#or alternatively maybe they do it for everyone

[a-d-nox]

nox tests hypotheses: "saturn tells you what annoys you"

this is one of shawtyherbs hypotheses. this is how i feel this manifests for me in my chart and why i believe this hypothesis works. my saturn is located in my 3h, in taurus at 29°... let's take deep dive!

taurus saturn

a lack of discipline: i feel like i have a strong work ethic - i value hard work. i despised when i did group work in school and i was paired up with procrastinators or people who were unwilling to put in the necessary effort to achieve a good grade. it felt like every time i had my part done i would start getting anxious that the other person/people didn't. it felt like a manipulation - like we were playing chicken. if they didn't do it, would i do it for them? how long did they have to wait until i stepped in?

instability and unpredictability: sudden changes, chaotic environments, and erratic behavior can make me uncomfortable, anxious, and annoyed. i guess it's sort of like a trauma response from childhood except now i get irritable... everyone know my dislike for surprises.

wastefulness: i get easily irritated by wastefulness, whether it's wasting time, money, or resources. again maybe its from my childhood and having those experiences. but i am the type of person who arrives on time. if i buy something and don't like it i use it until it's gone, i eat it til its gone (even if its stale), or i use it til its paid itself off (if i buy a shirt and can't return it and it was $30, i am wearing it 30 times). it sounds strange - i know - but it is how i am...

superficiality: i really value authenticity. i feel like i am easily annoyed by superficial behavior, materialism without substance, and people who put on mask to fit in... like so what if you don't laugh at someone's shit joke, so what if i am happy with my hydroflask and want nothing to do with a stanley (it's all the same to me), and who cares if your true self is not everyone's favorite (you'll find your people a whole lot faster if you're your self).

resisting practicality: you know how much advice i have given throughout the years THAT WAS ASKED FOR and people did what they wanted anyway??? why even waste my time if you don't want outside perspective. or something its just kind advice to help with ease like hi you are using a stain on the deck, i recommend you wipe as you go so it dries quicker and you don't accidentally smear/smudge later. but nooooo.....

saturn at 29°

arrogance: you know it's okay to be wrong... it's not okay to pontificate about how you were right in some alternate scenario. just admit you were wrong in this situation and move on or better yet say nothing...

irresponsibility: when you say you are going to do something do it. if you are a leader then lead and know that you are responsible for anything you designate to someone you view as your subordinate (especially when you don't train them on what you want them to do for you). if you can't commit to having a task or being in charge than don't do it. someone is relying on you - it's 10 times worse when its yourself and you push goals to the side.

unfounded claims/criticisms: perhaps i am overly sensitive to criticism because i tend to take my work and my self a bit too seriously. but if you can't take yourself and what you do seriously, then who will? i take everything personally too. so when i get criticism and its said in a nasty way (at least how i interpret it) or there is a lack of explanation or no backing i will get annoyed. you bet my humor will be ill-tempered... you can't expect me to react well to a comment like "you're wrong". like wow okay so detailed, i'm glad you decided to write one word and a contraction to dismiss my 2k essay. like if you are going to criticize me or disprove me make it detailed and make it sound. and if i do something wrong its probably because no one told me how to do it in the first place (cough cough work) so don't snap at me, walk me through it.

lack of respect: now listen - i'm no angel, i was a teenager once - eyerolls and all. but now that i am a bit older (she said at 23) i am getting to the point where respect isn't freely given (unless its to build a good first impression) but instead its earned in a pre-existing relationship. i don't tolerate disrespect, no one is going to snap at me and tell me what to do. you do that and you will get the opposite reaction that you expect from me (speaking from real life situations). asserting dominance doesn't make you worthy of respect, it makes you a bully.

3h

superficial conversations: i said it why back when in one of my get to know me posts. i prefer deep, meaningful conversations and i find small talk / superficial chatter frustrating or pointless. like skip to the meat bruv - we don't have all this time for "hi how are you?" "good how are you?"

disorganization: a lack of structure, whether in communication, in a learning environments, or my daily routines, irritates me. i feel like it effects me most in the routine bit. weekends are my prime culprit because my schedule falls apart. during the week my meals and tasks are standardized, but on the weekend, i somehow manage to always get annoyed because i eat lunch late or what i had in my mind to do gets tossed aside...

gossip/rumors: i feel uncomfortable with gossip, i prefer facts and reliable knowledge. which i know facts seems shaky when i am posting the content i do... but generally facts over fiction in conversations. gossip and the like almost always gets me in trouble - i struggle with holding my tongue especially when i see someone regularly who has been gossiped about frequently. withholding information is a form of lying in my opinion - and lying makes me extremely uncomfortable.

impulsive decisions: i am trying to get better about this because i tend to carefully deliberate everything. but i don't like when others around me make impulsive decisions that effect me because it ruins the plan i already had in my mind. for example, last weekend i wanted to go to an all day fall festival with my mother (and yes i told her tuesday my plan) but last minute my mother's boyfriend-not-boyfriend said he needed her help with a project and it was going to be an all weekend thing. so friday night my plan went out the window. so quickly had to make a new plan consisting of paid readings, trader joe's, and shampooing my couch (fun stuff i know...).

a lack of respect for rules/boundaries: a disregard for social norms, etiquette, and established rules of communication annoys me so badly. like it is common courtesy (at least for how i was raised) to call or write in advance of stopping over at someone's house. my mother's boyfriend-not-boyfriend is the biggest perpetrator of this behavior. they aren't technically dating anymore so hello hi in my opinion he should be giving us a heads up if he will be stopping over. also switching gears when i say "no" or "i don't want to" i feel like a lot of people around me push me and test me to see if i will change my tune. i don't appreciate that in the slightest. i make clear boundaries in all the relationships i have (even here i have guidelines) - so yes, you bet i get frustrated when i vocalized or wrote my boundaries and yet they get ignored.

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[lazywitchling]

“So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate?”

(Yes I did just order a pot pie from the chicken fast food place. I’m watching 12 hours of movies, I ain’t cooking a whole pot pie!)

Okay. Look.

When I was younger, my cousin bitched about elves at Helm’s Deep not being in the book, but I didn’t think it mattered because it’s cool and I liked elves and it made me the fun kind of sad when Haldir died.

But now I get why. (I mean, ultimately it’s a fictional story so it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of life, blah blah, you get the drill. I will complain about this, but I don’t care if you like it, ya dig?)

So here’s the thing. Theoden’s whole storyline throughout this movie and into the next is that he does not believe anyone will help him. Gondor could have come to save his people, but they didn’t. Rohan was left on its own, and people died, and that sucks. So Theoden has succumbed to the depressive thoughts of “We’re all gonna die anyway, why bother fighting?” (Hey that’s a major— actually THE major point of this whole story!!) He has hidden his people away to hide because he knows fighting is futile because they will be alone.

It’s a big deal when he agrees to go out and fight alongside Aragorn as the Uruks are about to overwhelm the keep. I said last year, Tolkien’s brand of hope is the difference between “I only have one hit point left :(“ and “I still have one hit point left >:)” Theoden STILL has no reason to believe help is coming, but he chooses to act like it is anyway, because the alternative is just curling up and dying right there. And he is rewarded, because Gandalf shows up with reinforcements!! Eomer, who has every reason to hate Theoden, brought all the riders to help! Everyone is saved! Hooray!!

But the damn elves show up in the middle of Theoden’s “Aw nobody will help us :(“ thing. And then elf help arrives. And he goes “Yay, help is here!!” And then nobody really mentions the elves again except for Haldir’s brief dying scene, and Theoden is right back in his “Aw nobody will help us :(“ thing. It just slaughters the pacing of the story, and Theoden’s arc along with it.

Furthermore, the elves say they were sent by Elrond, who has chosen to have the elves fight alongside mortals once again to honor old alliances! Except that Elrond isn’t really participating in this portion of his own character arc, and in fact doesn’t reach that “idk maybe mortals aren’t so bad after all” point until RotK. So it’s somehow fully out of character for him at this point even though he’s not even there.

ADDITIONALLY, it fucks up ARWEN’S story, because the whole thing with her is that she has to choose between sailing to the undying lands and being with her people forever but losing Aragorn, or staying with Aragorn who will eventually die and then she has no one left and no way to get to the undying lands and will never see her family again and will just live until the heat death of the universe. See, I’m pretty sure (don’t quote me on this) that there’s like… a respawn thing that happens with Tolkiens elves. They’re not only ageless, they’re unkillable. They CANT die. That’s why Arwen’s choice is so difficult. She couldn’t even live out life with him and then jump off a bridge after he dies so she doesn’t have to see the heat death of the universe. She’s literally stuck.

But friggin Haldir takes a sword to the head and has a sad death moment, and then I’m left wondering why everyone is pestering Arwen so much. If elves can die, then she has no problem.

I’m pretty sure it messes up other storylines too, but my pot pie is getting cold.

[lostuzumaki]

Do you think in the Luffy reincarnated to past AU that when sanji saw/heard about the charlottes he freaked out a bit on the inside? Like what if when they all woke up that the big mom pirates thing caught up to sanji and he started panicking and everyone thought it was because of luffy leaving but Law or Zeff saw through that and kept asking until he spilled. Would Law fanboy because Sanji is Germa? Would Zeff be protective of sanji even more because of his past?

Just wanted to know your thoughts hope its not too much.

That's a very interesting idea. To be honest, this would be a great plot, but unfortunately I don't think Sanji even knew about Charlotte's family at that age. (If he did, please send me a chapter number or something. It would really help me out. I realize I've made a few mistakes that don't fit xd.)

As for Law, I'm sure he'd be thrilled to find out and it would bring out the Fanboy in him. However, I don't think Sanji would be too happy about it.

Zeff, on the other hand, would protect Sanji at all costs. He sees him as another great future chef and maybe even a son. Sanji's past would only be cemented by the fact that he'd have to adopt him to have a better dad than that... no, I won't be mean.

I'm glad you wrote to me. I enjoy discussing possible alternatives or things that could happen in this Au.

[mandoriana]

Alternate universe where Merlin slept with Arthur while they were both drunk and now needs to hide her magical pregnancy.

That was an idea that came to me one night after watching Merlin. The thought of them having children stuck in my head, but Merlin could never be happy, so I thought how interesting it would be if Merlin spent the first three months of gestation not knowing what was going on, like, he doesn't really know why he's having odd nausea or desires, he also starts stealing Arthur's clothes to make a kind of "Nest" on his own bed. Only when Arthur realizes how hungry and very emotional Merlin seems to be does Arthur take Merlin to Gaius and Gaius find out about the pregnancy. (I imagine the excuse Gaius would give Arthur is that Merlin has a parasite, maybe more than one or two.)

Desperate and weeping Merlin runs to Arthur in a desperate need to have his king around, but Gaius must stop him before Merlin does so and remind him that Arthur can't know the magic, at least not as long as Uther is still alive. Merlin cries a lot and Gaius calls for Lancelot, Gwaine listens to Gaius' concern and runs to see Merlin.

When Lancelot and Gwaine meet Merlin and discover about Gwaine's gestation (and magic) Lancelot worries about Merlin and starts thinking about a plan, while Gwaine plans to castrate Arthur, after all how that princess dares to get her best friend pregnant!

In the end they decide that Merlin will have to leave when she reaches 4 months and goes into hiding for the rest of the pregnancy, but this only serves to make Merlin suffer even more because, despite being the most sensible plan, Merlin is not thinking about reason but about her emotions outlined by pregnancy, he does not want to go away and hide, he wants to lie in the arms of his king and spend nights planning the birth of his babies!

From that moment on, Gwaine and Lancelot become the knights of Merlin. Did Arthur order everyone to prepare for a mission? Sorry, but Merlin needs our company more. Did Arthur convene a meeting? Sorry, but Merlin...

Arthur goes mad with anger when the knights ignore him, but mainly because he wants to know about Merlin's state and no one wants to tell him how his servant is! Arthur is going mad with worry and everyone can see that, but Gaius has given the order not to let Arthur approach until Merlin can leave Camelot, is unfair and destroys Merlin and Arthur being kept apart, but it is necessary.

When the fourth month arrives Lancelot arranges the horses for Merlin and Gwaine and promises to cover up the two as they leave, he planned to go along with them, but Merlin needed the assurance that his beloved prince would be safe while he was away and Lancelot was the only one he would trust to take care of Arthur.

Gwaine and Merlin flee in the middle of the night and travel as far away as possible in search of a safe place.

Merlim - Gwaine, do you think Arthur will be mad that I stole one of his knights? - Ask with one hand about his prominent belly. Gaine laughs.

Gwaine - Nah, the princess would probably wish I were with you... - Gwaine sighs rubbing her neck - or, well, he'd like him to know about you...

Merlin fungates and then starts crying and Gwaine becomes worried, he thought that after a month of going through these outbursts of feelings Gwaine would be prepared to deal with it, but he'll never be ready to deal with Merlin crying.

Gwaine - Hey, Merls, what happened, why are you crying now?

Merlin - I miss him so much! I wish he was with me now!

Gwaine - Aw Merls, you know he can't know...

Merlin - I KNOW! BUT WHEN HE KNOW HE WILL BE SO Bored TO MY!! - Merlin cries so much that she starts sobbing and needs to get off her horse before it falls to the ground, Gwaine decides they need a break and sets up camp while feeling increasingly distressed to hear her best friend cry and ask for Arthur.

When the camp is ready and the fire hits Merlin finally stops crying and just low sobs.

Merlin - Gwaine?

Gwaine - Hey, Merls, what was it, does it feel better?

Merlin - No, but... do you think Arthur would be mad if I stole another knight from him?

Gwaine arched her eyebrow.

Gwaine - Why do you need another knight? I'm the best you have!

Merlin laughed.

Merlin - But I don't have a Lancelot! Gaine, I want a Lancelot!

Gwaine - Oh I also want a Lancelot, but Gwen has already caught it then...

And the two can laugh together at least a little. I imagine that after all this the Druids find the camp and take them to hide with them, there they take care of Merlin and give all the necessary support until the day of the birth of the babies, yes, babies, in the plural.

The first one born is called Godric, he has brown hair like his grandmother's hair, Hunith, and blue eyes like Arthur's. The second is called Rowena, she has large ears, black hair and blue eyes. The third is Helga, with dark blond hair and greenish blue eyes. The last to be born is called Salazar, but Merlin calls him only Sal, his cocoon was born small and pale, with black hair and green eyes, he looks like Merlin, but much smaller and sick, unfortunately Sal came weaker than his other children, but the Druids were able to keep him alive.

Merlin is delighted to meet her children, but refuses to hold on to any of them, Gwaine tries to convince Merlin to hold them, but Merlin is afraid to cling, now that hormones are no longer controlling her mind Merlin sees reason and knows she could never be a father, he had a purpose, protect Arthur and bring peace to Albion, with Morgana on the loose Arthur needed him more than she ever needed before, where Merlin would make time to be a father!? With these thoughts in mind Merlin asks the druids to raise their children for him, the druids accept it without thinking, after all it was an honor to raise Emrys's children, but Gwaine refuses, tries to tell her friend how ridiculous this was and how much he should stay and raise the children!

Merlin continues to refuse to abandon her duty to Arthur and the kingdom and prepares to return to Camelot the next morning. Gwaine refuses to return and stays with the babies at the Druid camp.

(I thought about writing more of this idea and saying that it all turned out well in the end, that Gwaine convinced Merlin to talk to Arthur and they raised their children together, brought Morgana back and freed Albion and lived happily ever after! But I wouldn't know how to write a happy ending, so to summarize later events: Merlin returns to Camelot and meets Arthur already crowned king, Uther has died, and Arthur is upset with Merlin for abandoning him, takes time to regain confidence, but Merlin convinces Arthur that his departure was necessary. Everything happens as in the canon after Uther's death, with the difference that Gwaine is not around and does not die. Merlin visits at times, but his own children recognize him only as "Uncle Merlin." As we know Merlin doesn't tell Arthur the truth until it's too late and Arthur dies unaware that he had children with the love of his life. Godric, Rowena, Helga and Salazar grow strong and found a magic school called Hogwarts, the end we already know.)

That idea was basically just me wanting to give Merthur children, show the extent of Merlin's friendship, Gwaine and Lancelot, and then make everyone suffer with Arthur for never being able to have a happy ending to that story.

[jev-urisk]

A Musing Monday 🎐

Today I'm musing about extradimensional spaces! Like Mary Poppin's bag, or 'eatery that connects to an isekai' anime, or your mind, even.

I do think the mind is a type of extradimensional space. We fit the essence of so many places and moments and people into the folds of our memory, contained in the little box that is our skulls. We imagine worlds, we dream entirely separate lifetimes. It's wild, and amazing, and a little terrifying.

Occasionally I think about how the entire world around me is MY world- in that my only access to reality is through my own interpretations, experiences, and the senses that link to my brain, all of which may or may not be close to the truth of reality. When I die one day, my world dies too- not one creature on earth will live in the same world that I knew due to my relationship with everything perceivable to me.

Before I get TOO existential here though (or maybe I'm getting more existential)- think of what that means for writers! We are masons crafting gateways to extradimensional spaces. Through what we do, people can visit the pocket dimensions of OUR minds, dimensions that have the possibility to continue existing long after the mind/wold that created it expires. And because everyone perceives things through their own lens, writing one story and sharing it creates the potential for countless alternate dimensions; every soul that reads your work will carry their own personal version of it in their mind. If you have a hit count or something similar on your work, THAT'S how many dimensions you've created, at least.

Not only that, but when someone reads what you've written, THEIR world alters. It may be slight, your work or your post might provide a momentary reprieve from the part of their world they're avoiding or decompressing from (which is still a very important thing), or it may give them an idea of their own, it may motivate them to make one choice over another choice, it may alter the very way they think and interact with their family, their partners, themselves. You very well may alter the fabric of what a person is, the dimension of their mind warping with the way it interacts with your dimension.

Never forget that as a writer, or any creator of art for that matter, you are a world-builder, a world-shatterer, a world-repairer; a powerful and magical being that may alter the course of history. Writing is magic, and it's sorcery, and I desperately hope even the small unconfident blogs on here recognize that power.

Tagging a bunch of cool writers: @cowboybrunch @the-golden-comet @lychhiker-writes @wyked-ao3 @rotting-moon-writes

@saturnine-saturneight @asablehart @tragedycoded @autism-purgatory @marlowethelibrarian

If I didn't tag you you're still super cool! The world of my brain is just made of swiss cheese and glitches a lot 🫠💕

@dragoninatrenchcoat @words-after-midnight @sableglass @gioiaalbanoart @illarian-rambling

@badscientist @officialauthorofanotherworld

[abysskeeper]

Trying to figure out some characterization on the latest Tav. Word vomited whatever this is. Idk.

------------------

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

Shit.

Astarion froze, the words brushing against the edges of his mind like the caress of a cool breeze against his face. His jaw clenched against the feeling of the bloody parasite wriggling behind his eye and he whipped around, searching for the woman who evaded his senses. He was so, damned sure everyone else had retired for the night, how had he missed her?

But sure enough, as his eyes scoured the camp in search of her, there she was, emerging from the shadows at the very edge of camp, small prayer book in hand. Blazing orange eyes met his, the color the leaves around them would turn in a few months, when the weather grew cooler still and winter approached. A fool would call them beautiful—the wizard had called them striking earlier that day—but Astarion knew better. Those eyes were the color of loss, the last warning before death inevitably claimed its rightful due.

Those eyes were as somber and bitterly determined as the God she prayed to.

Admittedly, Astarion wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. He hadn’t factored in for anyone discovering him before he claimed his victim, only what he would do when said victim inevitably awoke from his bite. She stood too far from him to be able to pivot and strike at her without giving her considerable time to react to him, and he couldn’t just delve for her sister trancing at his feet either. He had no desire to incite the holy magic of any cleric, let alone one devoted to the God who would take the most offense towards his existence.

His options were limited, and though he was loathe to concede to it, his best chance was to react instead of act. Perhaps he could talk some of his way out—no one knew what he was yet and, given his current stance, it would be just as easy to believe he was stealing from Rin as he was about to suck her dry. He could apologize for attempting and make up some excuse about how he needed the money, a sob story would probably work on Vira, and even if it didn’t, it was better than the alternative. And, if she did attack, then at least it would be easier to play the victim.

“Unless, of course, you wish to feel what it is like to have an electrified fist gripping your throat.”

She continued before he could say a word. Vira smiled—the smallest of upturns of the left side of her mouth—and tilted her head, strands of white hair slipping over her shoulder and neck with the movement. “I understand her being a sorcerer makes it seem she is an easy target, but I assure you her size is not an illusion. I can also assure you it is by no means a pleasant experience to startle her.”

Astarion frowned, eyes darting down to the other drow still trancing peacefully by his feet. He had considered Rin’s build when choosing her as his victim but, given everyone else in the camp and their specialties, she still wound up being the safest option in his mind. Perhaps he had misjudged. Perhaps Vira was merely toying with him. Perhaps it was both. He released a small sigh and returned his attention to Vira, realizing his misstep in ever taking his eyes from her in the first place.

Much to his surprise, she hadn’t moved from the edges of camp. It was a small mercy.

It also appeared to be in his best interest to attempt to talk himself out of this situation. He would downplay it considerably, and maybe grovel a bit. “I am quite good at what I do, you know. She wouldn’t have even felt me stealing—”

“Stealing?!” Vira’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. “I suppose it is, in a sense, but I’ll stop you before you make a fool of yourself. Come, I can grant you what you need.” With that said, she motioned her head towards the woods she had just come from and turned around, receding back into them.

Astarion hesitated, watching as she disappeared into the tree line. Had she just implied…? And, surely if she had, she hadn’t just left her sister to him, right? If she had figured him out, then she wasn’t a fool, but if she had just turned her back on him and left Rin trancing peacefully at his feet then he couldn’t imagine her as anything else.

But no…no, she was still paying attention to him. He could still feel the parasitic connection faintly in his mind. She was watching him, waiting, likely wondering which option he would choose. He could still go for Rin, and Vira was far enough away now that he could likely get enough blood from the sorcerer to have a quick burst of energy to fend off any attacks. If Vira was bluffing and Dezerin didn’t immediately awaken and attempt to kill him for the intrusion, in any case. If Vira was speaking the truth, then the correct option was obvious.

Yet, the “correct” option did not feel much safer. If Vira had truly figured him out and what he needed, then she was either as much of a kind-hearted fool as he already believed, an over-confident idiot who thought she could handle herself alone against a starving spawn in the woods, or a woman with a plan. And what would it make him, exactly, if he followed the invitation of a cleric of Kelemvor into the woods actually expecting her to keep her word about offering him what he needed?

Desperate.

He would claim intrigue won out in the end. There were a lot of questions he held regarding her decisions, and if he followed her, perhaps she would even consider it appropriate to answer some. That was, assuming she did keep her word and did not immediately try to kill him, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He had no reason to believe she was lying about Rin, and if he were forced to consider that true, then he had no reason to believe she was lying about her word.

Still, Astarion stepped away from the resting party members quietly, and followed after Vira cautiously. He walked through the woods carefully, hand hovering over one of his daggers as his eyes darted around him, half-expecting the bladed end of a sword or a burst of holy magic to come flying at his head. When he moved further into the woods, he finally found her sitting calmly on the trunk of a fallen tree, flipping through her prayer book.

He was struck frozen again as her orange eyes turned from the pages to him, and her faint smile returned. “I see you chose the correct option,” Vira remarked.

“I had no idea there was an incorrect option.” The words came from him easily, even as his mind remained hypervigilant as ever. He watched her, waiting for even the slightest change in expression or twitch in her body to suggest she was on the verge of striking. “Are you testing me, Tav?”

Her smile fell at the use of her improper nickname. She had insisted half a dozen times not to be called by the first part of her given name already. He had figured correctly it was a decent way to throw her off, even if just slightly.

“It is not so much a test as a matter of your safety,” she answered, “Though I suppose my intent was not entirely without curious examination. I was interested to know who you chose; I am glad you chose properly.”

“Given the current atmosphere, you hardly feel like the proper choice, darling,” he quipped.

Her smile returned, both sides of her lips lifting as her eyes narrowed at him. He recognized that expression for what it was, he had worn it and smoothed it out a thousand times in the past two-hundred years.

Predator.

“Are you nervous, Astarion?” Vira asked simply.

“Nervous around you? You flatter yourself,” Astarion laughed. He knew better than to give an inch towards someone like her, which also meant he knew better than to concede the truth before she forced it from him. “Rightly cautious, however, would be accurate. You did just invite me into the woods alone after catching me attempting to steal from—”

“Ah yes. ‘Stealing,’” she cut him off again, just as she had with the tadpole. She tilted her head, “Is that how you refer to it?”

He frowned and placed a hand on his hip, indignant. “I haven’t the faintest what you’re otherwise trying to imply.”

“It’s just not the terminology I thought vampires used these days,” she shrugged easily. “I thought you still referred to it as feeding.”

She was bold to outright say it, he’d give her that. Still, his mouth went slack in well-practiced offense. “What in the Nine Hells—”

“Astarion,” she deadpanned, stopping him before he could even begin his rant. Her eyes all but verbally asked if they were really going to go down this road. “You aren’t exactly subtle. Between the red eyes, the pale skin, and the bite wounds on your neck you’ve done nothing to conceal, it is rather obvious,” Vira said, lifting a finger to point towards his neck. “To your credit, you are better with your fangs. You hide them well when speaking, but they’re not invisible.”

He deflated some, arms going slack at his sides while the remainder of his counterargument left him. He already determined he wouldn’t—couldn’t—deny it if she called him on it properly, and of course she did exactly that. The only thing he could get a read on and potentially control was how exactly she intended to respond to the revelation. She was surprisingly calm—far too calm about his predicament for him to trust her with the truth.

“That aside, everyone in the clergy has the innate ability to detect any undead in a certain radius around them,” she added and smirked, “It is, quite frankly, impossible for me to not notice you, and has been since we first met.”

“How charming that I’ve had your attention from the start, darling,” Astarion retorted. Slowly, his hand inched towards the dagger on his belt as he kept all of his senses focused on her. “And what, exactly, do you intend to do with that information?” he asked carefully.

Her eyes flickered to his hand and then back up to meet his gaze. “Probably less than I should, but also exactly as I said,” Vira answered. “You need blood, do you not?”

“As every vampire does,” Astarion said. He was certainly not letting her in on how dire his situation was. “And you are just…offering yourself?” he asked, unable to prevent the derisive snort he let out.

Vira shrugged again, looking down at herself and then back to him. “I suppose I am, yes,” she agreed.

He shook his head in disbelief. She was a bold one indeed. “Do you take me for a fool, Tavira?” he asked, nearly hissing. “Why would I trust you? A Kelemvorite cleric, of all things?”

“You shouldn’t,” she agreed again with a nod. “But I haven’t attacked you yet. And I am the best option for what you need now,” she shrugged. When he made no move towards her, she sighed and held out her arm towards him. “Consider it a peace offering,” she said with her small smile, “I have noticed how carefully you tread around me, and I’m sure you have noticed how on edge I am around you. This is a show of good faith, I won’t harm you. I am trusting you not to harm me, nor take anyone else from camp.”

Astarion eyed her outstretched arm. Her dusky skin glowed in the patches of moonlight filtering in through the trees, but he was barely able to focus on anything else other than the faint sound and miniscule flutter of her pulse in her wrist. She was absolutely correct in her observations, but he could still feel trepidation pumping in his veins. This was not a normal reaction towards his kind, especially not from someone of her clergy.

“Isn’t your church dedicated to hunting and eradicating my kind?” he asked, red eyes flicking back up to meet hers. “Is that not one of your core tenets?”

“It could be worse, I could be Lathanderian,” Vira joked, a wry smirk crossing her face. As quickly as it appeared, her smile fell, and she glanced away, staring out into the dark woods. “It is, I suppose, but in truth, I am not keen on waging wars with allies. I…have had enough of that for a lifetime.”

She said it softly, more as though she were talking to the darkness around them than she was to him. It felt as though that was an admittance he should not have heard, but when she returned her gaze to him, her orange eyes were momentarily weighted with a sort of melancholy. She blinked and it was gone, her gaze settling back into her usual, solemn calm.

“I made my decision a few nights ago,” Vira added, “Lord Death has not yet abandoned me for it, so I suspect that it is fine.”

She was being genuine about this. Astarion wasn’t sure why she was willing, but as his anxiety settled and he eyed her arm again, he decided it didn’t really matter. He was not one to turn his nose up at an opportunity, and he wouldn’t deny she was a kind-hearted fool for granting him this one. Perhaps that was all there was to it, and if it was truly as simple as that, perhaps he could push for more.

His eyes traveled from her wrist up her arm and to the exposed part of her collarbone. His gaze settled for a moment on her neck, watching the stronger pulse of her heartbeat with thinly veiled desire, before he met her eyes. “If that is what you decided, I would not decline. However, your neck would be far more suitable and far quicker for both of us. It would harm you less—”

Vira’s snort cut him off. “I am probably being far kinder than I should, but I am not a fool, Astarion,” she remarked.

His eyes narrowed. “I thought this was a sign of trust,” he retorted.

“It is, and I have reason to believe you would not take more than necessary if you are contained within the proper boundaries,” Vira explained, “But I have no reason to believe you would not drain me dry if I did not maintain those boundaries.”

She looked over him for a moment before sighing, her not outstretched hand moving to grip at the hem of her shirt. “Just as you have reason to believe I will hold up my end of the offer,” she continued and lifted her shirt some to reveal the wooden body of a stake tucked into the waistband of her pants, “But no reason to believe I would not stake you if you moved closer than I liked.”

Ah, mutual assurance, he understood that well enough and her point was well taken. He probably should have been concerned she was only now revealing she had a stake on her person, but if it weren’t for the fact she was denying him—and denying him correctly—Astarion would have smirked. Perhaps she had more guile than he initially credited her with. She was still offering at least, and he still needed to feed. These weren’t the worst terms he had operated under by far.

“Very well,” Astarion nodded in agreement.

He finally walked over to her and stopped in front of her outstretched hand. He took her wrist into his palm and raised it towards his mouth. Even without it being his preferred method, the clearer sound of her pulse pounding in her wrist and the faintest smell of her blood pumping beneath her skin had him salivating. To her credit, and to his surprise, her heartbeat remained steady, even as he lowered his mouth to her skin and pierced his fangs into her vein.

And if he happened to bite harder than necessary, if he happened to move his fangs to roll her vein and dig them deeper than he needed just to prove a point that the wrist hurt more than the neck, Vira made no movement to show any discomfort. Her gaze remained fixated on him, steady, calm orange eyes watching him with the slightest hint of curiosity. And in truth, any lingering pettiness he felt dissipated the moment the sweet tang of her blood hit his tongue.

[f-imaginings]

I saw you were planning to do a happy ending spin off of kmky. Is this true?!? Please say yes! Or that you plan on making more because your writing is SO GOOD. Seriously you are amazing!!!!❤️❤️❤️

It's very true 😁 I already have half of one spin off chapter done (I like having several projects going at once so if I'm not vibing with one bit I have another to turn to and it helps take the pressure off), and have plans for several more chapters, although the struggle is making them in character and having the change in circumstances reflect the characters properly.

The one I have half finished so far is set after the bibliosphere and barold blendin's book burning escapade so I picked the most dramatic fraught with tension starting point to muck around with. I'm considering either running a poll on other key crossroads moments or just selecting a few that speak to me.

So far I'm thinking of doing something with the alternate universe with the institute of oddology, something after lottocron 9 and something with the scrap vandals, and I can always work my way back after all the space adventure crossroads dry up.

The scenario that is least appealing to me is any scenario that relies on Stanford being wholly ignorant of Bill's plans and the relationship coasting on that ignorance. The only iteration of that I can see myself writing is if he's in one of those diabolical dream bubbles like Mabel and that can only end in sickening denial, abject violence and everyone hating themselves and each other. So maybe one day I'll write it lmao 😂

[positronicpain]

why would you, as the borg collective, choose the guy who very obviously does not want children to pass on your weird new cutting edge biotech

[starry-bi-sky]

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well: 

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.  

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents. 

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill. 

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.) 

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one. 

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself. 

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.) 

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.) 

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.  

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe. 

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.  

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal. 

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking. 

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter. 

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind. 

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own. 

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t. 

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward. 

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”) 

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)  

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell. 

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his. 

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it. 

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.   

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now. 

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own. 

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)  

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother. 

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten. 

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands. 

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely. 

It is a fast dream. 

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods. 

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him. 

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal. 

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train. 

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.) 

—---  

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again. 

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person. 

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.) 

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)   

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird. 

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is. 

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off. 

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom. 

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.) 

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

-----------------

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

[timeausterrors]

LINE UP LET'S GO!

[mxtxfanatic]

“Teen Hong’er was being sexualized in that aphrodisiac scene because—“

Hey remember when Hua Cheng makes statues of himself at Xie Lian’s request to pair off with every Xie Lian statue he’d made, and he notably does not make a teenage Hong’er statue to match the aphrodisiaced Xie Lian statue but a decidedly adult Hua Cheng statue? Yeah, it’s almost as if we’re not supposed to come away from that scene of forced self-torture with the impression that Xie Lian would, under any circumstance, sleep with an impressionable barely pubescent teen of which he is army commander, prince, and god over. Or something.

[hauntingblue]

Gear 5 luffy's laugh is so contagious I just hear the drums and go insane how does this work. What did he do to me

[ridiasfangirlings]

Which character do you think would elicit panic among the other characters if they say the phrase "Desperate times call for desperate measures."?

Oh definitely Totsuka, Homra despairs of the day they hear Totsuka state that ‘desperate times call for desperate measures,’ all the while smiling very pleasantly. Imagine the Homra guys getting into some spot and Kusanagi isn’t around, Totsuka brightly says if that’s the case then don’t worry, desperate times call for desperate measures after all, and anyway does someone have some flares and a shoe that I can borrow. Yata nervously asks if wouldn’t it be best to wait for Kusanagi to show up and think up a plan, Totsuka’s all don’t worry don’t worry I can handle this, by the way can I borrow your skateboard. Even Mikoto is slightly hesitant, imagine him giving Totsuka a look and asking what he’s planning. Totsuka smiles calmly and says it’s just desperate measures King, don’t worry I’m sure no one will get hurt this time. Mikoto considers that and then is like fine, do what you want, while the rest of Homra are all ‘wait wait what did he mean this time?’.

(Alternatively: Munakata. If Munakata is planning desperate measures then things are probably terrible. If it’s a really dangerous situation like there are hostages or a bomb threat then it’s fine, because Munakata always has a plan and is never that desperate. If they’ve gone on a clan hiking trip and a bear just stole all their food now it’s time to be worried, because Captain is resorting to desperate measures and we’re probably all either going to have to forage for berries or possibly wrestle a bear.)

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

This week on "CJ needs to gush about DAO": Morrigan's dark ritual.

I adore Origins because depending on how serious you take roleplay, every decision you make is a thread that leads back to your origin, and in this case of the ritual, who you choose to romance can have a major impact on how you handle this choice.

For context, my canon run is with a female Tabris who romances Alistair and keeps him as a Grey Warden, and is close friends with Morrigan. It's more in character for my Tabris to reject Morrigan's ritual and not even bring it up to Alistair, which would result in her leaving him behind while she makes the ultimate sacrifice in killing the archdemon... however, agreeing to convince Alistair to do the ritual with Morrigan is the only choice in the entire game where I break roleplay because I'm selfish and weak and I want Tabris to live.

I have a lot of strong feelings about the ritual, like it hurts me. It makes me want to chew on furniture. I can talk about it until I can talk no more. I so badly want to be strong enough to remain in character and reject the ritual.

Let me explain: Tabris survives an origin that deals with sexual assault. She gets kidnapped on her wedding day, she watches the other kidnapped women and her husband get murdered, and then is too late to save Shianni from being assaulted... and Tabris carries that trauma with her throughout the entire game.

If the way to save her life is to ask the two most important people she cares about; one being her lover and the other being her best friend; who she knows hate each other, to have dubiously consensual sex in order to make a baby to absorb the old god soul... she's saying no. The last thing Tabris would ever do is put someone into a sexual situation where consent is at all dubious after what she saw happen to Shianni and nearly happened to herself. She'd rather die than force that upon Alistair and Morrigan.

That's what I mean when I say origin affects everything; I know some will side eye that with "Really? Your warden would rather die than let Alistair sleep with another woman? It's one time, and Alistair agrees to it, so no one needs to die?"

Let me be clear in saying this isn't a "Morrigan slept with my man" issue. Sure, that part's awkward and it sucks, but that's not even breaking water tension, let alone diving into the deep waters to the core of the issue.

For my Tabris, this is about betrayal, consent, and accepting fate.

The person offering Tabris this deal is someone she thought of as a trusted friend who has actually been lying to her the entire time. It doesn't matter what Morrigan's intentions are now or if she genuinely wants to save the wardens. She knew from the beginning why Flemeth sent her with them, she admits as much. She knew a warden would need to make the ultimate sacrifice and then leveraged that to get what she wants. Morrigan waited until the night before, when Alistair and the warden learn one of them has to die to defeat the archdemon, and took advantage of the high running emotions and possibly the fear of dying to make the warden agree to her ritual.

At least, that's how my Tabris interprets this confrontation. She feels betrayed by someone she came to love like a sister and went out of her way to help Morrigan with her mother upon learning what's in Flemeth's grimoire. And then that someone tells her no one needs to die, she just needs to convince Alistair to sleep with her... which is a huge fucking problem.

The Alistair and Tabris romance is slow; it took a long time for either of them to be comfortable with being emotionally vulnerable and trusting each other with basic intimacy, let alone sex. Tabris is mortified at the idea of putting Alistair in this situation. Not only would it feel like a betrayal on her part to ask that of him, but she knows the last thing Alistair ever wants to do is father a bastard who then goes on to grow up without him. How could she possibly ask him to do that?

Then you consider that ritual or no, there isn't a guarantee that they'll survive anyway. Say they do the ritual and Tabris dies anyway; she made Alistair sleep with Morrigan in order to save her and then she died anyway. Or if Alistair dies then Tabris gets to live with the fact that the last person Alistair was with was a woman he hates because she asked that of him… and either way, Morrigan gets to walk away with what she wanted.

Tabris led the group, and she's accepted that if Riordan dies [which he does] then she'll be the one to make the sacrifice, even if it means breaking both hers and Alistair's heart.... except she doesn't because I'm a coward who doesn't want to lose her because my worldstate isn't good without her in it but I also refuse to lose Alistair so I just pretend it plays out differently in my head it's fine-

But... that's how I play Tabris and view the situation. My friend @pi-creates and I have discussed the dark ritual at length. While I play a Tabris who romances Alistair, Pi plays a Mahariel who romances Morrigan, so we have vastly different interpretations of the ritual itself and Morrigan's intentions.

Which yeah, it makes total sense that someone who romanced Morrigan with a different origin, and has the option to do the ritual with her rather than asking someone else to do it, wouldn't see this the way I do.

To quote Pi: "Playing as a male warden in the Morrigan romance makes the whole situation feel different, and maybe it’s because she’s presenting it differently due to the emotional connection, but it feels more like she’s opening up about her initial instructions (that she had been given by Flemeth) and offering a solution to avoid the possibility of death. And for my Mahariel, the constant threat of sudden death has haunted him from the start – he caught the blight and was ripped away from his clan (something he did not want to do in the slightest), got forced into a Grey Warden ritual that could kill him, was forced into a battle that could kill him, going on this whole quest that he never wanted but has now become responsible for regardless of his thoughts on the matter… the dark ritual may be one of the few moments where he is presented with an option to decide if he wants to walk into certain death, or take actions of his own volition to stop it.

"The idea of the ritual still feels like a dodgy thing to do since the ultimate outcome is unknown at that point, he’s taking Morrigan at her word that it will save the warden and that this child would be unharmed, just with an old god soul that she isn’t exactly clear on why she wants that and is determined to runaway immediately after the battle to secure it properly. It could be interpreted that it’s purely a preservation thing, but I’m biased to wanting Morrigan's intentions to not be power based.

"But also, taking part in the ritual isn’t as outlandish for my warden since he and Morrigan have already been involved in an intimate relationship. It’s the future of the ritual that is scarier – the idea of this old-god baby, and the idea of Morrigan insisting that she’s leaving afterwards when Mahariel and her have a loving relationship. He’s hurting, but he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want Alistair to die, he doesn’t want Morrigan to leave, he definitely doesn’t want pregnant Morrigan to leave on her own… it’s complicated, but for completely different reasons."

And I find that fascinating. I want to know how other players approach this part of DAO, what origins they play, and who they romanced. Seriously, this is an invitation to anyone reading to share their thoughts.

What about a warden who doesn't even have Alistair in their party because they made Loghain a warden? Is there anyone out there who has Loghain do the ritual with Morrigan and why? What about male wardens who don't romance her? Do you choose to do it with her anyway, or do you ask Alistair or Loghain to do it? Do you tell Morrigan to fuck off with the ritual? Why? Who makes the ultimate sacrifice in that case? And what about Morrigan herself? How do you interpret her intentions/motivations? I want to know.

I'm telling you, this is a discussion that gets me excited, as most discussions about DAO do.

[rolandkaros]

i know it's just like. sports. and especially tennis. but it's annoying how out of touch players are. just like across the board.

[clockworkcheetah]

in dghda the universe is a stage all the characters are performing a role the universe wants them to act out, hence theres a backstage of reality, theres an ending to the cases thats all planned out