth, detonating that one as well, both of which blow up right in Rhea’s face.

She survives  two point-blank explosions from these missiles. If they were so destructive as to completely devastate the environment, as some would claim, and yet she survived the impact of two of them, she shouldn’t be falling to people waving swords at her.

And by the way, two more get past while she’s reeling from the explosion:

The liberation army hasn’t even begun to retreat before Rhea falls (again):

Byleth’s army are 2/2 on surviving Javelin strikes by doing absolutely nothing.

And again, in the final panning shot, there’s no sign of the environment being devastated as a result of this fire:

Like yeah, Thales killed a lot of trees and opened holes in the ground, but there’s no reason to suspect this area won’t be fine now that the danger is over.

So that’s 7 Javelins total, 3 of which Rhea stops, 1 of which needed to actually expose Shambhala, and at least 1 of which just deadass misses entirely. Because Thales was continuing to summon them even after the first landed:

It can safely be assumed that he fired all or at least the majority of however many he had (because there’s absolutely no reason to hold back at this point, he’s just trying to take Byleth down with him now).

So, best case scenario, he had 8 or 9 available at this point, on top of the 2 or so he fired at Merceus. Now Thales can certainly do some damage with that many, but I sincerely doubt he has the capacity to make any more, so he’s gotta make his shots count, so to speak, especially since firing one runs the risk of exposing Shambhala.

I’ve seen it argued that the Agarthans don’t fire any Javelins in AM because Thales is the only one who had the “firing codes”, but there’s no evidence of this. It’s equally possible that whoever his successor was on their hierarchy simply viewed the Javelins as not worth the risk. They’re weapons of last resort, after all: The Agarthans want to take over the surface, not destroy it. This is why their usual style is infiltration and subterfuge.

Now, what about Ailell you might ask? That happened in ancient times but the  land is still a volcanic hellscape!

Well, for starters, it seems that Ailell wasn’t hit by the javelins all that long ago:

They fell within this old dude’s living memory!

Secondly, the effects of the Javelins hitting Ailell seems wildly different from the other regions struck, so why is Ailell different? Well, Fates, of all games, suggests a possible answer:

Yes. It is a strange phenomenon, but I can explain how it came to be. There is a massive reservoir of oil nearby that has mixed with the water. At some point, hundreds of years ago, the river was set aflame. It may have been a lightning strike, or an accident, but regardless... It has burned ever since. 

Of course, totally different games and scenarios, but it a hypothetical reason for the Javelins behaving so wildly different in one spot from two others.

This brings us to a final point: the devastation of Fodlan in the distant backstory. One clear first-hand account of Fodlan’s destruction comes from Rhea herself:

This seems pretty clear-cut, and it’s been generally held as evident that the ancient Agarthans fired off volleys of their Javelins and destroyed the surface. However, as I’ve already demonstrated, the Javelins don’t appear to have that sort of power.

Interestingly, in Hopes, Epimenides blames Sothis for this:

Of course, it’s very possible that he’s lying, but he’s actually pretty direct and forthright with the party - aside from sending illusions of their loved ones after them, anyways.

Who’s telling the truth here? Who can say. It’s totally possible that both him and Rhea are telling half-truths at best, but it’s not terribly important either way.

The important part is that the Javelins of Light just aren’t the end-all be-all weapons some treat them as. They’re incredibly dangerous, of course, but that’s as much because of what an absurd outside context problem they are for the cast of a Fire Emblem game. They’re dangerous, but they’re also risky to use, and not something to be used carelessly. Thales does use them carelessly because he’s a petty and vindictive man, as he demonstrates multiple times in both games.

[burr-ell]

Was Rhea really sacrificing Byleth? I mean when Byleth was about to die as a baby because of heart problems, only the crest stone allowed them to live. Rhea saved Byleth with no intention of using them as a vessel. It was just an overall decent thing to do especially since Sitri asked for it.

Second, when Rhea asked Byleth to sit on her mother's throne, she was working on the assumption that they really are Sothis but with amnesia. As far as she was concerned, she was just trying help her mom jog her memories. Does that really count as a sacrifice?

it's definitely a gray area, in my opinion. like, in order to treat it as this terrible thing the way people tend to in the fandom, you have to assume that rhea viewed byleth as an individual personality and put them on the throne anyway without regard to whether or not this would be a cessation of their existence as themselves. but it's heavily implied if not outright stated that rhea genuinely believes byleth to be an amnesiac sothis, and from her perspective, it's...not really that hard to see why? and obviously not being aware she was doing something wrong doesn't negate that it was wrong, but it does mean that the condemnation of her being a terrible horrible no good very bad dragon lady is...rather overblown.

crucially, not seeing byleth as an individual is also something that rhea apologizes for, at least in silver snow; verdant wind also indicates that she now understands byleth to be an individual apart from sothis and she's accepting that sothis won't come back. i get the criticisms people have of that and of rhea as a character and i genuinely think there's more the game could have done with her, but honestly...so much of that could be resolved by just not projecting so hard onto byleth. they're never gonna be the reddit atheist you want them to be.

(it's also very silly to me when people keep claiming rhea "experimented" on byleth. like...no, she didn't. she gave byleth a heart transplant because they were stillborn, at their mother's behest. i've seen claudeleth fanfics, and there are probably other byleth shipfics that do this, where ficleth moans about "what would have happened if rhea didn't do this to meeeee" like. you'd be dead, hope that helps babe)

(also byleth should have permadied at the end of crimson flower don't @ me)

[semi-imaginary-place]

fe3h: which route is best?

Objectively, all 4 are equally good. Silver Snow is the strongest thematically, Crimson Flower is the most empowering, Verdant Wind has the broadest view and most answers, Azure Moon has a strong emotional appeal. Which one someone likes best I've found over the past 4 years depends on the person's personality and interests I've found. Each route has it's unique strengths and weaknesses that appeal to different people. In the end all 4 routes are about equally well made and only together do they paint a full picture of the game.

For example Azure Moon fans are crazy about it because Azure Moon has the most character driven emotional narrative, it has the single most focus on a single character arc. However because AM is all about Dimitri it comes at the cost of everything else. Unlike other routes the thematic progression of the other blue lions is either forgotten or reversed, and all the other interesting plot threads brought up in White Clouds are forgotten about in favor of Dimitri's angst. The strong focus on Dimitri is also a weakness, as unlike other routes where even if the player does not like other routes there is still a lot for them. In AM if the player does not like Dimitri there is nothing else to the route. Which is why AM is my personal least favorite by a long shot.

Verdant Wind takes the most holistic view of the war, it's the route where the player takes a step back to see the truth of the conflict in it's entirety instead of getting caught up in personal drama. It's also the route the provides the most answers as to what is really going on in Fodlan and why. Like CF and SS there is a strong narrative with the secondary cast/class but I'd argue VW is the strongest with some of the most dramatic character arcs in Ignatz, Marianne, and Lorenz. There's a strong sense of mystery through out White Clouds and VW, it has the most emotional and atmospheric continuity of all the routes and the smoothest transition between Parts 1 and 2. Claude as a lord enhances all this by being a mystery himself. He's the most misinterpreted of the lords as his character arc is subtle and presented through implication instead of directly told to the audience like Edelgard or Dimitri's, so it requires reading comprehension and critical thinking that is generally lacking on the internet. The main problem with VW and SS is that they end up sharing content you can tell some of the early part 2 chapters were designed for VW and last minute slapped into SS and that some of the later part 2 chapters were very much SS chapters copy and pasted into VW.

Crimson Flower is the most unique as it was designed as a secret route, in that sense it has the most "content". After an entire game about how messed up the Church is CF is the only one that let's you directly do anything about it. Then there's the interesting moral complexity of being part of the faction that instigated a continent wide war. CF's main problem is that it is the shortest of all the routes and almost feels like it is missing a couple chapters at the end. CF continues Black Eagles White Clouds sense of tension, it almost feels like a thriller.

Silver Snow is the heart and thematic core of FE:3H and the default route the others are written around. People call Silver Snow the Church route but it's really the Byleth route. SS is about Byleth's truth which ultimately is wrapped up in Rhea and the Church. Putting Edelgard on a different path/side than Byleth (and Rhea) is so juicy. Like all 3 of those characters and Nemesis foil each other and it's beautiful writing. Edelgard is such an important character in SS. Edelgard's cutscenes in SS are probably my favorite in the game. It's why the conflict between Edelgard and Rhea is so interesting. Neither is wholly evil but they both do questionable things (although personally I agree with Edelgard more). Both CF and SS are very interesting for the Black Eagles and this is best seen in Ferdinand who has a very different path depending ont the route. It is the lordless route however and the 3 lords is a big draw to the game. SS also ends with a totalitarian theocracy so morally many find it questionable. When people only want O play 1 route I recommend SS because it is fe3h at it's essence.

[bowbowis]

"Edelgard did Nothing During the CF Timeskip?" Hardly.

A criticism that gets bandied about regarding Crimson Flower is that Edelgard doesn't accomplish anything during the five year timeskip. This is patently untrue as Hubert informs Byleth after their return.

Edelgard captured a significant chunk of the Kingdom while Byleth was away and is preparing to move on the Alliance when they return.

It's also worth noting that it isn't unrealistic for a medieval war to have lulls of a year or more between major battles, as a graph of major battles during the first 20 years of the Hundred Years War will show:

Before the advent of radio and mechanized transportation moving troops, relaying orders, and supplying forces took a lot of time. While Wyverns, pegasi and warp magic can make up some of the difference (especially for a small, elite unit like the Black Eagle Strike Force) Edelgard's army would still be nowhere near as agile as a modern military force.

[pathetic-gamer]

I just saw your reply! I totally agree that he's got such an interesting relationship with grief, home, and the rest of the Faerghus 4. In playing Silver Snow I'm so fascinated by the way some of Felix's lines post-time skip are Dimitri lines pre-timeskip. I think they're fascinating foils for each other: the former is obviously dark and edgy but has a stronger sense of purpose and light, while the other appears to be light and respectable but has darkness underneath. Thoughts?

I absolutely agree that they're foils. It's even more apparent if you recruit Felix in Crimson Flower and he gets the ~zero growth~ arc - he acknowledges it himself in some monastery dialog, which is cool. Also, speaking of switching lines, in Azure Moon they do have a nearly literal line reversal moment from pre- and post-ts.

It's also interesting bc it's not just that they switch who is giving the advice, but also exactly what the advice is, though they're in agreement in both cases. "I don't want to fight a friend > You don't have a choice > true, but you can look away" vs "We may have to fight a friend > If we do, I'd like to look away > looking away won't change what you'll have done." So they remain in lockstep during that shift, despite their external states being so different.

idk, I've gone into the question of their coping mechanisms and dynamic before, here and here, so I won't add too much more now, it's just interesting how they handle the same core conflict and principles so differently.

Both are pretty forthcoming about their criticisms of the culture they come from, both are afraid of losing things they love to what they see as needless sacrifice, and of course, both have something of a death wish tied to crushing survivor's guilt. Felix outright pushes away other people who want to reach out to him, and Dimitri (perhaps inadvertently) rejects the attempts people make to connect with him and thus alienates them. I think both feel that their grief can't be reconciled with the values held by their friends, values which are deeply at-odds with their own experiences. And they're not wrong, really. There's a hell of a chasm in understanding between those two and everyone else, but while you would hope that gives them common ground, it obviously doesn’t. They just have very different notions of choice and guilt and blame, and they internalize different pieces of it, so they come out at odds with one another.