#slash gur

[eddiiiieeee]

My Angel ☆

Slash x reader

warnings: a bit of angst at the start, just fluff, mentions of alcohol and drugs, etc.

summary: y/n and Saul get into a fight about his addiction, and saul finds a letter y/n had written about him.

authors note: listen to September - sparky deathcap, because it fit 💀 part 2!!

"Oh go fuck yourself, saul!" she yelled out as tears streamed down her face, staring back at the man she loves. she hid her face in her hands as Saul let realization hit him, he failed her again, he relapsed after promising to stay clean for the third time in their five years together. he called her names, trashed the house, told her he wished he never loved her, that he despised her. all because she had flushed his stash down the toilet, those words were the first thing she said since he started his tantrum. her sobs now filling the apartment "s-shit baby" he mumbled as he walked towards her his hands reaching up to hold her arms "don't touch me" she said flinching away from him almost instantly she finally looked up at him, with a look he couldn't even describe. y/n grabbed her car keys and purse, quickly rushing out of the apartment, leaving saul alone with his mess. she left. his brain was too drugged to comprehend going after her, he didn't know what to do, he was lucky he was even still standing with the number of drugs he's consumed. Saul rushed over to the phone connected to the wall, dialling Stevens number as he waited, till he heard a voice "steven adler speaking!" "adler, I fucking- y/n, she left and... shes gone" saul sobbed into the phone, leaving his friend very confused as Steven looked over at duff who'd been over at his house "hold on, me and duff are on our way okay?" saul nodded, letting the other hang up as he fell against the wall. he looked around the trashed apartment and noticed underneath a pile of glass, was a book. y/ns handwriting on the front of it. it was her journal, the one she always wrote in. he moved over to grab it, his fingers moving over the old leather cover of the book. he opened the book and let whatever page open, his eyes read over the words, letting himself remember how he loved her handwriting, she always said it looked like a little kid's handwriting, almost unreadable but he always read whatever she would write. he noticed the date that was written 22/9/1987. the day guns n roses performed at the ritz in new york. how can he look so pretty, so angelic without even trying, my saul, a complete angel. gosh how I love him, how I adore him, I've loved and adored him since we first met before all this, before guns n roses, back in 84. I don't regret going to Madam Wong's in East Hollywood, I remember how adorable he looked, his hair was less wild then. I remember the funky clothes he wore that night, god how I remember what I felt when he looked at me. I felt like a little girl whose crush held her hand for the first time during recess. I remember how he stumbled over his words when he came up to me afterwards, I remember how gentle his touch was, how he asked to kiss me underneath a faulty street light in California's weather, I remember every date and moment that happened after. I know saul isn't clean anymore, it hurts me knowing he could slip through my fingers at any given moment, he doesn't remember how I held him a few nights back, I could hear his breathing vividly, and I could see how the colour and life was sucked out of him, he looked almost ghost-like. he doesn't know that's why I haven't slept well in the past few nights, how could I? how could I rest knowing my angel might vanish. how I hate when he does it, but then again, how I love him. my beautiful beautiful boy, I gifted him that song and told him it described him very well. a very beautiful boy. I've dreamt of love this good, and I've got it, saul hudson will forever be the man I love. if we're together or broken up, far or close, in love or fighting, he will always be that angel that sits in my heart, strumming his guitar without a care in the world, singing my favourite songs to me, letting me run my fingers through his untamed curls. I wonder if we ever have kids and if they'll take after him, I hope they do, how I would love little version of him, with his beautiful brown eyes, gorgeous black curls, beautiful facial features, warm coloured skin.

how I love him, my sweet beautiful boy, my guardian angel. y/n l/n ♥ Saul hadn't noticed how hard he began sobbing, this was how much she loved him. and yet all he did was tell her he didn't love her at all. he pulled the leather-covered book to his chest and pull his knees to his chest. not realizing that the door had opened and revealed the mess of an apartment to his two friends. Steven's eyes quickly made their way to Saul, who was surrounded by broken glass, and wood. Duff looked around, getting an idea of what just might have gone down. they both rushed over to Slash, glass breaking underneath their steps "Hey man" Steven said as he crouched down to Slash's level "we need you to calm down alright? so you can tell us what happened and where y/n is" the smaller blonde explained as Duff rubbed Sauls back 

"get him some water, Adler" Duff said as Steven rushed to do so. it didn't take Steven long before he made his way back to them handing Saul the glass, who chugged it down rather quickly. "could you now tell us what happened?" Duff asked, Saul, keeping his gaze straight ahead "she found out I relapsed.she flushed all my shit down the drain, and I got mad at her. I yelled, I threw things, broke some more, i-i told her I didn't love her... that I would never forgive her for what she did, fuck man- I told her I hated her, despised her even" he mumbled letting out a sob towards the end "and she told me to go fuck myself, and when I tried to touch her, she moved away and told me to not touch her, and then she... she left without another word. I need her, I really really love her and I fucked up" he mumbled tears rolling down his cheeks, not caring that this had to be the first time he'd cried around the guys. 

Steven squeezed his shoulder before sighing "let's get you to bed, and then I'll clean up here and Duff can go look for y/n/n, okay?" Steven told his friend before he and Duff had helped Slash up and to his bed, the one he and y/n got up from not long ago. the minute Saul's head touched the pillow, he was out. Duff noticed y/n's journal in Saul's grip, he took it and placed it on the bedside table before leaving the room and closing the door behind him, Steven grabbed a garbage bag and began cleaning up the glass "you knew. you knew he was doing drugs again and didn't say a word to her." Steven told Duff looking at him "I know, I already feel like an asshole" the man said as he sat down on the couch ..... part 2 will be up soon, I promise!! thoughts?

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Rage

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.1K WC NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Warnings: anger, rage, big feels, reader is going through it, Astarion being a grade A bf, foreplay, a sprinkle of smut

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You had never felt anger like this. This was seething, bubbling out of you bones. This was rage. Everything about this journey was boiling over and you just didn’t know what to do with all these overwhelming emotions. You never felt like this, you were usually rather calm, dismissing things that irritated or vexed you as ultimately you deemed them unworthy of your anger. But everything was too much and for some reason you felt angry above every other emotion. So you left camp, not in the mood to seek out support. You walked until your feet hurt, finding a clearing. You took a deep breath before releasing beams of light from your palms. You held them out before you waved them slowly, a force field surrounding a good chunk of the clearing. Once you were sure it was sealed you let out a gut wrenching scream. You started swinging your axe wildly at any and all things it could possibly hit. You kept yelling and screaming, weight on your chest lessening with every rip of your vocal cords. Your power enveloped you, you were glowing surrounded by shimmering light like that of an opal. You watched as the force field started to fracture but you didn’t care, you kept screaming and slashing. You don’t know when, but rage turned into despair after a while. You just felt… everything. It was too much. You didn’t know what to do with it all. Screaming and hacking had gotten rid of the immediate anger but something settled there that made tears stream down your face. You collapsed to your knees as sobs wracked you. You curled into yourself sniveling and shaking. Everything hurt, but it was all inside. You heard a twig snap but didn’t bother to look up. You felt arms wrap around you, pulling you into them. You knew it was Astarion, his scent giving him away immediately. You leaned into him, grasping at his shirt. Your sobs continued, everything flowing out of you. He rubbed your back, whispering words of love to you. You cried for what felt like hours, yet he was with you the whole time. 

Eventually, your breathing slowed. Your cries turned into soft sniffles and mewls. Neither of you spoke for a long time. You were so exhausted. You felt better, getting everything out but now you were just tired. All you wanted to do was sleep, so that’s what you did. You felt Astarion’s arms cradle you before lifting you up. He started walking before you fell into a deep sleep. 

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You woke up in his tent. Candles and incense filling the tent with a relaxing odor. You sat up slightly, the blanket he covered you with slipping down to reveal Astarion’s nightshirt hanging loosely around your shoulders. You smiled at yourself, thinking of all the small things he does to make you feel better. 

“Hello my love.” he said as he walked into the tent. 

You smiled at him bashfully. Astarion had never seen you do more than cry so you felt slightly embarrassed. “Hi…” you whispered back, your voice was hoarse and scratchy from all the screaming.

Astarion handed you a steaming cup of tea before sitting down with you. You instinctively shared the blanket with him, covering both your laps. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that…” you spoke before you took a sip. Jasmine, just the way he knew you liked it. 

“Why are you sorry? You’re not made of stone dear.” he said as he took your hand, reassuring you.

“I know… I just… I never wanted you to see me out of control like that… everything is too much and I just had to get it out somehow…” You stared down at your tea, unable to look him in the eye. 

“When I was under Cazador’s control, I took out an entire camp of Gur. Cazador compelled me to not drink from them but I was so angry, so full of hate… I needed other people to feel it. So I took it out on them. They were so helpless and I cut through them like a knife through butter…”

You looked up at him. He had a far away look in his eyes, remorse. 

“Pain is a funny thing. It can stay bottled up for so long before it has to be let out. Sometimes it's let out in horrid ways. But… pain is a good conduit.”

“How so?” you asked.

“It shows us how strong we are, what we are capable of. Pain, anger, hate… all of those awful things can be channeled out. Only you remain once they are gone. What you did… that's how you needed to get everything out. And that’s ok, that makes you human.” he smiled softly at you, squeezing your hand.

“I just feel so weak…” you frowned. Leaders should be strong is what you said to yourself everyday to push everything down. 

“On the contrary my sweet, only the strong are that in tune with themselves. And look at you now - calm, regulated. You are the strongest person I know.” 

You beamed at him, he always knew what to say. “Thank you Star.” 

You placed your empty cup next to you before crawling up to give him a kiss. He held your face, kissing you back eagerly. You settled your back against his chest, he wrapped an arm around you while the other moved your hair from your neck. He placed sloppy kisses and small licks over the vast expanse. You let out an unintentional, sleepy moan. 

“Let me ease your tension…” he said before his hand slowly slid up your shirt, fondling your chest. You mewled in response, kissing his cheek. He kept working your neck while his other hand slid into your underwear. Your back arched as he started to play with you. Thankfully he didn’t tease you much, he knew how much of a release you needed. His hands moved skillfully, knowing every place you liked to be touched and just how to touch you. You squirmed in his grasp but you never wanted to leave this position.

“I love you…” you whispered between moans, one of your hands tangling itself into his hair. 

“And I you…” he said right as you came undone on his hand. He continued to kiss you as he adjusted your underwear back into place. You were fading quickly, your body spent in every way. “My darling, my truest love…” you hear him whisper all his honeyed words, and feel his ghostly kisses before you slipped away, snuggling into him and placing a kiss on his chest.

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Naboo's Note:

Hey besties! Hope all is well with y'all. This was a fun little idea but I also wanted to put out a little bit of clarification. I do NOT follow any DND rules all of this is just straight from my smooth ass brain at like 2 AM. So if things don't actually work in DND in my fics, that's why. Thank you as always for the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests! XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO!!!!!!!!

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 9: Beneath the Veil

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.5k

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.

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

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

He soars above the roofs, moving swiftly with every forceful downbeat of his veiny, membranous wings. The moon shines bright and full tonight, the sky encrusted with stars glinting like polished gems against the pitch black.

Elowyn and the revolting Drow kept him far too late tonight, requesting additional samples of his blood, trying to justify their incompetent failures. If those two whelps make him miss his chance at seeing her tonight, he will punish them. Severely. The thought fills him with sadistic glee, and the lips of his snout pull back to reveal rows of sharp, needle-pointed teeth, as close as a smile as he can manage in this form.

A hoarse voice pierces through his morbid contemplation like hot steel, “Where is he, spawn?”

For a fleeting moment, he looks around, thinking someone is talking to him. He will torture whoever dares call him a spawn. He will make their death drag on for days, weeks, months, perhaps. He is a pathetic spawn no longer. He is the Vampire Ascendent, and he will not be belittled.

“Did I stutter? I said I don’t fucking know!” Her voice, usually sweet like wind-chimes in a gentle summer breeze, is bristling and teeming with bitterness that nips his ears.

He angles his wings, drawing them close to his body and dives, rapid and sure. He swerves between obstacles, beady black eyes darting around. That overly sweet scent of powdered iron vine stirs unwelcome memories as it hits his nostrils and makes his eyes water.

Shit.

He pumps his wings hard, heading straight toward that sickly sweet scent. He can feel himself start sinking into the mire that has muddled his mind and held him hostage, but he cannot allow it to swallow him in its gaping maw this night. She needs him.

Astarion, he must remind himself of his name. He is not just the Vampire Ascendent; he is Astarion.

“Kill her. She either can’t or won’t give him up. She’s useless to us.”

No. No. No.

His newly beating heart arrests in his chest, immobilized all over again, as he sees the hunter and watches them draw the stake from their hip. She... Gods, she doesn’t do anything. She closes her beautiful eyes and accepts her fate without a fight.

What in the bloody Hells is she thinking?

Fight! He wants to scream but cannot as he shifts forms in a fraction of a second, hauling one of the Gur holding her steadfast into the treeline while drawing his dagger, twirling it into his grip with a flick of his wrist and plunging it into their chest. Pivoting with bared teeth, he does not even bother waiting to revel in their dying shudder.

He is liquid lightning made flesh, and he takes the next hunter in a flash, slashing his dagger across their jugular with a satisfying spray of blood that splashes against his ivory skin and glazes his silver hair with a rust-coloured tint. He discards them just as quickly.

He does not waste a second and spins on his heel, lunging forward, every muscle and tendon in his body buzzing with the energy of 7000 souls. He rips the last Gur away from her, slinging them into the air with no more effort than it would take him to lift a speck of dust.

He regards the flailing human through narrow eyes with brows pulled down in a scowl that darkens his face. He’s going to snap their neck like a matchstick for thinking they can kill his beloved dark consort.

No, he corrects himself - his spawn, his toy, his possession.

“Please, don’t,” she pleads.

Her voice snaps him out of his grisly ruminations, and his eyes meet hers. Those round moon eyes that used to burn vividly with the glow of her blazing spirit now appear almost matte, and his heart clinches in his chest. Where is the fire he’s used to seeing in those eyes?

The scent of blood lingers heavily in the air, his heart pounds with the exhilaration of battle, and the gurgling sputters of approaching death stroke his ears, enchanting him.

Does she truly expect him to spare this feeble sack of shit? He does not spare lives simply because she requests it.

Yet, he is considering it. Why?

He cocks his head, straining against the insurgence of the other presence that threatens to gain control of his body. Ripping himself from the savage chomping jaws of this monster within is painful.

Agony, worse than any torture Cazador ever inflicted upon him, flares through every sinew of his body as he thrusts the hunter against the wall.

His breaths come in ragged, quick succession, but he is back, he is present, he is Astarion.

She stares at him with shock and winces. Her brows furrow with confusion as her eyes cast down and his follow their path.

He had not been fast enough.

Her body trembles as panic channels through her. She grips the stake and rips it out. The sound makes him nauseous and sends bile rising into his throat.

“... Astarion?”

His ears twitch at his name. Her eyes flutter closed as her consciousness begins to slip. Reflexively, he dives forward, arms outstretched, and for the first time in what feels like lifetimes, her name tastes like honey on his tongue as he cries it.

He catches her before her limp body can hit the ground. Gods, she’s far too light and bony with gaunt, hollow cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. His mouth drops open, horrified. Squeezing his eyes closed, he grimaces and shakes his head slightly. He does not have time to dwell on this right now. He must get her help.

The Cleric.

He does not want to, but he can do nothing for her. He moves quickly toward that little house he has watched her return to time and time again.

He considers breaking the door down, but if he does that, the Cleric is likely to attack first and ask questions later. He slams the heel of his boot on the door with a loud thud.

“Astarion?” Shadowheart blinks the sleep from her eyes rapidly, bristles and lunges for her mace, “You should not have-”

“Shut up,” he spits harshly, pushing past her, “Put your distaste for me aside. She needs your help. If you wish to try and kill me after, I will gladly do away with you.”

The golden glow of Shadowheart’s magic recedes from her fingertips as she looks at her in his arms, mouth agape. Her eyes harden as they meet his, “Did you do this!?”

“Me?” He’s astonished at the accusation. Why would he do this? He would never, nay could never. How dare she accuse him of such barbarity!

“Yes, darling,” he drawls sarcastically through clenched teeth, “I thought it was a lovely little icebreaker. I stake my dearest spawn and then show up on your doorstep requesting your help.” He scoffs indignantly, clicking his tongue at her, “Do not be so stupid. I care not what you think of me, but this is not my doing. If I had wanted her dead, she would be dead, and I would not be here.”

“She is dead,” Shadowheart snarls, gripping the hilt of her mace so hard her knuckles strain white, “You already fucking killed her.”

“I-” He did, didn’t he? She is dead, and it was him that drained her of life. No. He pushes the thought away. He had given her the choice. She chose this, and he could not be blamed for her choices.

“Semantics,” he recovers quickly with a shrug, “I could argue them with you all bloody night. Will you assist, or would you prefer to continue glaring at me? I do love the attention, after all.”

Shadowheart scoffs, nose rising with a grimace, “Put her down and step away from her.”

“Absolutely not,” he snaps. He will not lose her again. He cannot. “You have a choice, my dear. Help her as she is, in my arms, or do not. Stop wasting my fucking time.”

“Gods, you’re still as insufferable as you ever were!” Shadowheart stomps her foot, balling her fist up at her sides and levelling the mace at him before discarding it.

“Thank you,” he grins victoriously.

Magic encompasses Shadowheart’s hand. She steps close but warily as if he might pounce on her, and he rolls his eyes with a dramatic huff. Shadowheart recites an incantation, lays a splayed hand on her, and the spell flows over her body. The bleeding slows but does not stop. Shadowheart tries again, stronger this time, the magic suffusing the dim living area with a light blue luminescence.

“Take her to her room and show yourself out, Astarion,” Shadowheart instructs and points toward a darkened staircase, “It’s at the top of the stairs, second door in the hall.”

He chuckles at the silly notion he would leave her in this condition. He’s finally got his hands on her again, and there is no way he is letting her go, “No. She’s coming to the palace with me tonight.”

Shadowheart shakes, trembling with rage, “No. I will not allow you to take her.”

“Try and stop me,” he sneers, his brows knitting together, “She needs more healing, of course. You are most welcome to join us at the Crimson Palace if you wish.”

She will heal, although he’s not sure how fast in the emaciated state she is in. He will take her home where he can watch over her.  He will take her back where she belongs, with him, forever.

He shoves Shadowheart with his shoulder and heads for the door. He hears the crackle of her magic as it leaves her fingers and braces himself to absorb the attack. It hits his back, warming and prickling his skin.

He feels it again, the tug in his mind, demons creeping closer, trying to pull him into oblivion. He takes a deep breath, and his hands squeeze her more firmly, grounding himself.

Turning, he chuckles at Shadowheart as she stares at him, eyes wide in confusion but keen with determination, “That tickled, darling.” He taunts, “I will overlook this little altercation. After all, what’s a little quarrel between old friends? Now, I really must be getting home. You know where to find us should you come to your senses."

He wonders if Shadowheart will try again. She was a determined little spitfire, after all. He quickly slips out the door into the night and laughs when he hears Shadowheart’s livid scream.

“Fuck!”

It’s not long before Shadowheart jogs to his side, “What the Hells happened, Astarion?”

He’s surprised she did not come fully clad in her armour with every weapon she has. Surprised and rather disappointed. He thought she was more intelligent than to walk into the devil’s den defenceless.

“I’m so glad you decided to join us,” he says mirthlessly and shrugs, “She was attacked.”

“Yes, Astarion, I can see that.” Shadowheart scoffs at him, frowning and crossing her arms with a snort, but her expression softens when she looks at her, “Can she die from this? For good, I mean.”

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw, “I will not allow it.”

He walks quickly with long, ground-devouring strides. Shadowheart has to trot alongside him to keep pace.

She stirs in his arms now and then, trembles rippling through her muscles, fingers twitching, and he pulls her into him as close as he can get her. He wants to tell her it’s okay, to whisper that he’s got her and she is safe, but he bites his tongue.

The walk to the Crimson Palace is silent from there on out, and he’s thankful for it.

He lays her down on his bed as Shadowheart yanks scrolls and potions from her bag. He runs his fingers over her cheek when Shadowheart isn’t looking to let her know she’s not alone. He’s here. It’s been so long since he felt her skin. His heart feels like it palpates, skipping beats and is uncomfortably heavy in his chest. He cannot remember feeling anything similar in all his 200 years.

Shadowheart expends every scroll and every ounce of energy she has. Sweat rolls down her temples, and her magic dims and fizzles out on her fingers.

She pants, bracing herself against his bed, “I can do no more until I rest.” Shadowheart nudges him with an elbow to the ribs, “Get out. I need to clean and wrap her wounds.”

He narrows his eyes and quickly snatches the roll of bandages from Shadowheart’s hands, “Allow me.”

Shadowheart stares at him, teeming with hatred, “You will not. I need to undress her. Get out.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he snickers, “Many times, might I add.”

Shadowheart snarls and digs her finger rigidly into his chest, “You would violate her like that for your sick pleasure?”

Violate her? He would never do such a thing. How sick does Shadowheart think he is?

“Pleasure? There is absolutely nothing pleasurable about this!” He howls, affronted at the accusation that he would somehow get satisfaction from such an act. He runs his fingers through his blood-stained hair, “If she wakes while you are at it, she will drain you dry. She will have no control and will not be able to stop herself.”

Truth but not the reason he is being so insistent. He could not care less if she drained the Cleric drier than the desert at noon. He would watch it happen with glee. The truth he is reluctant to admit even to himself is that he wants to be close to her.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow at him, and she crosses her arms with a huff, “Fine, but I am not leaving you alone with her.”

“Fine by me,” he smiles amicably, with a shallow bow, “May I?”

Shadowheart watches him with the same intensity and mistrust she used to watch the Gith with, and he rolls his eyes at her.

His fingers nimbly undo the clasps and laces that hold her robe closed and peels it from her body, sticky with drying blood. He’s careful, keeping his movements slow and measured.

Good Gods, there is so much blood. It coats his hands, up his forearms, muddying his skin and getting under his fingernails.

“Fetch that, will you?” he points to the glass basin filled with clean water, “Cloths are below. Bring them all."

Shadowheart grumbles under her breath but obediently does as he asks. He cleans her with gentle strokes, discarding the rags as they become blood-soaked and spoiled.

Hells, she is thin beyond his wildest imagination. Her collar bones, hip bones, and ribs jut out from her sunken stomach. He could count every vertebra in her spine. She looks frail and sickly. It takes considerable effort for him to keep his facial expression impassive as if he doesn’t care, but her condition makes his bones ache. It reminds him of the time he spent the year sealed away, starving and alone in that old, dusty tome. Is he no better than Cazador? He buries the thought.

“I should have brought her a change of clothes,” Shadowheart cringes while discarding the robe, fabric soaked and heavy with blood.

“I have her clothing. I will fetch her something when we finish,” he concludes almost absentmindedly, his mind focused on wrapping her with the roll of bandages.

“You have her clothes?” Shadowheart gawks at him, eyes rounded with surprise, “Still?”

“Yes.”

He does not explain further. He still can’t recall why her bedroom was separate from his. Worse yet, it was down in the spawn quarters. Did he put her down there? Why?

“We can do no more for her tonight,” he murmurs as the backs of his fingers graze down her arm. He doesn’t even bother to look at Shadowheart. He points toward the door, “Guest bedrooms are in the west wing. Take your pick.”

Shadowheart crosses her arms and sniffs, “I will not be leaving her half-naked with the likes of you.”

He tires of this and these accusations that he will act indecently. Maybe he is a monster, but he is not as twisted as they all seem to believe he is. He does not have the energy or the restraint to participate in petulant arguments. If Shadowheart pushes him too far, which is an utter certainty, he will be Astarion no longer.

Astarion, he reminds himself again. I am Astarion.

He catches Shadowheart’s eyes and compels her, “You will go to the first guest bedroom you find, and you will sleep until dawn."

Shadowheart’s pupils dilate wide, and red tendrils trail around her as his compulsion roots into her mind.

“I will sleep until dawn,” Shadowheart repeats, absent and emotionless, getting up and leaving him alone.

He sighs with relief and drags a chair to the side of the bed. Dawn is an hour or two away, at best, but it is enough. He leans back, resting his elbow on the armrest and his forehead in his hand. This was his fault. He dragged her into this mess with the Gur. He knew they had been trying to track him, but he did not know they knew about her.

He will find where they are hiding and slaughter the lot of them for this. Why stop there? He will hunt every tribe of Gur to the ends of Faerûn and eradicate them from existence entirely. They will all pay in blood for what has occurred tonight.

She coughs and mutters indiscernibly. A voice inside his head wails that he should destroy her because she makes him feel, and that makes him weak. She makes him weak. He thrusts the thought down, frowning in disgust at himself for ever having it in the first place.

Gods below, what has he become? He’s spent months watching her from a distance. At first, he told himself he kept being dragged back to that terrible little hovel because he felt a foul sort of gratification in watching her suffer as she withered away to skin and bones or cried on the ground.

It made him feel good, powerful, but above all, needed. For a time, he savoured her misery as if he were sipping it like a fine wine.

He can’t remember exactly when it stopped being enjoyable.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles with a shaky breath, kissing her palm and interlocking his fingers with hers, “I’m so sorry. I will not fail you again.” 

“It’s the wizard.”

He can hear emotion siphon from his voice, a sheet of ice crystallizing it. Her beautiful eyes are wide and round with fear, her mouth dropping open slightly. The tips of her fangs peek out of her full lips, disorienting him for a moment. Those fangs do not look like they belong in her mouth. Yet, he had put them there, didn’t he? She pulls the bedsheet up, grasping the silken linen in her fist and bringing it to her chest, shielding her body from him. He loathes the way she is looking at him. She is frightened of him. There was a time not too long ago when she trusted him beyond measure. He longs to see her look at him like that again.

But right now, the wizard is here to take her from him. He cannot lose her again. Gale cannot have her. She is his.

He takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He can feel that unholy abomination within him start rampaging against its shackles. It pulls at the borders of his mind and whispers corruption in his thoughts, begging to be released.

“No. No, it can’t be. Gale doesn’t know where I am,” she stutters, panic taking flight and soaring into her voice, “You’re mistaken.”

If only he were.

He cocks his head, eyeing her warily and waves dismissively, “Shall we answer the door and find out?”

He tries to sit up. She relinquishes her linen shield and scrambles into his lap, squeezing him tightly between her thighs and straddling his waist. She plants her splayed hands on his chest and thrusts him down, grinding him into the bed with all the strength of her vampiric form.

She looks to the door, brows upturned, portraying her unease, and then looks back at him, “Ignore it.”

He lets her push him back and narrows his eyes in a challenging glower. Even with all her strength and weight behind her, he sits upright effortlessly in a slow advance. She forgets herself sometimes, forgets what he is, the power he possesses. He can feel her body trembling, her fingers digging into his chest, and he revels in the fear illustrated in the intricate details of her features.

He blinks hard and rids himself of that thought. It’s his ire forcing impulsive whispers through his head. If he wanted that, he could simply let himself slip away, and he would not even have to remember the savagery he dealt.

“Now, why ever would I ignore my old friend Gale?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s another well-practiced veneer, just another mask, one of his many.

“Please, Astarion,” she takes his hand and begs, “Ignore it.”

“No,” he retorts, easing her off him gradually and sliding off the bed. He grabs his trousers and throws them on.

She clambers ungracefully, grabbing her clothes, “Astarion, listen to me. Please. At least stay in here while I talk to him.”

He whirls on her with a snarl before he even knows what he is doing, “I am the Vampire Ascendant!” He shouts at her cruelly, “I take orders from no one!”

His eyes start their restless shifting. He marshals his resolve and the muscles in his arms strain. His fingers twitch as unseen talons claw rifts into his consciousness, and he reels to keep himself tethered to reality.

He must not give in.

Her arresting eyes bore into him. She speaks to him softly, using that silver tongue in her most zephyr intonation, “Stay you, please.”

She watches, observing his every movement. Shooting pains cleave through him. It feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside out, and Gods, it hurts. If she were not looking at him like that, he might let himself be dragged away.

Astarion, he prompts himself; I am Astarion.

He jerks his eyes away from her while buttoning his chemise, “I’m trying,” he growls low, “Do not challenge me right now.”

A warning. He can feel himself sinking. All grace and fluidity have been depleted, and he moves stiff and rigidly. She picks up her shirt and stares at the tattered rag he tore from her body. He can still taste her pleasure sweet on his tongue, feel her dissolving around him, while his name rang like a prayer through these halls.

He told her he was going to make love to her, didn’t he? Why did he say that? He does not make love. A lapse in judgment in a moment of passion, surely. He does not dig deeper. He dares not follow the trail because he’s afraid of what he will disentomb.

He shifts his form and reappears by the door. Her footsteps descend the staircase so quickly he’s surprised she hasn’t sent herself tumbling. Perhaps he has managed to teach her something, after all.

He knows what awaits when he opens this door. Gale will try to take her from him again as he did before with his trivial illusions, sincere confessions and genuine love, but she belongs to him.

Astarion, Astarion, Astarion, he chants to himself as he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Gale’s voice clamours through the halls as he pushes in, “Where is she, Astarion? What have you done to her!”

“That’s Lord Astarion to you, Gale.” His voice is tight, soaked in cordial falsity, “How lovely to see you. Welcome to our home.”

Gale scoffs at him, brows furrowed, “Lord Astarion? You cannot be serious?”

“Oh, I am dead serious.” He seethes through clenched teeth, brows pulled down in a menacing scowl, “In my home, you will show me the proper respect I am due.”

“Respect?” Gale shouts at him in a rage, arms gesturing wildly, “You lost any hope of respect as soon as you forced undeath on her.”

Forced undeath on her? Forced?! He did no such thing! He requested, and she accepted. Her undying loyalty for an eternity with him.

A simple transaction.

... Right?

The edges of his vision are starting to ripple and blacken, a sure sign he is losing.

She runs around the corner, almost tripping over her feet, and her words blunder out of her mouth briskly, “Gale, stop! You don’t understand what you’re doing. You’re putting us all in danger.”

“Yes, Gale,” he chimes cooly, “I am very dangerous.”

His memory flashes with images of himself standing, blood dripping from his hair, off his fingertips and chin. Mangled bodies are strewn haphazardly around him, open mouths lamenting silent screams as their milky eyes cast judgment on him. He does not recall dealing these deaths, only waking up in the aftermath of his primal sadism.

Gale ignores him and reaches toward her. He doesn’t even realize he’s moving until he’s twisted Gale’s arm behind his back. He fumes, “Do not touch her. She is mine.”

He considers breaking the wizard’s arm with a gleeful, ghoulish smile, tugging his lips up. He applies a little more force, and Gale cries out. The pained bawl is music to his ears, and he almost floats away on the bewitching hymn.

“Astarion, stop it.” Her cold hands clutch his heated cheeks, “Look at me. I’ve got you, but I need you to hold on.”

He focuses on those fascinating multicoloured doe-eyes through the storm clouding his vision. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to release Gale with a grunt. His limbs feel numb - like they are not his and should not be attached to his body. He shudders and leans back against the wall, with such pressure that cracks begin extending across the wood panelling. Agony explodes behind his eyes. He’s sweating, perspiration rolling down his forehead and temples and the delicate black fabric of his chemise clings to his damp body.

She drags Gale out of the manor into the sunbathed street, trying to put as much distance between him and Gale as possible. She squeezes her eyes closed and grits her teeth as the radiant light spreads over her snowy skin.

I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. He wants to tell her, but he is no liar. She is safe with him, Astarion, but he cannot be sure of his actions if he is overtaken and subdued.

“What in the Hells is going on here?” Gale yells at her, “What are you thinking going back to him? He killed you and then left you to rot in the sewers! Do you remember how Shadowheart and I found you? You were out of your mind with hunger!”

Rot in the sewers? What the fuck was Gale talking about? He never left her in the sewers. Did he? His memories are fragmented and unreliable. He remembers defeating the Netherbrain, the searing pain in his head, standing on the docks, and little else. The first vivid thing he can recall is watching her walk out the palace door, tears gliding down her face, her eyes shimmering wet in the moonlight, and her voice trembling as she said goodbye.

He does not know what is happening to him, but he knows there is more to the Rite than the devil let on, and whatever ails him is slowly eating away at whatever is left of him.

“Yes,” she mewls, a hand coming to her forehead in an exasperated gesture, “I remember. It doesn’t matter now. You shouldn’t be here, Gale. Go home. I will come when night falls, and we can discuss this then.”

“Why are you putting yourself in harm’s way again, for him of all people.” Gale scolds her and makes those voices in his thoughts croon louder, promising the wizard’s death, telling him he won’t have to blame himself, “Is this some sort of compulsion? Has Astarion forced you to do this? You’ve always had a big heart, but you have never been stupid.”

Did he call her stupid? He will rip out Gale's fucking tongue for speaking to her in such a manner.

“Astarion hasn’t compelled me,” she retaliates in a cutting inflection, but he hears the unmistakable notes of uncertainty, “I am here of my own volition.”

“No, I do not believe that.” Gale decrees, sure and confident, “I think Astarion knows how to manipulate you, and he continues to do so, as he always has done.”

“Perhaps he is,” she sighs, “But perhaps he isn’t. It matters not. The choice is mine to make, and the consequences are mine to bear, whatever they may be.”

Gale’s voice loses its keen edge and drops low, “You fled from Astarion, from this life. Why return to it? Help me understand, my friend.”

Her fists clench at her sides, and she growls, frustrated with the inquisition. “Isn’t it obvious? I love him,” she shouts, squaring off with Gale, “I love him, and I will not, cannot, give up on him!”

He stares at her back, mouth dropping open and eyes rounded. He did not expect this. She is doing this because he promised her freedom, is she not? Another transaction.

“That man,” Gale spits, “No, that monster cannot love you. Not anymore. You’re coming home with me.”

Bitterness rises hot in his throat and coats the back of his tongue. He’s spent lifetimes having someone dictate what he can and cannot do, and he will stand for it no longer.

He does love-

He cuts the thought off abruptly as if it were a stray stitch unravelling from a grand tapestry. His blood solidifies, icy in his veins.

If he admits this, it becomes real, and she alone has the power to destroy him, wreck him beyond all hope of repair.

Yet, despite his best efforts, whatever he retains of his soul weakly whispers on, ruing against his restraint.

I love you too.

He groans and leans forward, hands on his knees, trying to keep himself upright. His brain feels like it’s twisting in his skull. Oblivion is edging closer, vines made of shadow reaching out to him and twisting around his limbs.

“No, Gale. Stop,” she screams, her feet dragging across the paved stone street, “You are going to get us both killed!”

“I am not afraid of Astarion,” Gale says, resolute.

He’s heard enough, “You should be, Gale.” he hisses as he emerges from the doorway, “Leave. Now. She has made her choice.”

The sun is bright in his eyes, much too bright and hot on his already feverish skin. He forces himself to stand straight, though he wants to double over.

Gale scowls at him, brows pulled down, “You did this, didn’t you? You compelled her, exerted your will over her and forced her into this servitude!”

Gale would want to believe that, wouldn’t he? Blame him for being the puppet master, because then Gale would not have to face the truth.

Despite it being the objectively stupid thing to do, she loves him.

“Gale, go home,” she screams, anger thrusting into her voice, “I will explain everything, but you must go before it’s too late. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

His body does not feel like it’s under his control, and movement feels wrong. Gripping her arm, his fingers dig into her flesh, and he hauls her backward toward the manor with so much force that he wrenches her off her feet and into the air. An anguished cry chokes from her throat. It breaks him from the daze. He did not mean to hurt her.

“I didn’t mean to-”

He doesn’t get to finish before he’s pushed back and off balance by a sudden, strong gust of wind, far too powerful to be anything natural.

He rights himself quickly, whirls, and watches in horror as a radiant beam of pure sunlight careens toward her. It washes over her before he can move, and a shrill, soul-shattering scream wrests from her throat.

The demon bursts from its prison with pain so torturous it fractures his psyche, liquefying his brain matter.

He’s dragged down, down, down, where everything is quiet and dark.  

Sunbeam spills over you in an upsurge. Your skin sears, your eyes sizzle in their sockets, and white-hot pain swarms your vision. Falling to your hands and knees, a cry so shrill tearing from your throat, it feels like it rips your vocal cords to tatters.

“Are you pleased, wizard?” Astarion drawls, “Look what you’ve done to my most precious treasure.”

Astarion’s voice is distant and emotionless, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s lost the fight with himself. If you do not do something quickly, Gale’s blood will soak these streets, and it will be on your hands. Astarion told you those who provoke him rarely survive. Gale will be no exception.

Gritting your teeth, you push through the pain, making your nerves sing and blink to clear your vision. Astarion stalks toward Gale, laughing as if deranged while he nimbly dodges every one of Gale’s attacks, a predator playing with their prey like a cat with a mouse.

From the ground, you cast Hold Person, halting Astarion. He wars against his restraints. You will not be able to hold him long.

“Gale,” you sputter as you feel your concentration breaking, splintering at the seams like an overstuffed doll, “I cannot hold him long. Run to the waypoint and get home.”

Gale shakes his head, “I won’t leave-”

You trample over him, “If you don’t, we are both dead. Go! Now!”

Seconds that feel like hours pass before Gale turns and disappears down the street. You hold Astarion for as long as possible, vying to give Gale enough time to get to the waypoint. You can only hope Astarion does not decide you’re too broken and no longer fun to toy with.

Astarion rallies against your impediment and Hold Person breaks and shatters as your concentration is pushed beyond its limits.

Trembling, you try to push yourself to your feet, but you can’t get your limbs and muscles to obey orders. You don’t hear Astarion’s footsteps as they approach, but his proximity is betrayed by his beating heart.

Astarion’s hand curls into your hair, pulling you to your feet with an unforgiving yank, “You should not have intervened in my fun.”

“Astarion-”

His hand slams into the bottom of your chin, making your teeth clash with so much force you’re sure they will buckle and disintegrate in your mouth.

“Don’t “Astarion” me. It will not work this time,” he growls with a taunting edge, “Astarion is gone. I am the Vampire Ascendant! I am a God, and I will not be caged! Do you hear me? You are nothing, and you cannot save him.”

He talks about himself as if they’re two different people.

Astarion looks around, and a menacing smile slinks across his lips, “Perhaps I should simply let you burn and put an end to this once and for all.”

Panic forces your hand. Whoever this person is, he is not Astarion, and he may very well let you burn. You press your palm against his chest and let liquid fire, hot as the fires in Phlegethos, explode against him. The instant you feel his clutch release, you throw yourself back into the safety of the manor.

Crawling further inside, you push yourself up with the aid of a wall as your knees quake under your weight. You look up just in time to see Astarion’s hand as it slams into your throat, and he lifts you off your feet. His grip is stringent and unforgiving, and bruises instantly varnish your pallid skin, narrating abuse with dark hues of blue, purple and red. You kick against the air hopelessly, feet trying to find purchase.

You pull at his wrist and hand, digging your nails into him, blemishing his ashen skin with bloodied, jagged lacerations. You try to speak, but he increases the pressure on your throat, and nothing can make it out of your compressed esophagus.

You keep your eyes away from Astarion’s; you cannot look into those ruby-red eyes and see him look at you like you are nothing. Not after he has been looking at you like you’re everything.

Astarion’s head rears back, and his fangs plunge like icepicks into your neck. He shakes his head side to side like an animal trying to tear your throat out. You try to cry out, and your fingernails claw at his arms and face. He draws blood in erratic, unrestrained gulps and swallows it greedily. It spills from his mouth, running down your neck in a tributary, soaking into your shirt.

You oppose his hold on you, but it’s no use. Astarion is too strong, and you’re far too depleted. Astarion is going to drain you dry once again, and you stop fighting it. He cannot kill you like this, but what he does with your unconscious body afterwards is another story entirely. You dare not think about it.

Your limbs are the first to start feeling the effects of blood loss with tingles spreading to your fingertips. Even though it’s not possible, you still feel the sensation of paling further and growing colder as you begin to feel faint. Your body goes limp in his clutch as it numbs to the point where not even your fingers have the energy to twitch. Your eyelashes flutter as your eyes spurn your effort to keep them open. A quiet, pathetic whimper escapes your parted lips.

Suddenly, Astarion rips his fangs from your neck, rough and painful. The agony snaps you back into your body. You fall to the ground in a shuddering heap. Blood continues to flow freely from your neck and spreads sanguine streams in the cracks between the wooden plank flooring, overflowing and pooling around your face and shoulders.

You watch Astarion stagger backward. Violent spasms wrack his body, and he falls to his hands and knees. He convulses, body writhing and twisting, and his fingernails make deep, long gouges into the floor, bloodying his fingertips.

You’ve seen him fight himself before, but it’s never looked like this. Good Gods, this is pure, undiluted suffering, and tears well up in your eyes.

I did this to him. This is my fault.

You try to speak, but the pain in your throat is unbearable. Your fingers splash in bloody puddles as you flex them. It takes every ounce of energy you have left, but you reach out and place your hand over Astarion’s as it claws the ground. His surprised eyes dart to you at the contact.

You keep your eyes focused on the beautiful red of his, in case it’s the last time you see them, as your world fades to black.  

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

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:

So we did backtrack quite a bit in this chapter, but I thought it was important to learn why Astarion was even around for the Gur attack, and also to get a good look into what's going on in his head.

Trying something new with Astarion's POV. Let me know if it works or not, and I might keep switching perspectives.

Also, the new patches additional kisses - be still my beating heart.

[usafphantom2]

VIDEO: Ukrainian saboteurs set fire to Su-34 fighter bomber in eastern Russia

The Ukrainian intelligence board posted a video of a fire near the fuselage of the Su-34 jet.

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 04/01/2024 - 23:10in Military, War Zones

Saboters working for Ukrainian Intelligence set fire to a Su-34 bomber at the Shagol airfield in Chelyabinsk, 1,500 km inside Russia, in the east of the country.

The group of Ukrainians entered Russia, traveled the 1,500 kilometers to the Chelyabinsk air base in northern Kazakhstan, sneaked into the snow-covered runway under the cloak of darkness and set fire to a Sukhoi Su-34 Fullback bomber of the Russian Air Force.

The approximate location of the Chelyabinsk-Shagol air base in Russia. (Photo: Google Maps)

The Chief Intelligence Directorate of Ukraine (GUR) released images on YouTube of a Russian Su-34 tactical bomber being set on fire at the Chelyabinsk aviation camp on the night of January 4. Several Ukrainian media outlets released the video.

Citing the GUR, the reports reported that the aircraft belonged to the aviation regiment of the 21ª mixed aviation division of the aerospace forces of the Russian Armed Forces.

TAP ARROW BUTTON TO VIEW VIDEO ☝️

The extent of the damage to the aircraft cannot be determined by the video, which shows only a small fire the size of a candle in the fuselage, near the engine compartment.

Near the end of the video, the flames inside the aircraft began to get more and more intense.

The right air intake of the Su-34 fighter-bomber

Video images make it difficult to assess possible damage to the aircraft, but the high temperature may have deformed the fuselage.

The Su-34 supersonic fighter-bombers are among the best in the Russian air force - and the most active along the 1,000-km front line of Russia's broader war against Ukraine, which has already lasted 23 months.

Russian Air Force Su-34 Fullback fighter. (Photo: Alex Beltyukov / Wikimedia Commons)

The Ukrainian forces are doing everything they can to shoot down all the Su-34s they can. Quickly repositioning long-range air defenses in southern Ukraine last month, the Ukrainian air force slashed four Su-34s in the space of a week. If the sabotaged jet leaves service, the Russians may be reduced to about 125 Su-34, in a pre-war fleet of no more than 150.

A satellite view of the Chelyabinsk-Shagol air base dated May 17, 2023. In the close-up, a pair of Su-24, three Su-34s and a single Su-35 on the air base ramp. (Photo: Google Earth)

It is not the first act of sabotage committed by a Ukrainian agent within Russia, but it may be the most daring. And it may have cost the Russian Air Force another of its increasingly threatened Su-34s.

In October 2022, a Ukrainian sneaked into a Russian airfield near Pskov to blow up a Kamov Ka-52 attack helicopter. Pskov is 800 kilometers from the border with Ukraine.

TAP ARROW BUTTON TO VIEW VIDEO ☝️

In September 2023, saboteurs blew up An-148 and Il-20 planes in an aviation field in the Moscow region, as well as a Mi-28N helicopter, which had previously been actively involved in the shooting down of attack drones in the Moscow region.

Previously, several parked long-range bombers would have been damaged in an aviation field near the border with Ukraine due to a drone attack launched from within Russia.

Tags: Military AviationSukhoi Su-34 FullbackWar Zones - Russia/Ukraine

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Fernando Valduga

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, he has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. He uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.

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Cavok Brazil - Digital Tchê Web Creation

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[podcastingpineapple]

Palisade 29 spoilers, mostly SCREAMING through the episode

IS THIS MOTHERFUCKING GUR AND VALENCE PODCAST IN THE DESCRIPTION

We are in the fucking WAR AGAINST BRANCHED?? Just JUMP and we are IN THR FRONT LINES

I saw ONE WORD SPOILER for this episode and it was DAHLIA so i have high hopes.

I thought they would show up on Palisade but NOPE, you come to the Glorious Princept, not the other way around. Mirror this to that fucking Kesh man.

This flagship/garden city is wild!!

Liguid black, kinda like stone tight plugsuit. Had to google Jesse James Keitel, was not disapointed, they look like a princept to me.

I am excited to see what they are like. What are you like, Dahlia, how can you claim so many thrones?

"Captain Kalvin Brnine." Not me immediately liking them for using the right name, the bar could not be any lower.

"What drives you, Kalvin Brnine?"

*face down, head in hands* yeah uh-huh, hmmhmhm. Kalvin Brnine opposing Apostalos has pushed them more than a millenia of fighting the branched right yup cool cool

"That's a fucked up thing to say." YEAH!!!

"They would like us not to be human anymore."

"They do not know they are being kinda shitty, is the thing. Which is that the room changes around you. The light becomes softer. It is a living room on a warm, sunny day. This is a thing your old friend, Phrygian, could do." (I just let out the most pained wail of my life, sorry roommates.) "And it strikes you, they are not in the room, they are the room."

"Hate that." YEAH!!! SAME!! NOT GOOD!

They have become something like the branched. They fucking think that only CONFLICT and ANTAGONISM will bring change.

OH DAHLIA, YOU ARE FUCKING FULL OF SHIT! WHAT?? ONLY WAR MAKES CONNECTIONS???? DEFEATS THE NATURE OF SELFISHNESS??? Someone give them a hug or something, they grew up wrong and think this is how they can make true connections. (And also teach them how to be a cool room.)

You know what, the branched should have captured Dahlia as a baby. The farmer should've gone straight to the enemiest of enemies and be like "hello".

CAS!!! MISERI AND COR!!! INTEGRATING THEM TO MILLENIUM BREAK! THIS IS ALL I WANT. BUT THEY WOULD BE LOYAL TO DAHLIA! AAAAH, AUSTIN HAS POISONED THE WINE I HAVE CRAVED, BUT IT WOULD TASTE sOoOo SWEET~

WOOOOAH, WILD SWINGS, WILDEST OF SWINGS. "On of scale from 1 to 10 how much can I assassinate this person and still be able to- (laughter) break out?" "What!? Break out of WHAT, you are IN them??"

Hehe, read the room. Because. The princept is the room.

Ali was not even on Roll20, what a fucking powermove.

OOOOH, DAHLIA HAS BEEN LIKE THIS FOR YEARS. OOooOOooOH.

Integrity, Commitment and Dahlia in a soup... Something something Chimera?

Ah, no, it seems they are still kinda three separate beings but Dahlia can just be. A room.

"If you took action in here-" uh oh.

Reading all of these moves is hilarious!

"Hollow blood, less weight!" Fjfjjfjfgghh

THE TAPES!! WITH VALENCE AND GUUUUUUUUR!!!

Also MAGIC UP ROUTINE, PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE HIM!!?

I like how excited Austin was about the possibility of just KILLING Dahlia just outright, after teasing them for soooo loooong. I might be bit sad because they seem like an excellent antagonist.

"Anyway, the Glorious Princept is Bleeding everybody. In their throneroom."

BRNINE!! STILL IN IT!! BRNINE!!! SLASHING PRINCEPTS FACE!!!!

ARE THEY REALLY KILLING THE PRINCEPT? HOLY SHIT!!!

JaCK dE QUIDT! NEW MUSIC EVENT!

Figure wants Brnine to know. That Millenium Break can really change lives. (crying)

Figure can cry!!!

I love Cori grilling Eclectic about Leap...

Hunting cleaning their rooms, watering plants... midnight running simulations.... partial walking into the ship with baggy pants...

[Asepsis voice:] RED ALERT! RED ALERT! CAPTAIN BRNINE IS DYING!

Saffron Septet running to see what the fuck is happening...

OH COMMITMENT, POOR COMMITMENT :( searching it's elect and integrity... need another elect...

Branched, go get Commitment!!! Go get it!!

Did they forgot the tier difference on the princept fight? Eh, it was fun.

Routine joining Starioma. Best worst case scenario. Please save him. Please.

"When did we break up???" So true ali, so true, together and still toxic.

I hate that brnine/gucci ship has overtaken me.

"Did they just win??? There is only one princept." I mean kinda?

Cori is sweet. Thisbe and Brnine convo... Phrygian made the best cereal box mazes... Branched Man...

They sound SO TIRED! And there is 40 minutes left in the episode!!

Cas will become the next apokine..... oh no.... oh cas......

Gur told me about them. About... Valence?? About the tapes.

They are never going to play the rest of the eclectic-brnine -scene, huh.

Jesset texts! Emoji between a heart and a sparkle... Two hearts is ambiguous.... :) :) :) Jesset Boyfriend City is real....

"I was SURE you would've died on the combustor"... aaaaghhh she LOVES them!!

YAASS, GO SAVE THE PEOPLE FROM THE AFFLICTION SMOOOOKE!! FACE YOUR FEAAAARS, FACE YOUR REGREEEETS! Omnomnom it will be tasty!!

Big! Swings! We love it! The drama! Big! Moves! Moves that MATTER! Fuck the empire UP!! WE WILL LEAP!!

[needs-a-lil-spice]

Arijon's Nightmare - Just out of reach

SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR ACT 3 ASTARION ROMANCE [One of many nightmares; not the first and by far not the last for the Tiefling. His ‘visions’ had increasingly become more frequent and vivid the closer they had gotten to Cazador and the more time he spent with Astarion, all because it was on the forefront of his mind. His nasty little power could simply give him an edge by giving him vague hints about the past, present and future, but instead it’s merciless, brings him knowledge of things that don’t even matter anymore and lets him live through it as if it was real. Sometimes it makes him question if he did the right thing and seeing alternatives is the power’s way to let him know. And sometimes he’s convinced this must be some god’s cruel joke, when he’s forced to live through events that seem to have no other purpose than to torture him with images of bloodshed, pain and sorrow. Cazador is dead. Astarion is free for now - depending on whether their end-goal will leave them alive or dead - but Arijon’s dreams are plagued with ‘what-could-have-been’s until one night it’s just too much to bear. CW: Major-Character death (in a dream, but still), semi-graphic description of violence and emotional distress, non-graphic description of vomiting, light panic attacks, hints of anxiety and feelings of inadequacy throughout (because gods know I can’t stop projecting onto my characters).

All followed by comfort, however!]

Also found on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49580941/chapters/126249154

The rancid stench of blood, death and decay lay heavy in the air, filling Arijon’s lungs with each labored breath. His ears rang from the constant, infernal magic reverberating through these defiled halls, that bound Cazador’s spawns to his ritual; one of them being Astarion, suspended helplessly in the air like the others. Ari could see him strain against the red magic that held him in place, but to no avail.

The Tiefling’s claws dug into the smooth floor of the platform, desperately trying to get up but he had gotten pinned by two of the Werewolves when he tried to free the Elf. Sharp pain ran through his body and made him grit his teeth in agony, when they dug their claws deeper into his back, his arms, his legs, dragging him away like a toy.

He turned his head in a panic, trying to see where his other companions were, but they had been overrun just like him. Karlach was surrounded by the grotesque Undeads that used to be Gur in some life, with Shadowheart blocked behind her, terrified by the remaining Werewolves sprinting towards her. In any other situation he would have been understanding of her fears but right in this moment he could have screamed in frustration. A clever cast of her Spirit Guardians seemed to do the trick at first, taking two of the Undead close to Karlach out. “Karlach!” He screamed, trying to get her to focus on him so she could rush to Astarion in his stead, but the moment she even dared to glance away for a moment, the Fallen Gur Hunters were on her, one slashing at her before another released a toxic looking fume that made them gag and cough and freeze in place in reaction to it. “Gods, no…” Ari uttered under his breath, trying not to let the rising anxiety and panic take hold of him.

When one of the clawed hands released him for a moment, reaching back to strike him again, he twisted and held his arms out, burning them with his Flaming Hands, making them howl in pain as the embers lit up in their faces, singeing their fur and catching on the little clothes they wore; good, they deserved nothing less. His body was screaming at him but he was running out of time. While he and his brave companions were trying hard to get even the smallest foothold in this fight, Cazador had been taunting them, mocking them and worst of all kept gaining powers from the ritual that was heading closer and closer to its completion. Each passing moment the noise of the infernal magic was getting louder, more penetrating, it rang through his mind, worse than the tadpole ever had been. Every pounding ache in his head was followed by Cazador’s words of triumph. “Any moment now..!” The Vampire Lord laughed like a madman, a sound so shrill it echoed in Ari’s ears.

The Tiefling was scrambling to get back onto his feet, his focus back on Astarion, despite the ache in his body. If he could just reach him..! When he looked up  he felt his heart stop; the strain in Astarion’s face had warped into pain, groans of agony leaving his chest and his eyes were focusing right on him, pleading, losing hope. Arijon willed his body upright, barely dodging another attack from one of the smoldering Werewolves. He just had to get to him. Then it’ll be over. Just reach him. Save him.

Faceless whispers began haunting his thoughts; too many, too quiet to make out. Was it a side effect of the sounds of the battle ringing in his ears? They seemed familiar in a way, yet paradoxically unknown. All he knew was that they made his already blooming fear grow even bigger. His rapier was nowhere to be found - he lost sight of it when he was tackled - so another swing from the beast behind him was returned with a kick to the gut instead, just something to keep it off him for even a moment longer. When the beast growled in pain and curled into itself, Arijon turned, rushing towards his love.

Only a few more steps! Only a few—

“ARGH!” Arijon cried out as forceful magic engulfed him and all but made him topple over in crippling pain, fear washing over him like water through a broken dam. This wasn’t natural, something was forcing his thoughts to go haywire and before he was pinned back to the ground by the second Werewolf from earlier, he briefly saw the glimpse of that damned skeleton mage. His face met the ground again, claws firmly pinning him to the ground this time; his body was giving out, he tried to wrangle himself out of the grip but his body wouldn’t listen.

Gut-wrenching noises came from around him; the screams of Cazador’s sacrifices, crying out in agony before they abruptly fall into silence, only followed by an ungodly squelching sound. One by one, from the front of the platform all the way to the back. Hells, gods, this couldn’t be the end! Not like this! He couldn’t lose him like this! “Please, NO!” The Tiefling yelled, straining against the heavy grip on him to no avail. Arijon could only look on in horror. And the last thing he saw was that beautiful, pale face contort in pain again, mouthing something he couldn’t decipher, before there was only… red. As if dissolving in an invisible acid, this man he had loved so dearly ceased to exist. Remnants of the body he had held in his arms not too long ago just fell to the ground in chunks, unceremoniously, bearing no more resemblance to him.

As sudden as everything had started it stopped. It was as if the whole world had gone silent. “No…” Arijon kept staring at the heap of flesh on the ground, barely able to form the sound that left his mouth, eyes blown wide in shock, a storm of emotion rampaging through his body all at once while his mind was blank.

The unhinged laughter of Cazador’s barely registered, his companions yelled something from the front of the platform but he couldn’t focus on them anymore. The overwhelming, metallic smell of blood filled the air, making it hard to breath and something in Ari finally snapped. “NOOO!!” A broken scream broke free from his lung, tears stinging in his eyes as the wave of sorrow, rage and guilt alike fully hit him.

He failed him. Astarion had counted on him and he couldn’t help him. And now he was dead. In stories he read as a young lad, they’d always make these tragic parts count; let them have their final good-byes, swear their undying love or ask for revenge. Sometimes they’d let the hero know what path to go from thereon.

Reality was rarely as kind, however. As he balled his hands into tight fists, sharp nails digging into his flesh, body contorting under the Werewolf’s claws with silent sobs and screams of anguish, the whispers from a moment ago started flooding his mind again. They were loud, deafening, but they made no sense. Strings of words and sentences from hundreds or even thousands of different mouths, all overlapping, jumbling together into an assault of syllables. They clawed into his brain the same way the Werewolf tore into his flesh, spilling his sanity instead of blood, hurting all the same, although it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. As they took over his mind, some fragments became barely audible to him, as if they were teetering on the edge of his mind, just passing by before vanishing.

“…gift, you know? I won’t forget…” “...always be beneath him…”

“…don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable…” “...I WILL ascend..!”      “...so close to losing everything…” “...afraid, so very afraid of everyone but you, who he should…” “...we’re done..!” “...mean so much to me…” “...and I’ll weep, wondering what happened to my mad love…” “...a little naive maybe, but…” “...are you sure you want this..?”

“...if we only had more time…”

      “...this is the end…”

A guttural cry ripped through his throat, overwhelmed, trying to silence the words, pieces of visions that tried to worm their way into his conscience, trying to scream into the faces of whatever cruel gods let all of this happen, his hands now clawing at his own head as it they were the only thing still able to hold him together, but the torrent never stopped. Images flickered into his mind, Astarion, all slowly replaced by the mangled corpse in front of him.

“I’ve had enough of this whining welp, kill him already.” Cazador spat next to him, sounding as if his voice was drowned out by rushing water, barely audible. With one swift motion the beast on top of him pulled him back and tore into his throat with dozens of sharp teeth, the whispers finally silenced as the sounds of  tearing skin and flesh and bone replaced his mind. Maybe it was better this way. How could he possibly have gone on knowing he had the blood of someone so precious on his hands, if they even could have made it out of here. He just hoped Karlach and Shadowheart were able to get out… A last, gurgled scream of pain was cut short by the monster biting harder and the world turning first red, then dark.

With another scream he finally awoke.

Arijon shot up, sweat rolling down his face, heart racing, breathing frantically as if he had just run for miles and miles without stopping. The world looked blurry, he was disoriented, where was he? He just was at Cazador’s just a moment ago but… oh gods, Astarion… Panic overtook him before he could regain any clear thought, making him feel sick to his stomach, his body ached, tears were dangerously close to stream from his eyes. Trembling hands gripped onto himself, his breath couldn’t come in or out fast enough to let him keep the air in his lungs and his thoughts were a muddled mess.

Panicked eyes darted around, trying to find his way back into reality; it was night, he was in a tent, it looked familiar, he felt something stir next to him and then a cold hand on his arm, making him snap his head into its direction.

“Gods below, what’s going on with you?” The sound of his beloved’s familiar, soothing - if slightly annoyed and tired - voice was like healing balm on an open wound and Ari was fighting with himself not to start bawling on top of him feeling like he was about to break into a thousand pieces. Astarion had stirred, ripped out of his reverie by his panicked scream, but his knitted brows of annoyance shifted into worry the moment he properly laid eyes on the disheveled Tiefling; definitely not the kind of disheveled he would have preferred. “What’s going on, love?” His tone switched to something softer and inquisitive immediately and he sat up next to him. The brief euphoria of seeing his dear Elf alive didn’t last long among the panic still rampaging through his body and before he could even say anything, the claws of grief and despair dug into his soul, the smell of blood and death suddenly fresh in his nostrils again. The images of Astarion’s hopeless, pleading eyes and his mangled corpse flashed through his mind again and finally Ari’s stomach turned. The hands that had clawed into his arms now shot to his mouth, trying to suppress the bile rising in his throat but it was a battle he couldn’t win.

Gagging and scrambling to get up as fast as he could, he rushed out of the tent towards the nearest bush to empty his stomach then and there. As horrible as the feeling was, it numbed his thoughts for a moment and the immediate nausea lessened. Hells, what a display he must have been, he felt like his skin just turned two shades lighter and sicklier… While his mind was still catching up with him, he vaguely remembered that they set up camp near Rivington to… right, to follow up on the Bhaal murders. Cazador was dead and his love was alive; thank gods. … Oh. And since grinding Cazador into dust was so high-priority and didn’t leave much room for romance, this was the first time in a while they had slept next to each other… so that was absolutely fantastic… Well, at least his head brought itself back to reality without the need of his journal. And before he could feel too bad, the next wave of nausea already hit him and made him gag again.

He flinched lightly in surprise when he felt those familiar, cool hands on him again, one on his back in support, the other raking through his hair to collect the strands and get them out of his face before they got in the way. Ari glanced briefly at the Elf in-between his heaving; it would have been funny if he didn’t feel like dying right in this moment, the way his pale hands were so soft and supporting while he turned his pretty face away with only a slight sneer of disgust. Understandable, who wanted to closely watch someone else vomit their soul out, especially after being so rudely awoken? Honestly he was already happy enough he even bothered at all, holding him while looking like an absolute mess; what a keeper.

“Sorry…” The Tiefling croaked out when his retching finally subsided and his head buzzed, his voice sounding awful to his own ears. He leaned back into a kneeling position, catching his breath and closing his burning eyes for a moment, trying not to focus on anything right now, from the thoughts still circling his mind to the vile taste in his mouth and the lessened but still lingering nausea. He made a small disgusted sound and wiped at his mouth. “Hardly something you have to apologize for. Let me get you some water.” Astarion soothed, letting his hands slide off of him, leaving only the ghost of a touch he already missed. With a sigh he fully put his weight on his legs for a moment, closing his eyes and taking in the fresh summer air, trying his hardest not to let his thoughts or stomach spiral out of control again. But it was difficult. The vivid images kept flickering back into his inner eye, the stench of death still lingering in his nostrils, the pain of being attacked viciously sitting in his bones and the grief of having lost someone so dear to him weighing on his heart; he shouldn’t feel like this. It was a dream. No matter how vivid his vision was, Astarion was safe! And yet… Gods he just wanted to hold him, be sure he really was there with him and unharmed, until these thoughts went away but he felt pathetic enough already.

With a groan he tried to get back onto his feet. His legs were wobbly and he had to hold himself steady with quite more effort than it should realistically have taken. A strong hand was on him once more before he’d keel over, helping him up and stay steady. “There, there.” Astarion cooed. The Elf had come back with a small bottle full of water, guiding it into his hands. Arijon took it with a ‘thank you’ on his lips, stopping himself from just full-on leaning into the touch and instead politely turning his face, washing out his mouth and spitting the remnants into the bush. Following it up with a sip of the water, he sighed in relief, feeling a little better after it soothed his sore throat.

Astarion’s hand reached up and tucked a few stray strands of long, silver hair behind Ari’s ear and the Tiefling found himself unable to resist leaning into the contact this time. “You look absolutely exhausted, my love; that must have been quite the horrid nightmare.” The pale hand moved towards the back of Ari’s head and gently applied pressure, making him lean against his beloved. The cruel images and cutting thoughts in his mind finally died down a bit when he breathed in the familiar scent lingering on his skin, felt the reassuring hand on his head drawing little circles with its thumb. The Elf’s words had been soft, caring, tinted with the gentle worry you’d expect from a lover, but there also was the hint of a question in his tone. Ari bit his tongue when he was about to thoughtlessly reply “it’s fine”, but it wasn’t. And Astarion wouldn’t have accepted that answer. Not anymore.

They had… briefly talked about his vision-induced nightmares before. When dreaming these visions of past, present or future came to him more easily than trying to force them in his wake or having them occur seemingly at random when faced with decisions in his life. But beyond that vague explanation, Ari at best had avoided the topic, especially since there had been more important things to be done first; there always was something more important…

Astarion sighed when no reaction came from him. “We don’t have to talk about it today if you don’t want to… but I really think we need to at some point. How many more nights are you going to spend tossing and turning, then trying to smile it all away the next day?” His question was pointed but the concern was unmistakable. Arijon peeked at him as he tilted his head to the side, looking rather sheepishly at him. “You can’t just help me be more open towards you just to then keep closing yourself off instead, my sweet little hypocrite.” He added in jest with a little smirk on his lips and Ari couldn’t help but chuckle, hiding his head back in Astarion’s shoulder. “I… wasn’t trying to close myself off, I swear. But when there’s already so much trouble, I didn’t feel like I should put my own troubles on top of it; especially ones that are completely born from my own mind, willingly or not...” The Tiefling mumbled, feeling the tiredness in his bones now that he was so comfortable in Astarion’s embrace. He felt the little huff from the pale lips on his skin. “Right, so if everyone under the sun just dumps all their trouble on you it’s fine, you gladly take it on, but you do not allow yourself the same kindness.” He put it bluntly and Arijon flinched uncomfortably, not liking being called out like this. Astarion’s hands moved between the two, gently making Ari move away much to his dismay. But they moved towards the bottle he was still awkwardly holding, removing it from his grasp and abandoning it on the floor before those same hands moved to either side of his face and Astarion leaned in closer, their foreheads touching. The look those ruby eyes gave him almost made the Tiefling cry, it was so soft and caring. “We’re in this together, my love. You’ve been so patient with me, you never let a single word I said go unheard. You’ve been there with me… been there for me from the very beginning. Maybe you needed to hear this a lot sooner and I’m sorry if I missed the opportunity to do so, but let me make one thing clear:I’m here for you. Always. Whatever troubles you, be that your visions or anything else that weighs you down, you can tell me and I’ll be there to listen. To support you. You’ve given me so much hope and comfort; let me give that back to you! Not because I think I need to repay you but because I cannot stand seeing you silently suffer like this. I’ve been doing that myself for way too long and I’m not going to let you keep doing this to yourself.”

Oh no. There it was; he felt the sting in his eyes. The absolute sincerity in Astarion’s every word moved him like the sweetest song he’d ever heard; the love and care and worry that was carried throughout every syllable… Arijon had thought he would have been able to keep it together, but when his lover’s eyes shifted a little to the side and his thumb wiped gently at his cheek, the Tiefling realized he had shed a tear or two. And once he realized that, it was too late to try and keep them at bay. He grimaced, his tense shoulders fell and his hands rose to his mouth, his head lowered, to at least try to keep the audible sob to himself.

He felt lips on his cheek when the comforting hands left his face and instead gently guided him back into the tent.

It felt ridiculous to react this strongly to Astarion’s words. Ari should have just been happy to have his support and not break down the moment they were said. He even felt a little guilty, as if he made his beloved say these words because he was a mess and couldn’t keep it together. He was used to being there for others, thrived on their comfort and their gratitude towards him when he was able to be of use. Not even that. Just knowing someone’s burden was even a little lighter because of him was enough. He never expected anyone offering the same level of commitment. He could deal with his own silly thoughts and be there for the people with actual problems.

At the very beginning of their relationship, this was true for Astarion, too. He had gone through absolute hell and since there still had been much to go through until he could resolve it - killing Cazador and reclaiming his freedom - so Ari never expected him to fully commit to the same level of affection or even feel as strongly for the Tiefling as he did for him. But every day it felt a little different. His lovely Elf was always so good with honeyed words, yet they somehow became even sweeter still. The way he had opened himself up to him, told him such vulnerable things, reacted so heartbreakingly to a hug and then held his hand… How he wanted to know things about Ari, that he hadn’t commented on before, like his music; such a big part of his life that Astarion wanted to actively know about, to share with him. He still could barely believe the two of them could play beautiful songs together whenever they wanted.

He didn’t just love Astarion. Astarion loved him back. Truly and even with Arijon doing anything.

Funny in hindsight. How this was so similar to what he had helped his Efl with first. The whole idea of not needing to do anything first to be deserving of love and compassion, yes turning a blind eye to it yourself.

Back inside the tent the two made themselves comfortable again on the arrangement of bedrolls and pillows, Astarion wrapped his arms around the Tiefling’s body, shaking with every shed tear, and let him bury his head in his shoulder, a pale hand on his back, another on the back of his head, rubbing gentle circles into his skin. “I failed you.” He uttered quietly in between sobs, not trusting his voice to be steady if he dared to talk louder. “I couldn’t get… to you in time. Watched you die… right in front of me. Because I wasn’t strong enough, not… fast enough… whatever it was. I let you down. I let you die.” Ari wept, having to pause at times in an attempt to keep his sobs inaudible. The embrace around Astarion’s frame and the grip on the back of his shirt tightened. “And I can’t stop thinking about it. Every second… felt as real as this moment.”

“Oh, my sweet…” He cooed softly in return, moving slightly to kiss the top of the Tiefling’s head and thinking for a moment before replying. “I understand how heavy it weighs on you. What a horrible vision… But my love, I’m here.” His hand moved to the dark-skinned chin, lifting Ari’s head a bit so he could glance at him.

“You haven’t failed me. You came for me and I didn’t die. So don’t think about what could have happened. Focus on me. I’m right here with you and I’m going nowhere.” Maybe it was Arijon’s imagination but it almost sounded like Astarion had gotten a bit teary-eyed himself. No matter, because right now he could easily cry a river to rival the Chionthar for the both of them. 

It wasn’t just the sorrow of one bad vision. It was the sorrow of so many that came before, so many more that will still come, making him go through them as if they were real and sometimes making him wonder if he had made the right decision. The weight of feeling like he was expected to keep smiling and help everyone selflessly lest he’d be abandoned but also the relief of the first steps of realizing that maybe that wasn’t the case. And the relief that the person closest to his heart understood and was able to ground him again when he felt like his mind was drifting away. 

He wrapped himself tight against Astarion again, mirroring him by running one hand through his soft curls - which always felt calming to him - nuzzling his head into the crook of his pale neck and just let it all out. He didn’t try to hold himself back anymore, he simply was too tired and emotionally wrecked at this point and it probably was for the better, too. He had no idea how long they laid like this, with him weeping pathetically into his neck and shirt all the while Astarion kept petting him lovingly, whispering sweet words of comfort to him. But eventually he found himself just gently resting with him, intently focusing on his calming touch, his breath ghosting over his head, the last, quiet crackles and pops from the dying campfire outside, the mild summer winds rustling the leaves of trees and bushes outside, crickets chirping… His body finally was finally relaxing and became overwhelmed with actual drowsiness, feeling himself slowly drift to sleep.

While he hadn’t anticipated the events of this night… maybe it wasn’t so bad that they happened. Somehow he felt even closer to his dearly beloved than before; like a gap was crossed that he had involuntarily placed between himself and everyone else.  And he was so glad it had been Astarion to do so.

With that in mind, he finally succumbed to a dreamless sleep, safe in his lover’s arms.

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

[There we go, a bigger angst piece I had started a while back before being interrupted by fluffy thoughts.

I picked at it again as I was finishing up my first, in-depth playthrough; now I'm preparing for a Dark Urge run AND WHOO BOY, once I'm done with that and know more context than the scenes flying around sometimes on Twitter/Tumblr/YouTube/Wherever, there will be so much more delicious angst and angst/comfort <3

But that will still take a while.

In the meantime I can start writing some post-game things, too, now that I know the full context of the ending :D

After this angst/heavy stuff, there will probably be some fluff again next uwu

But Ari's dreams will always bring up angst, a good plot device. It shows him things that could have gone wrong, it shows him things that can go wrong and he doesn't really have a say in it.

The more he worries about something, the more it will however stay in his mind and it's more likely his power will focus on it, too.

Hence the many bad outcomes that trouble his mind when Astarion is near and they just got through a very emotionally intense event together.

And I tried to leave it out but with a power like that and the implications of having had it for a while and always wondering if you did the right thing or not, I couldn't help but embrace the connected anxiety that may have developed in Ari throughout his life due to it.

Since I'm an anxious person myself, it's a way of thinking that comes unfortunately more naturally, so it's easier for it to slip into a very introverted story about someone's inner thoughts xDBut I think it still fits him, he tries his best anyway :3As a quick end-note, it’s implied here and I probably will put it in writing eventually, too because it’s important to my HCs for post-game, but between Act 2 and Act 3, Astarion wanted to actively bond more with Ari, so he started to show more interest in his music than usual. He always loved hearing him sing and play but BECAUSE he knew how important this is to him he started asking more questions, joined him when he played a lot more and eventually Ari offered to show him how to play a few chords on the lute so they could play together. One thing led to another and Astarion actually learned how to play the lute (and later more) and could play songs with him and share his love for it uwu]

[voidbornmenace]

Ulma, Gur Leader (CR 5)

Medium Humanoid (Human), Lawful Neutral

Armor Class 14 breastplate

Hit Points 90 (12d8+36)

Speed 40 ft.

STR20, DEX11, CON16, INT10, WIS10, CHA14

Saving Throws Str +9, Con +6

Skills Athletics +8, Intimidation +5, Nature +3, Perception +3, Persuasion +5 Survival, +3

Senses passive Perception 13

Languages Common

Traits

Brutal Critical Ulma rolls one additional weapon damage die when determining the extra damage for a critical hit with a melee attack.

Danger Sense While Ulma isn't blinded, deafened, or incapacitated, she has advantage of Dexterity saving throws against effects she can see.

Profane Scourge (Recharges on a Short or Long Rest) When Ulma hits a Fiend or Undead, she can deal an additional (2d6+3) Slashing damage and make the creature make a DC 16 Charisma saving throw. On a failed save the creature must roll a d4 and subtract the number rolled from its attack rolls and saving throws for 1 minute.

Scar of Sirocco When Ulma hits with a weapons attack, if she has less than her maximum hit points the target must make a DC 16 Strength save or be knocked prone.

Scar of Fury (Recharges on a Short or Long Rest) When Ulma reaches 45 or less hit points her next weapon attack that hits automatically crits.

Scar of the Sand Eclipse While Ulma has 20 hit points or less her attacks deal an additional 18 (4d8) damage.

Actions

Multiattack

Ulma makes two weapon attacks.

The Undead Bane Greataxe

Melee Weapon Attack:+9, Reach 5 ft., one target

Hit: 12 (1d12+6) slashing damage. This weapon deals an additional 3 (1d6) Slashing damage against Fiends and Undead.

The Long Arm of the Gur

Ranged Weapon Attack:+5, Range 100/400 ft., one target

Hit: 7 (1d10+2) piercing damage. When used against undead creatures this weapon has a 2 (1d4) bonus to Attack and Damage rolls.

Author Notes Ulma and the Gur were minor NPCs I really liked when playing through The Pale Elf quest, and are certainly a group I'm interested in learning more about in the future.

[redzephyr]

friends at the table characters i have not met ranked in order of how bad i want to meet them based on art i may or may not have misidentified:

1. FOURTEEN FIFTEEN. i guess they’re a tiefling? or something? but “body swapping data ghost” is perhaps the coolest four word character pitch ever written. also the name fucks.

2. echo reverie. frankly im going off an imprint of a summary mentioned to me two years ago but they sound like they fucking rule. LOVE a revolutionary. with rainbow hair? metal hair? question mark?

3. tender sky. frankly would be #2 but half the joy of “FASHION CATGIRL!!” can be acquired without podcast context

4. lem king. love an orc LOVE an orc cast directly against standard lore. i think i listened to the first fifteen minutes of autumn three years ago and from what i remember the way the archives work in hieron is very cool. also he seems like a nerd

5. ok. so whoever hellas girlfriend slash ex ? is ? the one with the pearls. i think she has a sibling. them. with the coat. 🙈

6. clementine kesh. gaslight gatekeep girlboss send tweet!

7. so theres a robot bug. i think. i may have the wrong name but gur sevraq? once again makes the cut on the basis of ‘i think they’re running a revolution and also that character design kinda fucks’

8. whoever it is with the character name the length of a fiona apple album. i admire the commitment to the bit.

9. theres a robot ram???? i think????? which is SICK

10. the dog. not kodiak’s pc, whose name i have forgotten, specifically the dog

[lendmeyourpower]

     Guren smiled when he heard Mahiru’s voice, she was right in the room with him. As he turned he let go of just one more person that had been in that way of what was going to happen tonight. He didn’t even care that he had blood on his lips, he was just ..... glad she would be here in the end. She probably couldn’t hear him from where he was, but he spoke anyway, “Mahiru. My sweet Mahiru. You came after all.” 

     Tears were in her eyes, as she took in his appearance, hands on the hilt of her katana. Shinya was right next to her....comforting her. “Yes Guren, I did. Let us save you. You know we all care about you. We need you.” 

    Guren laughed a little at that. As he watched the distance close so that they could hear him now. “You can’t save me. I asked you time and again Mahiru to join me, but time is up. Sadly there is no more time to mess around with anymore.” 

     “Master Gur-” Sayuri started, but Mahiru cut her off. 

     “We can.”

     “You can’t! But I am glad you came,” he said with a smile that always made Mahiru’s heart flutter. 

    “I said I would!”

    She was right next to Guren than. He saw it like it was in slow motion. Every attack they made. It was so easy now that he was a vampire to dodge everything. He even knew the Fuda spells wouldn’t hurt him somehow, so he didn’t waste energy moving and didn’t feel anything when they went off. He could tell they were trying their best, and if he was his old self, he would be almost on par with Mahiru, maybe a little slower. But now he didn’t even have to fight. 

     “Sorry Mahiru,” he said softly. In the next second he grabbed her arm, and tossed her into the others. Smelling blood told him he had done his job at, at least pacifying them for now. Maybe now they would hear reason, and stop trying to fight him. But knowing all of them, they wouldn’t. His old bodyguards wanted to get him back, Shinya and the other two he figured were following Mahiru to save the world or for some other reason. 

    But Mahiru.....she was here due to him. He wanted her here. He could tell she loved him still, just like when they were little. At school she came to see him when he was hurt, even though he knew it would heal soon enough. She was the whole reason he had undergone this entire madness. 

     He wanted to give her, her wish. 

     He started to laugh at little. Watching all the mighty saviors on the ground, unable to even lay a hand on him. It was sad really. In the end, he was just as screwed as the day he was born. 

     “What the hell is so funny, you crazed Ichinose?” Shinya asked, finally able to get up, blood going down his mouth. 

     “Shinya!” Mahiru said worried. She moved to clean his mouth, but stopped when a deep growl came from behind her. 

     “Are you jealous Guren?” Shinya asked, in a mocking tone.

     Guren paid Shinya no mind. He had his eyes locked on Mahiru’s. “How long are you going to stick around these people? One is a stud horse we both know you don’t want, two are from a sect the Hiragis would rather see squashed, and the other two...just hanging onto due to your name. They don’t know you like I do. So why?” 

     So many emotions were filling the air of the room. Sayuri and Shigure seemed as if Guren had slashed them open and said that they were better off dead. Mito, who was still laying injured on the floor, was giving Guren a glare that made it seem her red hair was fire that would burn him if he got to close. Goshi was shaking his head and silently saying, not cool man. 

     The worst reaction out of Guren’s friends, was Shinya. He was standing there torn between crying and wanting to run over and punching Guren. They seemed to always have a connection for some reason, even now Guren could tell that his words had stung him so deep that he wanted to hate him beyond words. He was even shaking, and it wasn’t from the built up tears. Even so, there was a part of Shinya deep down, that couldn’t hate Guren for some reason. And that was going to be his down fall.

     Suddenly a voice broke the awful silence, “It is what you would have done.” Mahiru’s voice tore his crimson eyes away from the scene in front of him, to only focus on Mahiru. “I know you Guren, you need people. That is why you keep asking for me right. These are your friends too. They are worried about-”

     Shinya cut off Mahiru with a chuckle. “He knows he has us beat, and yet he doen’t do anything, but talk about friends. Well I will tell you one thing Mahiru I don’t think he needs friends. All he cares about is power.” 

     Guren growled again, his demon coming to the front of his mind. Sure he had power, sure he had to get it. He had his reasons, and things had to happen. Shinya however wouldn’t understand, he just saw the Ichinose teen that went on adventures with him, trying to get ahead of the families, even though Guren was working for both sides. 

     Shinya walked closer. “I’m right, are’t I. You once told me you wanted to save your clan and someone you cared about. What happened to that?”

    In an instant things could change. Guren had learned that when he was six. Shinya and the others were learning it now while Mahiru was screaming. One moment Shinya was just standing there, the next Guren jabbed his hand into Shinya’s chest, through ribs just to get to his heart. It would be so easy to rip it out, but instead Guren held back. He wanted Shinya to live a little longer. Which is why he was looking at Guren confused.

     “You don’t understand anything stud horse. My struggle has everything to do with them and Mahiru. If you and the others had just stayed out of the way, this would have ended differently.” 

     Shinya opened his mouth to try and answer but only blood came out. Guren only let the adopted Hiragi drop to the floor when he heard the lady of his heart crying his name over and over to stop and let Shinya go. 

     In that one moment no one did anything. The only noise besides the fans, was the blood dripping down Guren’s hand. He looked down at Shinya. There was a hurt and confused look on his face, the moment that he died. They would all wear that look soon. After all he had fought this to get to Mahiru, not to hurt her, but to......

     But it was too late. The least he could do is remove the fake friends that she had. The people that only used her for her name. The ones that didn’t know her as, her. The sweet, loving girl that just wanted to be normal. 

     It only took on tick of the clock, not even enough time for Siyuri to call out for her Lord to stop. For anyone to say Guren’s name. Soon only bodies remained, all headless, apart from the one Guren had in a head lock right now. It was Shigure. One of his most trusted friends and bodyguards once. Now in his madness, he just saw her as someone that was a threat between him and Mahiru. Someone that wasn’t really a friend. 

    “Guren, no!” Mahiru finally got out. 

     “”If he wishes to kill me than so be it,” Shigure finally said. “Master Guren is-”

     But what he was Mahiru would never know, Guren broke her neck, before fully taking her head off. Guren dropped her, as he did the others. Before walking over the bodies to come closer to Mahiru. 

    “There, no more fake friends. Just you and me. Like you wanted when we were kids.” 

    Mahiru at that point was crying, eyes fixed on everyone on the floor. She looked as if she was about to scream, as she pulled out Noya. Guren pushed her arm down and pulled her closer. “Hey, there is time for that later. Right now just know you are-”

      “Gggg tttt, your arm off of her.” 

    Guren growled as he saw that Shinya was still alive. Mahiru stabbed her cursed gear into the ground and ran to him. He pulled it out of the ground and held Noya, remembering when this was made, and when he gave it to Mahiru after they had a night together, ignoring Mahiru and Shinya talking. Mahiru was begging him not to die, Shinya was saying he was going to have to disappoint her yet again. But his last words caught Guren’s attention,

     “You’re lucky he loves you so much. You know why I came along, I guess I will have to tell him in person, I’m sorry I failed. Do it.....for me. Just don’t cry.....or let the demon win okay Mahiru.”

     Mahuri nodded, “Okay.” She kissed Shinya’s forehead. But the light had left his face and eyes by then. She shook him a few times and he just stared blankly at her, with his smile on his face, that got him through life.

     “What was he talking about?” Guren asked darkly, Noya over his shoulder.

    Mahiru stayed by Shinya, wiping her eyes. “He cared deeply for you. He said he wanted to save you since he made a promise to your father that he would. Now I have to do it, since I promised him.” When she got up and turned around she saw Guren holding Noya as if he was inspecting it. 

    “You can’t, not this time Mahiru. All you can do it this,” he said, handing her the hilt of the katana the housed Noya. She looked confused, but did as she was asked. “Noya thanks to you has drank a lot of blood from demons and humans, he is the last piece to the experiment that is happening tonight. Are you ready?”

     “Ready for what Guren?” she asked, afraid of what else could happen.

     What happened was worse. Worse than Guren killing their friends, worse than what had been happening over the last few days, worse than anything she could think of. Guren ran himself through with the blade so deep that he came right to her and hugged her. 

    “Guren!” Mahiru screamed, as Guren’s knees buckled and she had to lower him to the floor. She moved to pull it out. 

    “Don’t. This needs to happen, I am bound to your demon now.”

    “Why? Why are you doing this?” 

     “I said it before,” he said softly, when she moved to put his head in her lap, “to save you. This was meant to be you Mahiru. I took your place a long time ago. I found out you and your sister were born with demons, and I took them both.” 

    “The cursed gear you gave my sister?” 

    Guren slowly nodded his head, a few tears going down his face. “I wanted you and her to have a normal life, like you wanted.” 

    “What about you?!” 

    Guren was turning translucent and even though he seemed solid to hold, it was clear something was wrong at the point of contact of the sword. There was black lines coming out like veins, as if the sword was feeding on him.

    “I won’t be here very soon. I am becoming one with your demon.” He closed his eyes for a moment, when he spoke with his eyes closed he sounded more like his normal self. “Mahiru this place is to conduct the Seraph of the End experiment. The world will only end if someone activates it.”

    “What is it Guren? You never fully said.” 

    Guren opened his eyes, one red eye was already black. “It is stepping into a realm man should not go. It is the punishment to man when they bring someone back from the dead.”

    “Guren you are not making any sense,” Mahiru pointed out. 

    “I don’t have much time. I left you enough information Mahiru, no one is watch us. Take your sister and go, you don’t have to do this. You are the only thing keeping the world from ending. The experiment was meant for today can be stopped thanks to you.” He took in a deep breath. Looking up at her, he smiled, and Mahiru knew it was Guren and not the demon in that one moment. “I do love you, and I will be with you.” 

      Mahiru started crying. She bent down and kissed Guren. “Please don’t go. I love you.”

     But in that moment, she wasn’t holding him anymore, she was holding a katana sword, with a letter fluttering to the floor. Inside it was not Guren nor Noya, but a newborn demon, that had all the memories of Guren. 

    Outside Mahiru had made her choice, deciding that she was going to bring her and Guren’s friends back. As she strapped on her cursed gear she noticed the letter, gently opening she noticed Guren’s handwriting.

     My dear Mahiru,

                 By now I know that things have reached the end and I am going to die soon. I just wanted to sit down and write something while I still had a clear head. 

    I know what I am doing doesn’t seem fair to you, but it did save you from growing up just to die at sixteen. This was my way to save you like I promised when we were kids. I also wanted you to know that my choice was part of some Hiragi plan. So i would ask yourself, how do the Hiragis stay so powerful. 

    I would ask that you take care of my clan since I was the head and I had no heir at the time, and they had to use dad against me and I couldn’t come in they executed him for their own sick games. Since I was not fully sticking to their plans. I was at least grateful for the funeral, and that you came. 

       Guren didn’t sign it, but he did put a crimson lotus inside the letter. 

    Mahiru shook her head and called him her stupid prince. 

    When the world died at the hands of Mahiru Hiragi, the demon inside her blade awakened. 

    That demon’s name, Guren-Aku-Ya  

[rayandpenny]

Samarkand - Gur-i Amir

another architectural gem is the Gur-i Amir, the necropolis of the Timurid dynasty. Inside are buried (among others) Amir Timur, two of his sons, and two of his grandsons including Ulug Beg, the last Timurid king. Amir Timur is Uzbekistan’s national hero and founding father. He was a 14th century clan chief who took advantage of the break up of the Mongol empire to seize control of the land between the Amu Darya and Syr Darya rivers, the heartland of modern Uzbekistan, and make Samarkand his capital. From there he built a slash-and-burn empire across central Asia, Turkey, Iran and northern India before dying of pneumonia attempting to invade China - campaigns which are estimated to have killed 15 million people

[eddiiiieeee]

My Angel ☆☆

Slash x reader 

warnings: a bit of angst at the start, just fluff, mentions of alcohol and drugs, etc.

summary: y/n and Saul get into a fight about his addiction, and saul finds a letter y/n had written about him.

authors note: listen to September - sparky deathcap, because it fit 💀 part 1!

Saul's eyes slowly began fluttering open, how he'd prayed it was all a bad dream. he could see a figure standing against the balcony door, the soft wind occasionally blowing her hair. it was her, it was y/n. He got up slowly rubbing his eyes as he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and putting his forehead against her shoulder, what made his heart ache was the fact that she tensed up "please don't do that" he whispered, not being able to handle the thought of her leaving him. She kept her gaze at the beach straight ahead, she knew she should listen to the voice in her head, not Saul's begging her not to leave, but that tiny one that was warning her, to not put herself through, god she should listen but how could she? how could she leave her angel. her beautiful boy.

"you have to promise me. promise me that you won't relapse again, because I can't do this every time. I can't keep handling having to put you in a new rehab program every single fucking time you relapse because the one before didn't work. I can't handle coming home one day to find you dead on our bathroom floor, I really can't Saul, I get so worried when you head over to the studio because I know that if Axl even offers you a drop of fucking heroin you'd take it without a second thought. I can't lose you Saul, and you can't seem to comprehend that, I really can't." she said letting out a few sobs as her hands flew to hide her face in her palms, Saul looked at her and spun her slowly "I am so sorry sweetheart." he mumbled his own tears rolling down his cheeks as he hugged her tightly she wrapped her arms around him sobbing into his chest, how she missed his scent. "I promise you I'm never doing any of that shit ever again, I swear to you y/n." he mumbled into her hair kissing the top of her as she moved to look at him, he looked down into her eyes, wondering how could he have hurt her so much "can I kiss you?" he asked moving some of her hair away from her face as she nodded, parting her lips a bit as he leaned down to kiss her, his hands resting on her cheeks as hers stayed in their place around his waist "I love you, I love you so so much it hurts." he mumbled to her against her lips "I know" she mumbled back as they kept their lips connected, Slash always told her that his lips were made to kiss hers, just hers and no one else's. they were moulded perfectly to fit her lips. once they'd pulled away, y/n kept her forehead against his "I love you, and one day, if you'll take me, I'm gonna marry you, I'm gonna take you wherever you want, we can have those kids you said you wanted" he chuckled through his tears. "you know, the ones with big curly hair and brown eyes?" he said as she grinned a bit knowing he'd read her journal as she had never mentioned kids to Slash "you read that?" she mumbled as she wiped her cheeks "yep, I read the part where I'm your angel. just so you know, I know someone whos even more angelic then I am." he smiled as she moved back a bit to look at him, as her eyebrows furrowed "and whos that?" "you." he said, watching her cheeks turn red as she chuckled a bit "I seriously love you so much," Saul told her caressing her cheek with his thumb "I love you too, baby," she said as he connected their lips once more .... this was short I'm sorry!! but here's part 2!

[annoyedfanfiction]

A Difference (5)

Warnings: canon-typical violence (detailed), shouting, insults, escape, argument, death

“He’s been lost ever since he left home! He should never have come!” Thorin yelled, pressing up into Bilbo’s face as the hobbit recovered from his shock, “He has no place among us!”

“Leave him, Thorin!” Míra roared, pushing the dwarf king away from the hobbit, placing her tall form between them. “The stone giants are indiscriminate, as are the mountains. Should any other member of this company have fallen, we would not be having this discussion. This is neither just nor fair, qualities a king should hold firm in his grasp.” Thorin growled, stepping up to her face, as she leaned over him, their venomous glowers meeting.

“You know nothing about kingship,” he said, anger dripping from his tongue.

“One does not have to be a king to know the truth of good leadership, amlug-gur (dragon-mind),” she informed him, coldly, the elvish insult running easily from her tongue. 

“Enough!” Gandalf bellowed, thrusting his staff between them, as the cave echoed.

“No fires,” Thorin spat at Gloin, who had just dropped a small pile of firewood, “Not here. Get to sleep.” “There is movement under the mountain,” Míra protested. “We should not let our gu–“ “I said get some rest!” Thorin rounded on her again, only to stumble backwards from her as she pushed the cold air into him.

“You are not my king, and I have no binding to you,” she growled, standing over him. “Do not forget that.” She turned, moving away, and dropping her pack by the very entrance off the cave. The tiny fire in her hand billowed, warming her, and soon she had gathered company around her, her hands glowing with warmth as they all slipped into a restless sleep.

“Up!” Míra commanded, in the dead of night, as the shuffling around her grew louder. “Up!” A few of the dwarves rustled, as Gandalf and Bilbo shot up in their beds. “Goblins.” The back of the cave burst open, and Míra pelted the opening with shards of sharpened ice, swinging herself out into the cold of night. The snowstorm raged around them, but the giants had moved on from their battleground. She glanced around, spotting Gandalf above her, and moving over to him. 

“Well…what now?” she murmured, making him jump.

“Mira!” he exclaimed, turning to face her. 

“What, you didn’t actually think I’d let any of those slimy assholes touch me?” she questioned, feigning insult. “Abominations, enemies of nature. I am an elf! Well…almost.” Gandalf shook his head, chuckling, then led the way down into another cave, and then into the chamber of the Great Goblin.

“Monstrosity.” Míra eyed the slug-like beast, biting back bile, “I still don’t understand why they are left in peace here.”

“Nevertheless, our goal is the dwarves, not the goblins.” She sighed, turning back to the view. “Where is Bilbo?”

“No clue,” she answered, shrugging, as she swished her hands, extinguishing the flames. “Let’s go!”

“Míra – hff,” Gandalf grumbled, as she leapt into the hall, the goblins still in chaos as the darkness plunged in on them. She landed on the head of a goblin, knocking him to the ground with a sickening crunch, and slashing precisely at the darkness-blinded goblins. Glamdring hummed, glowing with magick, as Gandalf brought it down through the head of the great goblins.

“Take arms and fight, you fools!” he bellowed, once again making the mountain echo. The dwarves leapt into movement drawing their weapons and joining the fray. Clearing a path around her, Míra grabbed the reins of the ponies in the corner, leading them out. 

“This way!” she yelled back, making the dwarves clatter towards her. She could hear the goblins chasing after them, and paused at the edge of the bridge, handing each dwarf a set of reins as they passed.

“Míra!” Gandalf warned, as the goblins surged towards her as she struggled with the saddle the dwarves had insisted on. Now, in its half-burned, travel-worn state it was merely a nuisance to manage, and she sliced it off, tossing it over the bridge and swinging up onto the horse’s bare back, still clutching a second set of reins in her other hand. A strong gust of air sent the first wave of goblins flying back, their torches extinguished, and the wave of ice that rose in their place trapped several of them within it, as her horses galloped after the others, her eyes fixed on the pursuing enemies. 

“Take the left path!” she yelled forward, urgently, startling Bombur, who had reached the lead, and he tugged his horse to the left, and they burst out into sunlight, on a bare plain, leaving the Misty Mountains behind them. They came to a stop, both steeds and riders panting after the pursuit.

“Where is Bilbo?” Gandalf repeated his question from the cave, and this time Míra actually took the time to look around for him.

“He escaped the goblins,” Dori piped up, “Crept off into a tunnel.” “I am here!” Bilbo exclaimed, appearing from nowhere. Míra frowned, as he quickly withdrew his hand from his jacket pocket. “I tried to follow you all, to get you out, but I got caught by a creature that called itself Gollum. It tried to eat me, but I managed to get past it, and then passed by the goblins at the entrance.” 

“How?” Míra queried, suspiciously, as Thorin intoned the same question. She shuddered, running a hand through her knotted hair – she did not expect to sound like the sullen king.

“A burglar never gives up his secrets,” Bilbo smiled, secretively, and Míra frowned again, even as she laughed with the rest of the company.

[stimmyvillainarchive]

Hey just a warnign about someone on dA after that post reminded me! Gur-///OH (w/o the slashes) is a pro-trump, pro-DDLG, agender-denying, Anti-kin asshole! HUGE in the stamp community. I thought they were only anti-kin at first when I watched them, but it turns out they're disgusting! So just a warning!

OH THAT BITCH

I think I found them when I was a known stamp maker cause they had favorited some of mine and at first they were like, just chill idrc but I ended up making a response/counter stamp to an enbyphobic stamp of theirs so I’m p sure they don’t really care for me much :’)))) anyway thanks for sending the ask cause I can warn others about them.

[rainbow-strips-and-coffee-blog]

If I was in It: Clown: heya Duck Me: the fuck you doin down there man Clown: my…my circus blew away Me: how the fuck did you manage that Clown: …do ya smell the circus Duck Me: no Clown: take a whiff Duck Me: bitch are you tryna trick me into smellin yo shit??? Clown: the fuck *bully scene* Bully: *pushes me* Me: oH FUCK NO Me: *fuckin goes ape shit* Bully: *screaming* *garbage toilet scene* Bitch: *about to drop liquid shit on me* Me: *bust through the door* Me: YOU CHEEKY BITCH *cutting scene* Me: *about to get slashed* Bully: *trying to be scary* Me: *proceeds to literally try rip his nose off with my teeth* Me: *grabs knife and continuously stabs the fucker in the neck* Other bullies: *watches in horror* *sink scene* Weird voices from sink: *talkin about literally anything* Me: ah hell no *fuckin leaves the room* *it being a creepy fuck with the slides* Me: *kicks open the garage door* FUCK DIS SHIT *going into its house* Me: stay together and anybody who wanders off I swear to fuck I’m gonna look for that ugly fuckin clown and literary throw you at him. *scene with clowns everywhere in the room* Me: hey pennywise were you having an orgy or what? Clown: *appears and being a creepy fuck* Me: *screams and runs at him and tries strangle him and throws his sex buddy clowns at him* *the girl who’s cut in half scene* Me: ew bitch move Me: *proceeds to walk past her* sorry gur you goin die anyway *rapey scene* Rapey guy: your my girl? Me: fuck no I ain’t Rapey guy: *being rapey* Me: *ape shit isn’t even the right term for what I’ll do if this bitch even tries* *minute I get a glimpse of it* Me: FUCK YOU AND YO UGLY FUCKIN CLOWN SUIT Me: *tries bash his head in with literally anything* Me: HOW DARE YOU EXIST AND THEN TRY AND KILL ME??? Me: *puts my hands in his mouth and try tear it apart* Me: YOU CUM SWALLOWING FUCK

[savetopnow]

2018-03-24 07 MOVIE now

MOVIE

Birth. Movies. Death.

SXSW 2018 Review: TAKE YOUR PILLS Shines A Light On An Alarming Problem

Is Denis Villeneuve Still Making a DUNE Movie? Nope! Now He’s Making TWO Of Them

FIRST MATCH Trailer Takes A Girl’s Troubles To The Mat

Wes Anderson And Bill Murray: A Cinematic Rapport

Book Review: S. Craig Zahler’s HUG CHICKENPENNY Is A Touching Gothic Parable

CineVue

Film Review: The Third Murder

Film Review: Pacific Rim: Uprising

Film Review: Tomb Raider

Film Review: Ready Player One

DVD Review: Legend of the Mountain

Cinema Blend

How War Machine Is Dealing With The Aftermath Of Civil War When Infinity War Starts

The LEGO Movie 2 Has Cast Its First New Star

Why John Boyega Had To Mess With The Pacific Rim Uprising Script

Margot Robbie Is Changing Up William Shakespeare For A New TV Show

Ant-Man And The Wasp: What We Know So Far

Cinema Scope

Cinema Scope 74 Contents

The Work (Jairus McLeary & Gethin Aldous, US)

Global Discoveries on DVD: A Few Peripheral Matters

Canadiana | Hometown Horror: Robin Aubert’s Les affamés

Exploded View: Bruce Conner’s Crossroads

Comicboook.com

Zachary Levi Casts Doubt On 'Shazam!' Suit Padding

Armie Hammer Says Leaked 'Justice League Mortal' Designs Weren't Final

Star Wars: John Boyega Promises 'Episode IX' Will Be "All-Out War"

'Justice League': Green Lantern Concept Art Released

Star Wars: Rian Johnson Reveals His Secret 'The Last Jedi' Cameo

Film Comment Magazine

Readings: Ishiro Honda: A Life in Film, from Godzilla to Kurosawa

Film of the Week: Isle of Dogs

Deep Focus: Unsane

SXSW Interview: PJ Raval

Rendez-Vous: Salut les Jeunes Critiques

Film Inquiry

CARDBOARD GANGSTERS: Irish Crime Thriller Is Brutally Effective

D’INKED – A TATTOO REMOVAL DOCUMENTARY: An Eye Opener

THE STRANGERS: PREY AT NIGHT: Knocks A Bit Louder The Second Time Around

WILD WILD COUNTRY: A True Story That Seems Stranger Than Fiction

6 BALLOONS Interview: Director Marja-Lewis Ryan And Producers Samantha Housman & Ross M. Dinerstein

Film School Rejects

We See The Franchise Potential of ‘Pacific Rim’

Even with a Good Cast, Josh Trank’s ‘Fonzo’ Has a Long Way to Go

‘Ant-Man’ Returns the Heart to the Marvel Cinematic Universe

Why I’m Not Buying What ‘Westworld’ is Selling

Chris Evans Says ‘Avengers 4’ Will Be His Last as Captain America

Reddit Movies

Hi Reddit! Joe Kelly here from Man of Action Entertaiment. My graphic novel I KILL GIANTS is now a feature film and is out TODAY. AMA!

Does Dave Bautista have the potential to be a better actor (not a better box office draw, to be clear) than Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson?

'The great Silence' to be released on Blu-Ray! (2K Restoration) | Directed by Sergio Corbucci (Django) and music by Ennio Morricone

H. Wayne Huizenga, Blockbuster Video Founder, Dies at 80

Steven Spielberg confirms Peter Jackson will direct The Adventures of Tintin sequel and will begin work on the script very soon

Roger Ebert

Prestigious, Expensive Adaptation of “The Terror” Debuts on AMC

Pacific Rim Uprising

Unsane

Isle of Dogs

Midnight Sun

Screen Rant

Justice League Concept Art Reveals Green Lantern Yalan Gur Design

Star Wars 9: Mark Hamill Wants To Play ‘Frightening’ Force Ghost

Amy Adams Joining Mark Ruffalo & Kumail Nanjiani for True American

Boy Meets World: What The Cast Looked Like In The First Episode Vs Now

The LEGO Movie 2 Adds Tiffany Haddish To Its Voice Cast

Slash Film

Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge Planet Will Be Introduced in New Novel

‘The Big Sick’ Director Michael Showalter Plans Christmas Comedy with Jessica Chastain & Octavia Spencer

Bill Hader and Alec Berg on How ‘Fargo’ and ‘Boogie Nights’ Influenced ‘Barry’ [Interview]

Tiffany Haddish Joins ‘The Lego Movie 2’ Cast

/Answers: Our Favorite City-Leveling Action Scenes

[toomanysinks]

The founding story of Patreon

It’s May 7, 2013 and Jack Conte is, in his own words, “totally exhausted, slash, totally wired, in that really weird in-between zone.” He has spent 18 hours per day for the last 50 days building a replica of the Millennium Falcon set from “Star Wars” and shooting a music video in it. When Conte has a vision for something he wants to create, he becomes obsessive. In fact, he maxed out his credit cards to see his vision through on this one.

But this is the moment. He uploads his video to YouTube where he has 100,000 subscribers. It’s not just a music video though: Conte inserted a segment at the end where he encourages fans to support him by going to a website he and his friend Sam have created called patreon.com. There, they will be able to download his new music (for free) and pledge money to help fund each video he creates going forward.

His fans respond with encouragement — and their wallets. While Conte normally makes just $100 in ad revenue per video, his fans commit to funding him with more than $5,000 per video within the first few weeks of the announcement. His creative economics had changed practically overnight.

When he was getting ready to announce patreon.com to his fans, Conte had reached out to 40 other creators asking them to create accounts, but none of them were interested. He, his girlfriend, and his roommate were the only creators on the platform when it launched. But buzz about Conte’s thousands of dollars in patronage triggered hundreds of creators to sign up. And so the story of Patreon begins.

Reading time for this article is about 8 minutes. Feature illustration by Bryce Durbin / TechCrunch.

The founding

Conte came up with the idea for Patreon in February 2013 due to his own financial situation: the small amount of ad revenue he expected from YouTube wouldn’t come close to repaying the thousands of dollars he was expecting to spend on the “Pedals” music video (it ultimately cost $10,000). He believed there was a small subset of his audience who would be happy to help though, and to do so for each future video. He mocked-up his vision on 14 pieces of printer paper and, unable to build a software platform himself, reached out to his old Stanford roommate, Sam Yam.

Conte, who studied music as an undergraduate in the Stanford class of 2006, gained notability as a musician through the duo Pomplamoose he formed with his girlfriend and now wife Nataly Dawn in 2008. While Pomplamoose considered offers from several respected record labels, they decided they could gain distribution without giving up economics or creative control given the rise of YouTube and other direct-to-fan platforms online. After an initial surge of independent success, they fell into a three-year hiatus, a period in which the ad revenue creators earned on YouTube dried up considerably.

Meanwhile, Yam was building a name for himself in the startup world. After graduation, he continued studying at Stanford for a master’s in computer science (Marc Andreessen wrote his letter of recommendation) but took a leave of absence to become one of the first engineers at the social-mapping startup Loopt.

After Loopt was acquired for $43 million in 2006, Yam founded AdWhirl, which allowed iPhone developers to dynamically select their ad networks. It was acquired in 2009 by AdMob, which Google then bought a few months later. After a short stint at Google, he spent three years trying out new startup ideas. For part of that time, he worked out of the Dogpatch Labs incubator space, sitting next to Kevin Systrom and Mike Krieger as they tinkered with early versions of Instagram, as well as media entrepreneur-turned-VC Josh Felser.

After Conte reached out to Yam about his idea for what would become Patreon, they arranged to meet at Coffee Bar on Bryant Street in San Francisco on March 6, 2013. On that day though, Yam’s focus was elsewhere. He had discovered a startup concept he believed could be a winner: a freelance photographer marketplace called OurSpot. March 6th was the day Yam was unveiling OurSpot to the world, and he had arranged for coverage in TechCrunch.

Conte’s pitch struck Yam immediately. He agreed it was an enormous opportunity and that Conte was the natural entrepreneur to drive it forward as a creator solving his own need. Yam had started their discussion by telling Conte there was no need for an NDA because ideas are a dime a dozen and execution is everything, but by the end, he was urging Conte not to tell anyone else about the idea.

That very evening, even as inbound interest from the TechCrunch coverage of OurSpot rolled in, Yam went with his gut: he began coding the Patreon platform. It quickly became his main focus, although he kept running OurSpot in parallel until Patreon’s seed round closed.

Raising the seed round

The month after Conte launched his Patreon page, he and Yam — who agreed to be equal co-founders — set out to raise their first round of funding, setting a target of $700,000. Yam reached out to Josh Felser, who had passed on investing in OurSpot but liked Yam and was intrigued to hear he had suddenly switched to work on Patreon. Felser met Conte for the first time on June 7th and says he knew he wanted to invest right away. His firm Freestyle Ventures formally committed on June 12th, offering to invest the full $700,000 on a $5.5 million pre-money valuation.

Saar Gur, a partner in the Palo Alto office of CRV, heard about Patreon through Evan Tana, who had worked with Yam at Loopt. Gur saw the sudden rise of Kickstarter as a sign of a broader wave of transformation — the rise of a new online creative class with the ability to crowdsource their financing. He had been evaluating a number of crowdfunding startups that all launched around the same time, and he said Patreon was not the obvious standout among them in terms of metrics. But Yam had solid experience, and based on the behind-the-scenes video about the making of “Pedals,” he believed Conte had the qualities of a high-potential entrepreneur.

As Gur and others met Conte and Yam, Patreon quickly became a hot deal among VCs in the Valley. Some investors who had previously ignored them returned bearing term sheets. The founders decided to raise more than they anticipated: a $2.1 million seed round led by CRV and Freestyle and joined by several other investors, including Reddit co-founder Alexis Ohanian.

When I asked Conte how he decides which VC firms to work with, he explained that it has always come down to which individuals most genuinely understood and cared about Patreon’s mission. CRV and Thrive Capital (which led the Series B and C) won the jockeying to invest and gain board seats, he noted, because Gur and Thrive’s Chris Paik as individuals felt like the most authentic partners.

source https://techcrunch.com/2019/02/12/patreon-story/