#where’s the option to just burn the palace to the ground

[ghost-proofbaby]

i’m sorry but can we talk about how fucking devastating it is to hear it repeatedly said in the game how godey and cazador found astarion’s screams to be the “sweetest”?

the way he was the one who always screamed the loudest. when he was being tortured for days in the kennel by godey. when cazador was carving the runes into his back. centuries, and no one ever helped him or saved him. for centuries, he was screaming and begging for mercy, and it only egged his abuser on more.

no wonder he disapproves more when you repeatedly help and save people. repeatedly, he has to watch you save all these people, knowing no one ever saved him.

yes, i’m actively sobbing over a video game character. i want something more painful than just death for cazador.

[rottedberries]

One of One: Part 1

Summary - It's been two months since Astarion has left your camp since that night in Cazador's palace where everything went wrong. In the events of severely misguided judgement you find yourself bleeding out in a dark alley, in his arms one last time, spending your last fleeting moments with him.

Tags - Hurt / comfort, angst, depictions of death and dying, happy ending, vampire tav, nb tav

Notes - I accidentally picked the wrong option when trying to talk Astarion out of the ascension, and got told to die before he left my party forever. Me and my sister couldn't stop thinking about him regretting his actions once he came back to his senses and soon after this piece was born. I wanted it to be a short 3k piece, but as always I went overboard. There will be a part 2, but hopefully for now this will suffice.

Word Count - 5,832

AO3 Link

“I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.” 

He left, and he was gone. You tried to not act like a dog, a lovesick puppy waiting for its owner to return home, but you couldn’t help yourself. Ever since that night in Cazador’s palace, your dreams had been filled with nightmares, and wishes that had yet to come true. Waking up to find the red tent adorned with gaudy pillows and spilled goblets of blood that you loved oh so much, back in the place that it belonged in your camp. But instead, all that laid was an empty spot where the drops of rain soaked the ground underneath leaving a stench of mud and rocks. Completely washing away whatever of Astarion’s scent used to linger. 

It was because of that empty spot, the more you looked at it, the more your head span. You could only focus on your mistakes of that night, and everything that went wrong. If only you had tried harder . There could have been better words to say, now that everything was over and done with. Hindsight was 20/20, but in the moment it seemed like every thought, every word died out on the tip of your tongue as fast as you tried to will them out of your mouth. 

In front of you, was someone you loved, overcome with want and power. So toxic that it clung to the air in thick waves in a way that made the blood spilled from the enemies just defeated more potent than before. When you found yourself staring into Astarion’s eyes, you couldn’t see the man that you were talking to outside the palace a few hours prior. His eyes now bright with bloodlust, yet empty…with something else, lying there underneath the surface. Something you couldn’t quite pick out as much as you tried. And as you stared at him, trying to decipher it, Astarion just stared back…begging, in a voice so demanding, yet childlike…so desperate. 

The emotions flooding the room, the thoughts clouding your head, it was too much for you to wrap your head around. Fear clogged up your throat, and airways, making the simplest breaths the hardest to gasp for. You couldn’t find rhyme or reason to deny him. There was no logic in your brain that could describe why this was wrong , you just knew it was. 

Instead of trying to reason, to beg, to reach out to that scared boy trapped in a body adorned with 200 years worth of scars, you stood still, and denied. Giving no reason, just your feet planted firmly on the ground, not even finding it in yourself to move or reach out. 

And he begged . He begged even harder than he had before…the softest ‘ please ’ falling from his lips. 

Yet you still found yourself saying no. 

Then it was all over. You watched as Astarion dug his fangs into Cazador’s neck, drinking up his blood before driving a knife into his heart over and over and over again, screaming with every pierce and new puncture wound. All that was left was a room stained in blood, and anguished cries that pierced your heart so deep you found pressure building behind your eyes, threatening to let loose as well. And what came after were words filled with hatred, an expression forever burned into your memory that you still see it every time you close your eyes. 

‘ I’m done with you. I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.’

You tried, you really did try to get Astarion back after that. Your feet were finally able to move, and you pushed them as hard as you could, as fast as you could go. Your hands outstretched, trying to grab onto his shoulder, arm- the waistline of his pants. But he didn’t care, he didn’t even spare you a look; just carelessly shoved you off of him and left. 

That was the last time you had seen him. 

You don’t have the exact date of the last time you saw him, but it had to have been at least a month by now…maybe two. With Astarion’s bright and sardonic personality missing from the camp, it seemed like the days had started to blend together. While you still had the rest of your party, and you were thankful they were alive and well, you couldn’t bring yourself to care when you had driven out the one person you cared for most. 

Since then, you had become brash, reckless, and careless. A part of you couldn’t tell if it's because you wanted to punish yourself for being a horrible leader, or if you’d simply lost the ability to care about the world saving adventure you had found yourself on.

Lae’Zel had already had more than a few choice words for you, and recently it seems they were getting stronger and more rude as time went on and the more you kept messing up. Everyone else barely bit their tongues either. Even someone like Shadowheart who had been with you when it happened, getting a first hand show at the fight that took place, was starting to get fed up with you. Her temper becoming shorter, until she had finally found you and cornered you against a wall in camp last night. 

“We’re all going through our own problems while also having to deal with the Absolute, and you have been nothing but supportive and helping with everyone here- I’d probably be dead without your guidance.” 

She started off, it was something small and sweet, which only made you dread her words when she continued the rest of her sentence.

 “And I want to be there for you too while you deal with your own pain- but quite frankly, you’re going to get us killed at this point. I didn’t make it this far to have someone make some brain dead decisions right at the end.

I am more willing to lend an ear, to help in whatever way I can, but if you don’t reach out and proceed on this suicide mission then I’m out…and I’m sure a lot of the others are going to be too.”

There was a pause of silence, you could barely meet her eyes, let alone reply. Whatever choice she gave you to reply and defend yourself, you didn’t take. You just let her keep going. 

“I don’t know what you and Astarion had going on, but it was obviously something very special. It sucks that he’s not around anymore, but if you let this cost your life- cost everything we have worked for up to this point - then I have severely misjudged your intelligence and your priorities. Get it together.” 

With her lecture out of the way, she was gone, stalking off back towards her tent. 

You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be angry at her words and accusations. Because she wasn’t wrong. And you had been anything but a leader for the past few months, yet somehow your team stayed. Though all those thoughts met little nothing to now and you wished it did.

-

It was another day, or night technically, and it had been one of the best ones in awhile. Taking Shadowheart’s words into consideration, you tried your best to be better. It was obvious your mind still wasn’t in it all the way, but at least the day had passed without any misjudged bow shots into your teammates backs instead of the enemies; or conversations that turned into fights when they could’ve easily been schmoozed out of. 

Dinner had recently ended, and everyone had retreated to their tents or their cots for the night. You found yourself on your back, staring absently at the night sky, heavy with dark rain clouds, threatening to spill torrential rain at any second. The cold chill of an upcoming storm was already blowing itself through camps, lifting up tarps and trying its best to put out the campfire. You were already restless tonight, but the howling of the wind only made it worse. Every sharp sting of air flying past you and biting at your face only made it harder, every time you tried to slip your head under the blanket you just ended up feeling claustrophobic and suffocated. There was no winning. 

So you were left with your head outside, facing the cold night. Every few minutes you would toss back and forth on your sides, and on your back. You’d sit up, fluff your pillow, and lay back down somehow more uncomfortable than before. You did everything from trying to count sheep, to singing your favorite songs in your head to get yourself to relax. After a couple hours though, it was no use. The rain started not long ago, but the soft pitter of the drops on the ground was a hindrance to your focus on sleeping instead of a welcomed white noise. When it was obvious that you weren’t sleeping for a while, you saw no point in keeping on trying. The fire has burnt down to its bare embers, it was cold and dark and suddenly you were craving the warmth of the indoors and maybe an alcoholic drink to really warm the cold emptiness that lingers inside your chest. 

It's with that thought that creeps up and lingers in your brain for the majority of the hour that finally gets you up, urging you to slip on your shoes and grab your backpack, slipping in some gold and your journal. Your camp clothes will have to do for now, as you don’t see much of a point to get properly dressed in your gear to go sit down and drink somewhere. It’s after you have everything packed up when you grab a hooded cloak from your chest and leave the camp quietly, adventuring back to the lower city. 

You arrive at the pub just in time for the rain to change from a steady downpour of small drops to a cacophony of large wet globs pelting against the windows and roof top, making itself heard even over the cheering and loud laughter of everyone's drunken banter. You slip inside easily enough, removing your hood once you’re fully inside. It only takes a moment to take in the sight in front of the you- red faced patrons clinking their mugs and letting sour liquid spill onto their hands. The strong scent of alcohol seeping from everyone's breaths mixed with the fresh cooked food swimming through the air. There’s a mixture of singing and dancing as everyone is in high spirits, but also hushed, serious conversations taking place in the corner of the room. Passed out strangers, sleeping away the night with their head in their arms at the tables tucked away. 

This was perfect. 

Busy enough that the background of people will keep your mind from wandering to unwanted thoughts. It also meant no one would pay attention to you. 

“What will it be?” The bartender asks as you make your way up to the counter. Her lips are pursed, she looks tired, and a bit on edge. It was obvious her shift had been going on for too long, but she was trying her best to keep a friendly facade up. 

“Rum.” You speak back plainly, as you drop a bag of gold on the counter. “The entire bottle preferably.” 

She nods, not even giving any cheeky commentary akin to ‘rough day?’ like you would expect someone to comment when buying a whole bottle of alcohol for yourself. Instead she grabs the bottle from under the counter and slams it down with a silver cup before pocketing the gold pieces handed to her. 

“Holler if you need anything, dear,” She draws out in a slow and monotone voice. 

You don’t bother saying anything else to her as you grab the neck of the bottle and the handle of the cup before making your way to a dark quiet corner of the tavern and sitting yourself on one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. You make sure to get your space set up before you crack open the lid on the bottle. Pulling out your journal and the small portable jar of ink and quill you brought before finally pouring your first drink. 

You take a deep breath, steady yourself as the deep liquid looks back at you. For a second you swear you can see your reflection in the liquid, empty eyes, dark bags, a hideous frown. It just gives you more of an incentive to drink, to forget for just a little bit. 

Down the hatch. 

With a deep breath, you gulp down the first shot of rum and suppress a shudder at the pungent taste, how it burns your throat and thickly coats your mouth in consistency of syrup, yet tastes like stale sugar. You take pleasure in the warmth that soon comes after though, spreading from your core to your hands and feet. You can already feel the pleasant tingle of your nerves finally relaxing, of your body accepting the alcohol as a substitute for a human’s touch, like the big hug you’ve been yearning for. 

You can’t help but take another shot right away. 

-

If you’re being honest, you can’t tell how much time has passed. It’s had to at least have been an hour or two, maybe more. The tavern had cleared out a little bit, but it was still quite busy. Even with a few less faces, the chatting and laughter seemed to be louder than when you first entered. It doesn’t bother you, you had quickly let it become background noise as you buried yourself in your journal and shots of Rum.

Already the bottle was a 4th gone, and while you felt pretty coherent at the moment you could tell that the effects would be hitting you sooner than later. It was only at this point in your tipsy state that you realized maybe you should’ve left a note at camp or something, in case you couldn’t find your way back there tonight. 

It was fine. 

Your body had a good auto pilot, it was good at getting where it needed to be even when you didn’t know what was going on. 

The thought quickly fades as you pour yourself another drink and gulp it down, before going back to cataloging your thoughts on paper. 

-

You’re wet. 

Wet with rain. 

But not just rain. 

There’s something else there. 

Thick, reeking of copper, and metal. 

You cough and more of it spits up, overwhelming your senses as you empty the contents onto the ground in front of you. 

Red, so much red. More red than you have ever remembered coughing up before in battle. 

That’s when the dread finally washes over you like a harsh slap to the face. It is more sobering than any other remedy you have ever tried in your life. It’s then you go from barely existing in reality, seeing everything through a blurred lens to being too aware of everything around you, snapping back into yourself like you never have done before.

You’re outside, far away from the tavern, but still in the Lower City. You barely recognize where you are, but if you had to guess you were trying to make it back to camp, but not doing a good job at it. With every step your whole body shakes. Putting weight on your ankle makes you want to topple over. It has to be at least sprained, if not broken. You pull out your hands to examine them and instantly notice they’re swollen. Red, puffy, knuckles, sporting drops of blood from the small cracks in the skin. Your head pounds not unlike when getting your head smashed into a wall, and lifting your hand up to your head you can feel a bump before you hiss at the pain of touching the blossoming bruises starting to take place. 

This wasn’t good. 

From the small amount of damage you could assess on your body you could already tell this was bad. 

You feel like you’re on death's doorstep, moments away from collapsing and perishing in the streets. Every small shuffle with your feet feels like you were pushing your body to its extreme limits and pretty soon it was about to give up. 

There’s no way to heal yourself, you didn’t pack any potions and all the shops are closed for the night. 

The panic is dulled because of the alcohol, but is still present, you feel yourself freaking out in your core. Camp isn’t far, but there’s a part of you that’s certain you won’t be able to make it. You could try crawling, dragging yourself with your arms, but that seems more unlikely than trying to just walk the rest of the way there. 

Maybe you could make it. Not all hope is lost yet, you’ve been in worse situations. 

It’s right after the small sliver of hope you try to will and grab onto, that the world seems determined to prove you wrong. Another set of coughs destroy your body, sending you off balance as you bend in half to grip your aching ribs. More blood spills from your mouth and joins the rain on the concrete below you. You cough, and cough, and more comes out, it's seemingly endless, and when you’re done, you’re left feeling lightheaded and like you need a long nap. Just simple sleep. 

Your body is at its limits. You’re not even halfway to camp. There’s no way out of this one this time. 

You really fucked yourself. 

You must really be on a suicide mission if you’re dumb enough to get black out and start a fight at the bar. At least you went out fighting, you hoped you at least took one or two of them down with you. You could feel it in your body how you were outnumbered though, bruises and cuts sprouting from all over your body. 

There was no way you were ever going to win. 

Maybe you just wanted someone to put you out of your misery so you didn’t have to do it yourself. 

You’re barely able to make it to the alley on your left as you stumble your way between two buildings. Your body trips on nothing and slams into the stone wall, making you fall to the ground ungracefully as ever. With the last strength in your body, you pull yourself into a sitting position, slouching against the wall, but quickly slump back over. 

The wall is spinning, the sky is spinning, you feel like you’re going in circles. The rain is more cold than ever, and you pull your cloak tighter around your body, but it seems to just trap in the chill. You cough, and more blood spills out. Your head pounds, your chest aches, and your ankle moans in pain. 

Maybe if you’re lucky some poor fucker will see you and take pity on your sad self. Maybe if you just close your eyes, you’ll be able to gain enough strength to make the way back to camp and you can have Shadowheart patch you up. 

Just a few minutes. 

That’s all…

It can’t end here…

But you can’t push yourself any further for now…

You just need to rest real fast…

That’s all….

….

You feel yourself on the very edge, your final breath lingering on the tips of your lips as you try to give way to sleep, but something is calling out your name. 

You really must be dying. 

The voice sounds faintly like Astarion. 

It’s pathetic how even on your deathbed you can only think about him. Your dying vision is him calling out for you one last time. 

The voice continues to get louder, and you feel like every shout is leading you closer to death, your hallucination slowly becoming more reality than dream. There comes a point where it becomes too real though, and your brain fights itself between accepting this dream and realizing this was real. A thick shadow looms over you, blocking out the lights from outside the alley. The voice is loud in your ear, panicked and calling out louder than before. 

He couldn’t really be here, right?

Astarion wanted nothing to do with you before, there’s no way he’s calling out now. 

He said he hoped you died screaming. 

If we really were here, he should be laughing, delighted that he got the chance to see your body withering away on the streets by random chance. 

“...As-tarion….?” You croak out, your voice so hoarse from coughing that it's barely there anymore. It’s stupid to hope, you’re probably just talking to air, but you try anyways. If this is real, then this is your last chance. 

The figure is kneeling now, right by your body. A gentle hand scoops under your head, and another hooks under knees before your body is being shifted. You wince but let yourself be manhandled, it’s not like you have much of a choice or can put up a fight. You’re pulled into a lap, you can feel crossed legs underneath you, against your back. One arm continues to cradle your neck and keep your head up, while the other frees the wet hair sticking to your face. 

This has to be real right? Your body wouldn’t move like this on its own. 

“As-” You open your mouth to try and call out to him again, but you’re quickly stopped with a finger being pushed to your lips and a quiet ‘shh’ noise.

“Yes, it's me.” He speaks. 

“What are you- Why are you-” You have so many questions, that your mind can’t choose which one to ask first. You’re still trying to comprehend if this is true. 

Because he’s here, he’s actually here. You can feel his hands all over you, his body pressed up against yours. You see him, feel him, hear him. In some twist of cruel fate, he came back. All it took was you ending your life for him to show up again. You can’t decide if it’s worth it. Because you get one last chance to see his smile, how his laugh lines move as his lips quirk upward. You get one last chance to see his expressive eyes that seem to give him away when he’s not quite 100% in the act he’s putting on. You get one more chance to finally apologize, to say all the things you’ve been thinking about for weeks. 

“ I’m so sorry-” You find yourself saying. If you’re going to die, at least maybe you can get the apology you’ve been practicing in your head before it's all over. 

“I never meant…God, I’m so sorry.” Your voice cracks, and you can feel yourself getting choked up. Your already sore throat hurts even more, but you keep pushing. You need to get this out.  

“You were hurting, and I turned you down- wouldn’t even say anything- just denied you.” Your mouth is moving faster than your brain, the rehearsed apology being quickly thrown out the window. You’re going to die soon, you need to get this out now before you’re gone forever. “I was just…scared- and I didn’t know what to do- I-I fucked up though and made you think I wasn’t on your side..I’m-God- I’m sorry-” 

You feel tears slide down your face and they burn the tender bruises forming on your cheeks, but you can’t stop. You keep blabbering, saying the same three sentences over and over again, not being able to comprehend anything, just trying to talk, to get him to forgive you. And eventually, there’s another set of fingers being placed on your lips, shushing you again. And you quiet right away, you feel like you can barely breathe. 

“It’s- Okay.” He seems choked up, lost in his own thoughts. He takes a second to work out his words, but you can tell he is thinking hard about them. His voice isn’t filled with malice like it was last time. It’s soft, and gentle this time. It’s serious. 

“I see that now.” He finally decides on his words, and loosely shifts in his arms to stare up at his face. 

It really is him . 

“I was so focused on something that I had been denied for so long…I let it control all my thoughts and actions. I didn’t realize how far gone I was. I just wanted…revenge…to get my life back. To feel in control for once. I couldn’t take being denied that again, and I didn’t want anyone who wouldn’t support me. I just wanted…closure.” 

As he talks, you stare at him and take everything about him in. The rain has let up, the clouds finally parting just enough for the moonlight to peek through. It shines brightly on Astarion’s hair, casting a halo highlight. His eyes are soft, but the deep red that you love. His expression changes with every single word he speaks, a frown tugging at his lips as he talks to you. He’s beautiful. He’s more beautiful than you remember. 

“But I left, and it didn’t take me long to calm down and realize my mistake. You were right . And I didn’t notice at the time..but you were scared. I keep playing that night over in my head and - Gods - I can only see how terrified you were. I did that… ” his voice fades out, and you feel more tears slip down your face. 

This can’t be real. This is a dream. Because Astarion is pouring his heart out to you, holding you in his arms, apologizing while you’re on your deathbed. 

It’s like a cliche dream come true, the best case scenario you could have pictured when you think about your death.

It feels so real though. It has to be. 

“I made you scared. I never want to do that again. But I couldn’t bring myself to come back…not yet at least. I would never forgive anyone if acted the way to me that I acted towards you-” 

“I’ve prayed every night that you would come back- you’ve been in my dreams- you’ve-” You cut him off, needing him to know how much you want him back. How much you forgive him, but you can’t talk long before you heave a heavy cough and can feel even more blood sliding down the corner of your lips.

“ Gods.. ”He breathes out a heavy, heartbroken sigh as he thumbs away the blood soiling your face. 

His touch is the lightest thing you’ve ever felt, especially after the beating you suffered earlier in the night. Your whole body screams in pain, but every place that he touches is a personal cure all, you don’t feel any pain at all in his arms. His hands aren’t warm, yet somehow they are warming your body, filling you up like the alcohol did, but ten times stronger. You can feel your stomach flipping over itself, fluttering at every touch. You missed him so much. 

“What happened to you?” He asks in shock, holding your face, sliding his thumb along your cheek to catch whatever stray tears linger as he stares into your eyes. 

“I…don’t…know…” You admit, pitifully, darting your eyes away from his as you answer the question. 

He raises an eyebrow at you, wordlessly encouraging you to keep talking. So you do, as best as you can. You speak in short, simple sentences, your apology from before taking the most of your brain power and energy. You explain drinking to clear your thoughts, and coming back to on the street. You talk about the pain in your ankle, in your chest and hands. He looks at you the entire time, his face morphing into different expressions as you retell certain parts of your night and you can feel the judgment from him seeping into your bones…though the care he has for you over powers it. The gentle feeling of fingers carding through your hair, detangling the strands, the gentle rubbing motion of his fingers on your arm. It’s like he’s single handedly feeding warmth back into your body, even if it isn’t enough to keep you alive, it's enough to prolong your death. 

“What are you doing out here?” You ask at the end of your explanation, not giving him a chance to comment on your decision making skills of the night. Maybe he’ll stay with you until you fade away. That would be nice, dying in his arms. You couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to go. 

“Making my way to the woods…” He starts, and quickly fades off leaving you to fill the blank.

Oh right, he must be starving. Back to animals, you were guessing. You almost feel guilty for doing that to him, even though he was the one that left in the first place. Your eyebrows just shoot up and your eyes widen at his response as you nod ever so slightly, telling him you understand. 

“Were you ever going to come back?” You ask after another beat of silence. 

You really shouldn’t be talking, but you can’t help but keep asking questions. You need answers, and you need your own closure. You need to lay here, life slowly draining your body and listen to his voice as it carries you into the afterlife. You can already feel your eyes get heavier with every word you breathe out. You can feel air being harder to take in, just becoming shallow and soft. 

“I- '' It seems like he is going to respond seriously, but can sense the change in your condition and suddenly his calm demeanor completely switches as he cries out, not being able to keep his act going anymore. 

“You’re fucking dying!” 

He screams into the night, at your face and you frown. You are dying, it's not by your choice and you’d change if you could. 

“- fuck-! ” He cries out, and you feel the gentle presence of a healing spell being washed over you. But, it doesn’t do much, just takes you back from the edge of blacking out. Your vision clears for a moment, yet your body still aches, and you can barely breathe. Blood still leaks from your mouth. The only difference is your eyes don’t feel so heavy anymore. 

“We need to get you back, hold on-” His grip tightens on you, and you use all the strength you have in your body to reach out and wrap your hand around his arm to get his attention and shake your head. 

“Don’t move…I’m not going to make it…” Your voice gets quieter with every word, it seems your vocal chords are finally giving out on you. 

“I came here to die like a pathetic stray animal once I realized I had no chance.” 

He washes another light spell over you, but just like before it only helps for a few seconds before you go back to feeling worse than ever. 

“There’s no way you’re giving up now. ” He speaks through gritted teeth, annoyance and disbelief fills him. “After everything? A stupid bar fight is what puts an end to you?” 

You want to laugh because it's true. What a pathetic way to go out. 

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” 

His eyes narrow at your choice of words and you swear if a light breeze of wind wouldn’t currently knock you on your ass, he would reach out and swat at your arm. 

“No. No, this isn’t the end.” 

Astarion attempts to stand again, but just like before you shoot your hand out to stop him, pleading with his name on your lips. He stops once more and looks down at you, wide eyes of terror meeting your own. 

“I mean it…it’s over for me, I wouldn’t even make it- and the others don’t need to see me like this. Just let them think I ran off on my own in the middle of the night or something-” 

Astarion opens his mouth to interject, but you stop him and keep talking with the last strength you have in your body. 

“Please…just stay here…” You take a break to wheeze in a pathetic breath of air, and continue. “I don’t ask for much…just, this is perfect. You are all I need. Just one last kiss, and send me off on my way.” 

He wants to fight, you see it in every bone in his body. But he’s at a loss, he can either leave you and let you die alone, or follow your wishes. It’s obvious if he tries to take you to camp you’ll fight the whole way there. This alley is your deathbed, that’s all there is too it. 

“...Fine…” He relents, with another heartbroken sigh. His eyes are on your face, soaking up your features because it's the last time he’s ever going to get to see them. 

His fingers trace the curve of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose and rough skin of your lips. They run across your eyelashes, and smooth over your eyebrows. They dance along your neck, and make their way to your collar bones before moving up to your ear, playing with the cartilage of it. Every move he makes is practiced, purposeful, calculated. He has intent with every touch, his face twisting into something so serious and focused as he stares down at you. As his fingers move and continue to spread warmth and love into your body, he starts to lean down and you try your best to meet him halfway. He stops you though, and tells you to let him do all the work. Eventually  you feel his lips against yours. 

Something so soft, a feather like kiss that almost feels like it wasn’t even there in the first place. You let his breath take your last as you breathe into his mouth. You move ever so slightly, leaning into his touch, to grab more of him, take whatever you can before it's too late. You strain yourself, pushing yourself over the edge as you lift your arm and wrap it around his neck, letting yourself play with the soaked white curls at the nape of his neck. He sighs in content and kisses you deeper, taking every bit of strength that you have left. 

You feel the world fading around you, slowly but sure coming to a halt. Everything is starting to feel dull, his touch, his heat, the cold air outside…it's all starting to feel so far away. And you’re realizing you’re ready. All you wanted was one last kiss and you’d be set.

Astarion pulls away as your eyes blink, and slip closed for one last time. 

The last sensation you feel before you’re pulled under is a deep, sharp shooting pain in your neck.  

[eastwindmlk]

For this month's @jilychallenge I have been partnered with @elliemarchetti with the prompt Person A is looking forward to an ice cream and person B takes the last one.

Did I stretch the prompt a little? Yes, but you will just need to squint to find it! This month also features Chaotic Sirius. 1804 words under the cut!

“I really don’t see what the big deal is,” Mary complained as Lily dragged her feet to the ‘guard station’ at the gate of the newest event that she’d dragged Mary to. 

Rolling her eyes, Lily stood in front of the temporary wooden structure and humoured her friend by posing for a picture that she would more than likely be flooded with somewhere in the coming week with copious attempts to cajole her into posting them. 

Which was something she was not quite comfortable with yet. Most of the people she worked with still had no idea this was how the star student spent her weekends. The few people who did find out had spotted her in photos posted by the events. 

It also turned out that one or two had actually seen her at the event itself, which made for good lunch break conversations. She’d learned a lot about historical costuming, and her watch and reading lists had grown exponentially. 

All things considered, she was quite happy with the way things had turned out. They were even going to meet a few of them on the grounds as soon as they had done the rounds and likely bought more than either of them intended to. 

“Are you disappointed there are no knights this time round?” Mary asked, while they strode down the path, locked arm in arm. Dodging sword handles and sweeping tails. The dusty palace paths were lined on one side by white canvas tents that held the shopkeepers, the other side with flower beds. 

Despite there being plenty of open space on the other side of those flowers, it felt more cramped than the other events they’d been to. 

The sun was burning far too hot for the early spring, but when she mentioned it to Mary, the weather gods decided to mock her. A sudden splash of rain instantly made everything mucky and humid. A photographer had cornered them, and she watched a Disney princess steal away the hand-bound diary she’d had her eye on in the meantime. It was when she was quite unceremoniously shoved aside by one of the Schuyler sisters while trying to buy another trinket for her dress that Lily decided she had enough. 

“Let’s go find the food,” she suggested in a tired tone, fanning herself as they tried to manoeuvre out of the tent. Wedged somewhere between drinking horns and bonnets made from scrap fabric while people perused the wears, all of them too absorbed in the to buy or not to buy to notice two women trying to get out. 

They followed the path to one of the paths, now a lot less dusty than before, down to one of the central hubs. Where they’d set up large tents with rows of tables and benches reminiscent of the mess hall at boarding school. 

Here the people that came to drink and be merry would gather almost as soon as the event opened. Now, you could see cliques of similarly dressed people raising horns and tankards with ale. Wave around large meat skewers and smell the wood-smoked salmon that Lily had looked forward to. 

“So, where do we start?” Mary asked, surveying the options, her hands at her sides and clearly far more ready to attack than the redhead. 

Lily pushed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, checking her coin purse, and wrinkled her nose in annoyance. “The coin place. I need to trade some money.” 

“You didn’t get any at the gate? Why?” Mary groaned, throwing her head back dramatically as she pulled her along to the little caravan. Or rather, the endless line of people who’d made the same mistake as Lily had. 

Huffing and puffing, the pair slowly made their way to the front, where she exchanged her very real pounds for carnival tokens. The whole while, the pair of them discussed where their journey of snacking should be starting. 

Only to throw the entire plan out of the window when they finally had said coins. They were both hot and grumpy, and there was only one thing that was going to fix this. 

Ice cream. 

It was hard to miss the fake pirate ship waving a flag with a cartoon ice cream cone in a pirate hat. So that was where they were heading. 

“I don’t know if the Jolly in Jolly Rodger meant chuffed, but I have decided that it does now,” Lily remarked, practically skipping to their net and jute awning to read the menu of The Skull and Cones Sundae shop. Both of them giggled at an impressive list of punny names and delicious-sounding specials. 

Watching a few people leave with a fish-shaped cone that was richly filled, they decided that was precisely what she wanted. “I don’t know what that is called, but I want one,” Mary decided with a nod as they joined the slow-moving line. 

One by one, they watched as the stack of fish-shaped cones disappeared. Much to their disappointment, they realized that they would likely only be able to get one once they would finally make it to the front of the line. 

This led to a disappointing bout of boulder, parchment, sheers, and then the pair of them decided to share the one they would get, and then they would let the person scooping pick a second for them. This way, both of them were happy and neither of them needed to decide. 

Both Lily and Mary too fixated on staring at the cone, believing, or rather hoping, that if they kept staring at it, the person in front of them would not do the unthinkable and snatch the last one away under their noses. 

So, naturally, that is just what happened. The person in front of them dressed in a green cape, a leather strappy contraption and, most bravely of all in this heat, a red scarf ordered and the last cone was carried away. 

Devastated, Lily’s eyes followed it to where a surprisingly familiar-looking brunette was working on constructing the intricate frozen treat. She blinked a couple of times and then she heard it. 

“Lily?” 

And immediately her head snapped to find the sound of her name. For a moment, her despair about being unable to have the treat she’d been hoping for melted away. “Hi,” she greeted him, breathless as usual. 

Honestly, it was just unfair at this point. For all intents and purposes, James should have looked ridiculous in his cartoonish get-up. She would not be surprised if it included the red and black striped trousers that seemed to come with every cheap Halloween version of a pirate. 

“I like your bandana,” she chuckled, watching him flick the shiny polyester cap with a wonky skull and crossbones printed on it. Unable to stop beaming while he flicked one of the tails dramatically, winking at Lily. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see Mary roll her eyes at the pair of them. “You work here now?” she asked, equal parts amused and impatient. 

“No, I am just wearing this because it looked fun,” James shot back without missing a beat, taking a deep breath. “How about I get you two something cold and then you can sneak around back in time for me to take a break? Saying the last bit a little louder, summoning Sirius from behind the curtain, wearing something even more outlandish. 

Something in the back of her mind told her that he was supposed to be a pirate called Patchy, not that she could quite remember why or where she might know the costume from. 

He sauntered up to the counter, pushing James away from the counter, and flashed a charming smile at them, fake gold tooth included. Somehow still looks beautiful under all that ridiculousness. “Arr, what can I do you lassies for?” Sirius asked, and both of them had to stifle a fit of giggles.

“Well, we wanted one of those shark cones, but you seem to be out,” Lily sighed as she fanned herself, looking at the menu just past him. “So, I suppose I’ll settle for whatever you recommend and how you went from knights to… This.” She motioned at their outfits. 

Rubbing their lips together, both James and Sirius peered around. Just double-checking that they really were out of the cones she mentioned. Frowning as they reached the same conclusions as they did. 

It was then that Sirius darted away, snatching the cone they’d watched being made for the lady in front of them, away just as Remus was handing it over. “So, sorry,” he told the very surprised woman. “Unfortunately, the Shark Attack Scooper is sold out. Can I offer you an alternative?”

Everyone blinked, looking intently at the cone in his hand and at the uncomprehending look on the woman’s face. “B-but you’re holding it,” she stammered, confused, and started reaching out for it only to have Sirius hold it away further from her and hand it to James, who stood behind him.

“My deepest apologies, ma’am, but I must insist that you select something else,” he pressed. His tone was polite, but it absolutely suggested that there was no room for discussion. 

The only thing that was keeping this from turning into a ping-pong of yesses and nos was that Sirius was keeping up an impressive display of firm, but polite hospitality. Which was more impressive, considering he did just steal her order away from right under her nose.

Before they could get too engrossed, James snapped them out of the near childish back and forth. “Come on,” he said, nodding his head towards the back. The mysterious behind-the-scenes Lily had been dying to see. 

They manoeuvred through the guy lines of the awning, dodging miscellaneous parts of a pirate ship and skipped over a pair of crates to where James was waiting for them. Holding his hand out to help Lily over.

Both were a little too distracted with each other to notice that Mary was still struggling to get to meet them. He pulled her closer, already leaning down to claim the kiss that had become the way they greeted each other. Every one of them is better than the first one. 

Lily couldn’t help but wonder when the unwillingness to part after the hunger for another kiss would turn to a hunger for more. Or rather, when this hunger would finally consume her. The heat from the early afternoon sun rivalled by the heat his touch ignited in her. 

When their greeting was interrupted by Mary taking the cone from his hand and sneaking past them. “Don’t mind me, I am just taking this before it melts like Lily’s dignity,” she stage-whispered, shooting her friend a wink. 

And just like that, Lily still missed out on her ice cream. 

[quitealotofsodapop]

LMK assorted Headcanons/Theories:

The terms "Yaoguai/Demon" and "Xian/Celestial" are loose terms used to denote supernatural beings that live in the Three Realms. The terms can be specific to where the being lives/is decended from or who they associate with.

The supernatural population of Megapolis refer to themselves as "Yāo/Yao/Yaoguai" or straight up "Demons". It's considered a badge of pride since "Demons" (a deliberately loose term) have not been allowed into the Celestial Realm/Jade Palace since the war. They are the most varied of the groups, and frequently intermarry with humans and former celestials.

Those who live in, or are decended from those in the Celestial Realm are considered "Celestial/Xian". Celestials will rarely marry outside of their own kind - save for a few famous exceptitions. However they are considered no better than "pariah dogs/mutts".

The Meishan/Plum Hill Boys were formed from a group of half-celestials who felt like they didn't have adequete rights in Heaven, so they formed their own palace and training grounds so they could defeat their full-celestial critics in battle. The Plum Hill Boys are happy Erlang in the LMK verse is a Heavenly General, but they really want him to address the social issues Heaven has been ignoring for millenia to the Jade Court.

Celestials try their best to appear Only Human/Ethereal - as having animalistic/plant traits is considered uncouth. Very discrimatory towards percieved "lesser" species. Think the Gems from Steven Universe.

Dragons inhabit a category of their own, being neither Yao/Xian. They're just Dragons.

Humans are seen as So Weird to the supernatural races cus they can both ignore or transcend categories without issue. Even former mortals that achieved immortality like Lao Zhu are considered really weird. To the long-lived species, it's like seeing a mouse suddenly just… not die and start doing magic.

Celestials and Demons are bad at understanding how reincarnation works. It's like an entirely alien concept to them. Why wouldn't this person remember who they used to be? In Jttw we see this with Kui Mulang not understanding that Princess Baihuaxiu didn't remember/recognise him depite them being lovers in their past Celestial lives. Mulang likely kept his memories by refusing the Meng Po soup, while his gf Yunu drank it and lost all hers.

Literally everyone legit thought that the reincarnation lineage of the Golden Cicada ended with Tripitaka/Tang Sanzang. Even Guanyin was convinced until she tried to mediate to/call up GC in the Pure Lands and got LMK Tang's confused "Um, new phone [body] who dis?".

"Tang" is called that cus he's legit decended from the Tang royal family. He's got that royal clout in Megapolis that very few know about - hence why he was a judge in "Food Wars". Doesn't seem to work much cus he's got that trust fund payout. However, he's not on good terms with his bio family for Whatever Reasons, and barely even Pigsy knows about his origins.

The Monkeys of Flower Fruit Mountain are intelligent yaoguai/demons like Wukong and Macaque. However, after the Burning of the Mountain; many were forced to relocate and hide less they be hunted down by the armies of the Celestial realm/humans who liked monkey meat. It's why all the remaining monkeys on Flower Fruit Mountain seem to be regular earth monkeys. The "big ones" that fought for the Monkey King and protected their home from war are no longer there. When the Monkey King returned to Flower Fruit Mountain, it was like returning to a town that had been left empty by war. Where are the suriving Monkey Yao nowadays? Living in the village outside of Megapolis, the one with the Shame Temple (S1 Ep 07). Why else would SWK have such an important temple there? Plus all the monkey imagery.

Most demons dont actually eat humans anymore. Most who legit miss the taste/need the protein just buy Imitation Human™ (comes in vegan and low-salt options) instead cus its cheaper and less immoral. There's still however, a black market for geniune human meat in some cities... •+The Monkie Kid gang once accidentally tucked into "Imitation Human Meat Buns" while at a festival, and it left everyone feeling gross afterwards. Most grossed-out was Pigsy cus it was the version made with pork. Tang had seconds "just to be sure".

Sun Wukong's favorite book/film of all time is "The Last Unicorn" by Peter S. Beagle. Themes of immortal perfection and blissful ignorance vs mortal love and emotion, beauty & pain, finding yourself becoming "other" from who you once considered your kinfolk due to your experiences... he also likes "Big Fish" by Tim Burton. •+: Red Son has a "kaiju form" resembling a slightly-more humanoid/minotaur-like version of the Red Bull from the same story.

Pigsy watches "Chef" (2014) at least once a year like its gospel. And it's why he got the food truck. Tang similarily loves films about enjoying the pleasures of food ala Chocolat (2000). These films are their go-to "date night" movies at home. When MK was little, he also watched Princess and the Frog (2009) and Ratatouille (2007) a lot cus those were "Dadsy's and Tang's favorites".

[breyito]

@zukaangweek

Day 5: Captured/Safe

Everything is Lost AU

As the Fire Palace scrambles to get the rumours of treason whithin the Royal Family in regards of the Avatar's escape under wraps; Aang and his friends ride Appa to the only place that feels safe at the moment: the Southern Air Temple. The mood is sombre; and they are all shaken up. Aang and Toph are barely put together, both feeling the acute loss of Zuko and forced to face the grim reality that the other boy might not see another sunrise.

Meanwhile, Zuko convalesces in the Infirmary. The angry red burn is stark against his skin, due to all the blood he had already lost to arrow wounds before Ozai's attack. The Fire Lord has ordered him to be cuffed to the bed. Lu Ten sits besides him, ruffled, worried, in shock and incandescently furious. Just this evening they were celebrating the Day of the Dark Sun in Crescent Island, like they have done every time for as long as he can remember.

Zuko had taken ill these past few days and so his abscense had been excused. To think it was all for this... just how badly had that bastard of a man ensnared his baby cousin? Lu Ten knew that Azula's idea had been an awful mistake. Zuko is too sensitive to be exposed to that level of violence every single day. He's always been eager to compete, but never to hurt. Of course such soft and kind soul would begin to care for the prisoner that was his responsability.

To think that filthy nomad took advantage of that care to transform it into infatuation (love, as Zuko had said, like he has any idea of what love is, besides what his plays portray) and then twisted it into this devotion Zuko feels for him... How far had he gone, to win Zuko's heart? He's just a boy, which such a tender heart...They've known each other for a few short months, and still. Still. Zuko feels so much for that man...

And said devotion is what made Ozai snap and punish him in such a savage way. If Lu Ten could bear to separate himself from Zuko's side, he would be dismembering that arrogant bastard himself. Attempts on his life were nothing, but trying to kill Zuko? The sheer audacity makes his blood boil.

His baby cousin's journey to health will be long and arduous. His freedom will be strictly reduced and he will be monitored at all hours. Father will take a long time to forgive him. But he will. The Fire Lord has only ever truly loved three people: his wife, his son...and his 'grandson'. Anyone else and they would be dead already. But Father has always been different with Zuko. And they had time. After all...

The North has been under siege for almost a year. By the time Sozin's Comet arrives, their rebuilt walls will melt all the way and their starved warriors will be easy enough to go through to kill the Royal Family. (He hopes the rumours of their warrior Princess are actually true, and she presents a challenge. If not for him then at least for Azula. Maybe they'll let her remain as Consort to the new Governor. After all, it's important to keep the succession line, even if they previous ruling family are mostly just non-benders.)

Omashu has managed to keep themselves isolated and relatively secured, but now that Ozai had fled there their information well will run dry. The mad king might have discovered how to bend metal, but lava? Lava is a whole different game. Sinking the whole city into molten rock is such a brilliant idea.

And the Avatar? Well, he's sure to fly to where he feels like is secure. High ground. One Temple is already occupied, so three options remain.

Hunting him down again shall be fun.

Sorry it took me so long, I just got incredibly stuck on Lu Ten! And his relationship with Zuko (I may or may not have made 10 different versions of their joint moodboard....) Anyways, tomorrow I'll be posting those ones. And let's just say that Lu Ten is...*fans herself*

Anyways, more backstory:

-In this AU, Ozai almost missed his firstborn's birth because he was too busy 'hunting the Avatar' (and failing, again). He spent about 8 months away, so...

-There have always been rumours about Zuko being either Iroh's or Lu Ten's (since he was 14-15 at the time). The preferential treatment from both of them just feeds the flames.

-(Is either one of them his blood father? No clue! I can't decide, lmao. Still, their relationships with Zuko are very different than with anyone else. Lu Ten's especially adores Zuko. Has and will kill again for him.)

-Ozai absolutely loathes this. If he could have, he would have killed Zuko the minute Azula made sparks. (He never knew if he believed those rumours, and never confronted either of them. He did confront Ursa, and she denied it, obviously. But after the letters of her previous lover...)

-They are both completely aware of said rumours, whereas Zuko isn't. Neither one knows whether the other one slept with Ursa. Neither one asks, they just play a mental game with each other to see which one caves in and aks first.

-Zuko is kept prisoner about 1,5 years. Piandao is still part of the White Lotus (he just faked an injury to retire and went to work as a spy inside the Palace) so he helps him escape when the time is right.

-He finds the Freedom Fighters on the way to where Aang is. He gets along brilliantly with them (since they left the village and are roaming vigilantees).

-In this one, Zuko wears the Blue Spirit Mask when he fights, but as he travels he wears a weimao with a black veil, since his scar is very noticeable.

-Oh, Bumi is the Grand Lotus. Desperate times need desperate meassures.

-Lu Ten and Zuko both train with Piandao. Zuko is trained more in stealth, since he's not the Heir. He manages to make fire dance with his swords. Lu Ten manages to use his sword as a lightning rod and direct his lightning to very specific targets.

-(Yes, Azula does still master the blue flame.)

-Ursa didn't dissapear, she was killed, along with Azulon, by one of Ozai's plots. (I debated a lot whether to keep her or not, but decided not to. Zuko needs some trauma lol)

-Bumi managed to track down some descendants from the Air Nomads, and has kept them hidden and tried to train them. After his escape, Aang takes over and, although they are so few, he's not alone anymore.

-Aang notices that, since he couldn't have weapons with his hands free, and Zuko was allowed shaved him once a month; now he can't do it without thinking about him and missing his shivering inducing touch. Zuko always finished with a kiss to his arrow. He sees him everywhere, even in this place where he's never been.

-Yue became a warrior when in the first full blown attack on the city, a squad managed to get in to try and assassinate the Chief. She pulled with all her will when she saw her father about to be killed and ice spikes came from under them, killing the six soldiers inmediately. She refused to be kept away after that, and most of the women agreed that they needed to be able to fight too. She has a reputation for slashing through whole ships on the full moons.

-Toph only managed to compete (and win, of course) in one Earth Rumble before Gaoling was taken by the Fire Nation. It was all very civil, luckily, but anything that had to do with earthbending was forbidden. She hated the fact that just as she learned what she was missing, it got taken away.

-They were introduced by Lu Ten when she was 10 and Zuko was 14. She and Zuko got along because she noticed to softly he moved around, and how trained he seemed to her senses despite never fighting. So she started throwing rocks at him until he responded (Zuko was horrified for a whole minute while she made her eyes watery, but then bursted out laughing.) They secretly train together ever since.

-Zuko was a nervous wreck when he asked her if she would want to leave and help him with Aang's escape. She made him sweat a little but then told him she'd noticed his coming and goings weeks ago.

-They went to many stealth missions masking them as 'dates', to map the most secure route for their escape.

ALSO. This is important since it won't leave my brain alone

AU OF THE AU: Zuko dies in Lu Ten's arms in the escape. Lu Ten goes on the warpath to absolutely destroy the Avatar and the rest of his group.

[multifandom-hcs]

Omg! Hiii!

I saw your parenting monkeys headcanon thingy and I absolutely enjoyed reading it! Do you think you can do a redson ver where it's redson and the reader having a baby and I mean like how would redson act. If your planning to do this request thanks alot ^^ have a nice day and happy holidays 🎉

𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠!! 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞! 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 ^^

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐜𝐬!

𝐂/𝐍: (𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧) 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞

Red Son:

✉ When he got the news about being a father, he was really happy but also really worried since he was afraid the samadhi fire thing repeated itself once again

✉ Luckily, that wasn't the case, and man, the baby was so cute they melted his heart (and his parents as well hours later) the first moment he saw them

✉ Protective, really protective with the baby, even if they grow he would still be very protective over them, I mean we are talking about the second reason he isn't a grumpy cat all the time (being you the first) of course he'll be protective

✉ If the child has fire powers like his, he would definitely teach them how to use it, since if they aren't careful they might end up burning the palace to the ground

✉ He would be the first to wake up in case his child is crying or if the child comes into your shared room sad and scared if they had a nightmare, pulling you and the kid into a hug embracing the two of you into a warm cuddle hug, telling the child everything is ok

✉ Mei and MK autoclaimed themselves as C/N's aunt and uncle respectively, thing that didn't bother Red at all since they are his closest friends

✉ Honestly I don't know who would spoil the kid more, Red or his parents, let's be honest, DBK and Princess Iron Fan would spoil the f out of their new grandchild, they have a new adoration in their lives now

✉ Homeschooling with the bull clones, yeah Red Son is still insecure about leaving his child into a school so for now at least until they are 7, homeschooling is the safest and only option

✉ In general, Red would be a really caring, protective and amazing father to his child, he sometimes might be insecure about doing a good job, but just comfort him telling him he's doing an amazing job and he'll have a little smile on his face again

‎ ‎

▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭! 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 ^^

[sixminutestoriesblog]

the Red Man of Tuileries

It was late in May of 1871 that a motley group of workers, under the orders of Jules Bergeret, took barrels of pitch, tar and other accelerators and marched up the steps of the Palace of Tuileries. All day long, fighting had raged in front of the grand building as the French army fought the Paris Commune. What had started off as a dream for a better world, or at least a better Paris, only a few short months ago was coming to an end and like hell were the men and women of the Paris Commune going to retreat without burning everything, and everyone, to the ground behind them. Into the beautiful hallways that had once housed royalty and ambassadors from around the world, marched the team of workmen, painting everything with turpentine, petroleum and tar as they swept through, moving from carved room to carved room. In the center dome of the palace, more men laid explosives. It was evening and the growing shadows stretched long and flickering in the approaching darkness of the night. Breaking up into smaller and smaller groups to reach each of the rooms, the workers heard footsteps on the stone floors behind them that moved when they weren't, echoes, dry and dusty that skipped strangely through the hollows of the rooms they roamed through. More than one of them caught glimpses from the corners of their eyes, right on the edge of their vision, the flicker of red cloth, dark as old blood, there and gone in a blink. The evening air was cool and the work had the sweat trickling down their backs but that didn't account for all of the chills that went down their spines. Jobs finished, they tried not to make it obvious how quickly they hurried out of the empty palace, tried not to show too much of their relief when they were once again outside of its walls, surrounded by their companions. The word was given, the first torch laid to beautifully decorated walls. Fire sprang up, as if it had always been there just waiting for this moment and engulfed the once majestic Palace of Tuileries, consuming it as if it were made of paper instead of stone. The fire burned for two days and if anyone saw a red dancing figure of a man watching them from its smoke and flames, they didn't share the story with anyone else. The Paris Commune was dead and its members had other, more immediate problems, like surviving, to deal with. The Red Man of Tuileries had, finally, stood watch over the last tragedy of Tuileries.

But not the first.

The Palace of Tuileries was built in 1564 by Catherine de' Medici, after her husband, Henry II, king of France, died. It was going to be her own personal residence, as a royal widow, and no expense was spared toward her future comfort. This was not to be the case however.

According to some legends, a man she employed named, aptly, either Jean the Skinner or Jean the Flayer, who carried out political assassinations for her found out a bit too much for his employer's comfort and Catherine had her assassin assassinated. When his killer went back into the Tuileries garden to retrieve the body for burial, it was missing however - and the Palace of Tuileries had a new ghost, one that appeared just before each new royal disaster.

In another branch of the same story, the Red Man had never served Catherine at all. When the palace had finally been nearing completion, Catherine, ready to move in and visiting for last minute decisions, had found someone else already living there. A small man, dressed all in red, cloven hooves for feet optional. Catherine wasn't about to share her home with someone like that and she left, never to return.

A civil war between the Protestants and Catholics that burst out and engulfed Paris in 1588 might have had something to do with that as well. Or perhaps it was just the first time the Red Man would reveal his purpose.

No matter where he came from, from that point on, the Red Man of Tuileries would show up just before disasters, glimpsed briefly in the halls of the palace only to disappear when noticed.

The Red Man was spotted in the halls of Tuileries just before Henry IV was assassinated in 1610. Several of Marie Antoinette's ladies were reported to have seen him only days before the August 10th Insurrection in 1792. He was spotted again right before Louis XVI's execution in 1793. The last recorded mention of the Red Man happened only days before the burning of the Tuileries in 1871, when the custodian of the place saw the figure standing in a pose of deep sorrow, not once, but twice in the same night before he vanished.

The Red Man's most talked about appearance however involved Napoleon Bonaparte. Stepping outside of his usual job of being a harbinger of doom, as well as actually leaving Tuileries for the first time, the Red Man apparently appeared to Napoleon three times. The first time was said to be just before the Battle of the Pyramids while France was invading Egypt in 1798. Legends say that the Red Man promised Napoleon ten years of success, later to be buffered by an additional five, but at the end of that time period, Napoleon would never again be successful in military matters. The Red Man was said to have showed up after the Battle of Wagram in 1809 to warn Napoleon against setting foot in Russia. In January of 1814 the Red Man appeared one last time to Napoleon, warning him that his time was running out. That was the last time legend says the Red Man appeared to Napoleon and it was also, shortly afterward, the end of Napoleon's rein.

The Red Man of Napoleon's contract and the Red Man of Tuileries seem to serve very different purposes and so I wonder if the stories surrounding the two became a mesh of two different 'red men with supernatural powers hanging around French leadership'. Rumors said that Napoleon often spoke of a 'red star' he was under that led him to victory. Either way, the Red Man of Tuileries hasn't been seen since the fire that gutted the palace in 1871. Maybe the destruction of the palace finally laid him to rest. Or maybe he's waiting for royalty to return to France so he can again lurk in their hallways, waiting to warn of danger and, perhaps, offer bargains of power to those egotistical enough to accept.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

(Angst and fluff and fluff and angst)

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

or read chapter two below the cut

Elves didn’t sleep, and didn’t dream. Isolde didn’t know for certain if the ‘new monster’ that the elf Astarion had become could dream, but she had to assume that no, he didn’t. In the six months since he’d let her go, he wouldn’t have dreamt of it. 

But, Isolde did. 

Not every night, but often enough that she was sure she needed to address it, with someone. A cleric, maybe. Or an herbalist, or an alchemist.

The dream was a jumble of twisted representations of what had really happened, and what she imagined could have happened, and impossible, absurd things that would never happen on any plane of existence.

The party had still been going on when she left his chambers. Music and laughter warbled from the ballroom and light danced from under the doorways. The halls were deserted and dark, however. 

Perhaps, the darkness was an attempt to deter the Lord’s guests from venturing into other parts of the palace, but if that was the case, it hadn’t worked. She’d passed at least four different couples, and a rather involved group of three scarcely making themselves out of the way of any potential traffic.

No one stopped her, no one hardly looked at her. She made it outside and then the darkness and the indifference of Baldur’s Gate struck her like a cold threat. 

She ran. As he ordered.

She didn’t know where she was going. She couldn’t go back to the Baron’s manorhouse, couldn't go anywhere near her old masters. The void in front of her was so overwhelming, the despair of her fall so profound, that for a moment she had earnestly wanted nothing more than to find the vampire lord at her back. Maybe it was just a ploy, something he did for fun. He could still chase her down.

But he didn’t, and with time and reflection, she was glad to be alive. Eventually.

She remembered it all so vividly, and the dreams never got it right. Not all at once. Sometimes the palace filled with rivers of black water, and she couldn’t find the way out. Sometimes both her legs were broken and she got lost in the dark, crawling one fistfull of black silk at a time over the uneven breathing ground. 

Sometimes, Lord Astarion did chase her down. The streets of Baldur’s Gate were empty and he charged, or flew, took her to the ground, then he held her as sweetly as he’d done when she asked. She always woke up here, to her immense frustration; overwarm, ashamed, the afterimage of his beautiful face burned behind her eyelids. Somehow more alive than anyone, those red eyes delving deep as his kiss. 

If she could scare up a little privacy in the middle of the night, she’d try to take care of her needs, without waking anyone else in the servant’s quarters, but Baron Horrold didn’t provide for more than a few feet of space per servant.

She hadn’t gone to her old master’s enemy right away. She’d had to make herself presentable first and that took a few days. She robbed a collection and a careless merchant, and some clothing that just so happened to fit, after she couldn’t find a tailor who would let her into their establishment in her state. What friends she’d had would be better off assuming she was gone for now. No doubt, Baron De Cloyo had some yarn to spin about his horribly disloyal scullery maid who up and abandoned the household, thus sparing him the trouble of sacking and humiliating her.

Baron Horrold’s Household was better. It was difficult not to be. But in many ways, the families felt oddly interchangeable. The Barons had both grown up in the same circles, sons of wealthy merchants, married imported daughters of important dignitaries and had three rather loud and sensitive children who they neglected in every way but the material, and who would probably grow to be insufferable sometime in their twenties. They had both risen to power just in the last few years, after the wicked but brief Archduke Gortash culled the patriars and caused a mass reorganization of the Court, and the claiming of new titles and new opportunities. 

But, there was one crucial distinction between the families; the Baroness Horrold rather liked Isolde. She found her pretty in a nonthreatening way, and enjoyed watching her—she heard the Baroness say that to one of her sisters after they inquired why the scullery maid was now a housemaid, and finally a lady’s maid after just a few months of employment. Unheard of.

It helped that Isolde had a great many secrets about Baron De Cloyo to share. She hadn't said anything about Astarion. Horrold didn't know for certain that the Lord was a vampire, he just knew that De Cloyo claimed he was, and Isolde thought it was better to preserve that ambiguity. Instead, she simply told Horrold that De Cloyo had gotten upset with her and tried to kill her, so she'd fled. No need to mention Astarion at all.

And Horrold wasn't interested in details about that night anyway, but he was interested to know about De Cloyo’s business dealings and what lengths he went to in order to keep his affairs secret and his wife loyal.

Isolde wasn’t exactly proud of what she’d done to carve out a safe place for herself in Baldur’s Gate, but she did feel some satisfaction in her success.

She’d thought her life was over that night. She had every reason to believe she’d never see another sunrise.

And, honestly, she didn’t need a cleric, herbalist, or alchemist to tell her why she was having those dreams. She didn’t even need them to tell her why she enjoyed them. Why every night she had them, she hoped it wasn’t the last time. She’d already been traumatized long before Ferdinand Joerum, better known as the Baron De Cloyo, gave her to a self proclaimed monster to destroy her; to someone who carried that kind of pain, further trauma sometimes felt so right. Familiar. Cathartic. It was evidence that she saw the world as it was. She was right not to trust a safe place, or a kind word, or a promise.

Of course, she also liked the dreams because it was such a vivid way to recall Astarion. He’d been an unexpected fixation, for all the opposite reasons that she felt some familial peace of mind at her dark dreams. Astarion was so… wrong. Such a contradiction. A little evidence that maybe she was wrong, actually. Maybe there was still some sliver of hope in even the darkest soul?

Or, perhaps, she was just desperately lonely and a bit sick.

In any event, six months was a long time to think about one night, but she did still think of it, every day. For at least a moment. Sometimes, only a moment. Often, she thought of it just long enough to dwell on the memory of the strange, sad vampire who was never true.

On the morning of Baroness De Cloyo’s birthday, the Lady was in rare form. Not in a wholly positive way, unfortunately. A summons to Wyrm’s Rock had gone out to the nobility. Duke Ravenguard was still away, but Court business could not afford a delay. It was a distraction from the Baroness’ birthday, as was an engagement ball for one of the surviving Eltans, happening later that week. All things considered, the Barnoess ultimately had to graciously express a desire to have a quiet, modest little party with immediate family only. It would never have been her first choice, but to demand anything more would have been to “overburden the social calendar�� as her husband put it.

The Baroness huffed and pitied herself as Isolde and her other Lady’s Maid, Mayrina, arranged her hair into an attractive pile of curls and braids wound through a silver circlet. “This will be your first day in Court, won’t it Isolde?” said the Baroness

“Oh, am I coming?” Isolde dropped a hairpin at the pang in her chest. Maybe she should have prepared herself for that possibility.

“You’d hardly abandon me when I’m so fragile,” the Baroness tsked. “You and Renald will accompany the Baron and I.” 

“As you say,” but Isolde was thinking of what could possibly keep her away. It needed to be something outside of both her control and the Baroness', so they could lament her absence together. Their youngest son had said he wasn't feeling well at breakfast that morning, perhaps Isolde could encourage him to confirm an illness.

“Dear Hywel will be there, and you know he’s quite fond of you.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Isolde abandoned her unformed plans of escape with an internal sigh. Hywel Dlusker was another of the surviving patriars from before the big cull. As far as people to be fond of her went, there was nothing really horrible about him. He came by the house fairly regularly, so she knew that he and the Baron had some business, and that was why his fondness of her felt suspicious. Hywel couldn’t possibly be serious about her. She wasn’t quite sure she was ready to resign herself to just being a bit of fun for the young patriar traded for favors.

But, if the Lady was encouraging her to accept Hywel’s pursuit of her, she didn’t really have much of a say. It also meant that her attendance at Court would be a priority, for the household, if not for anyone else. She obviously wouldn't be allowed to participate or even be on record as an attendee, that wasn’t why the nobility brought their servants—but still, the Baroness needed her there. And if Hywel was there, then the Baron needed her there too. They maybe even needed that above leaving someone competent and unburdened with other duties to watch over a sick child.

Her anxiety grew as she saw what the Baroness had picked out for her to wear. It was too fine for a Lady’s maid, even one who needed to blend in at Court. It wasn’t conspicuous, exactly, but the gown was well-made, from more than decent material, and tailored to fit her as snugly as her uniforms, though none of her uniforms had a decolletage quite like this.

The one thing that made wearing the fine dress tolerable rather than embarrassing was that it was a muted gray, rather than something more ostentatious.

The Baroness clearly wanted it to be received as a gift, and so Isolde thanked her profusely, but as Mayrina helped her lace up the bodice, she couldn’t help but see it as silken wrapping paper.

To confirm this, the Baroness smiled and put a hand on her shoulder as she inspected her appearance. “He’ll like it.”

Having spent her entire life in the city, Isolde wasn’t familiar with Wyrm’s Rock, besides one rather melancholy memory from childhood. Before she’d lost her family, she’d made a friend who tried to take her into Rivington through Wyrm’s Rock. Her parents had both come after them and she was punished. She didn’t understand why they were so angry—generally speaking, she was free to run quite wild with the other children. Her mother seemed to think she wouldn’t be allowed back in, and her father humored that paranoia. She wished, as she’d gotten older, that she’d thought to ask more questions about that—about why it made her mother shake with rage and cry all night.

Long after everyone was gone and Isolde was on her own, she had seen Wyrm’s Rock become a barrier to the outside world. The kind her mother feared. But, that hadn’t lasted. It was just an old, imposing gateway again. Close up, the interiors were smaller than she’d imagined—or maybe just filled with hidden passageways. She lingered behind the Baroness and the Baron, Renald was old hat at this, so she watched him for her queues, anticipating where to step and how quickly, how to stay out of the way. But, even Renald commented on how crowded it was.

Isolde wished again that she could have found some avenue of escaping her obligation to be here. It was almost guaranteed that De Cloyo or his people would be present, and she’d so far managed to avoid revealing her miraculous survival to her old master.

Maybe the fancy dress and well coiffed hair would fool him into thinking she was someone else?

Could she claim to have a twin sister? She didn’t bother to bring this concern to Horrold’s attention, because he already knew all about it, so felt the conversation would probably just annoy him. 

He wasn’t worried about it, so she shouldn’t be—that would be his stance.

Then again, it was always possible he just hadn’t thought about it, because he didn’t think about her, at all. Gods, it was impossible talking to nobility. You could never tell them anything and expect them to take it well, unless you tricked them into thinking it was all their idea.

The Baroness and Baron stopped short as they entered the audience hall, and Isolde saw why with a sinking in her stomach.

De Cloyo was perched at the head of a small gathering of his friends nearby, and he’d looked up the moment they entered, right past the nobility, to the Lady’s Maid.

So much for not being recognized. But what made her blood ice over was the fact that he didn’t look remotely surprised to see her, instead, he wore a smirk. A little grin, prompted, she feared, by whatever expression she wore on her face.

To her immense relief, Renald stepped forward, placing himself very casually in front of her to block De Cloyo’s eyeline. She’d never talked to Renald about her time before coming to work for the Joerg Household, but Horrold must’ve told him, because he met her eyes and nodded curtly in solidarity. “You’ll be fine,” in spite of the protective gesture, his words were almost dismissive, like the matter was little more than a bit of vicious gossip, rather than the truth of having to confront someone who had wanted her dead.

Baron De Cloyo knew she was alive, and no one seemed surprised by that. With a little spark of rage she realized that the most likely reason was that Horrold himself probably told De Cloyo. The two of them had a similar, bad habit of using information they knew would upset the other in their little arguments. Even when giving that information away wasn’t safe, or wise. That was how she’d known about Astarion before meeting him, after all.

As their arrival was noted and the way shifted so they could make their way deeper into the audience hall, bodies rotated just enough that Isolde found De Cloyo again, still watching her openly, still smiling.

A high, hearty laugh drew her attention, in fact, half the chamber shifted their necks. She’d never heard Astarion laugh, but she somehow knew it was him before her party walked forward enough for her to see him there. Her heart leapt and slammed into her ribcage. She hadn’t even considered that the vampire lord might come. She assumed his dealings were more clandestine, by nature. Then again, he probably knew everyone in the Baldur’s Gate elite, so maybe his appearance was expected socially, if for no other reason.

Pointedly, she was sure, he stood under a shaft of sunlight coming in through the window. He was dressed like a prince, in gold and silver brocade with pale silk. He was apparently quite amused by something; he spoke to a most unexpected companion—not a patriar or one of the new nobles of the city, but a slight half-elven woman with sandy hair and a flaming fist’s uniform. 

The flaming fist’s warhammer clung to her back, but her stance gave no mind to the extra weight. She looked decidedly less amused than the vampire lord, though perhaps like she was fighting quite hard not to let the corner of her mouth turn up.

“Your friend is here,” the Baroness deigned to lean back and snag her attention. It took Isolde perhaps a beat too long to realize that she was talking about Hywel. Hywel stood far enough away that they couldn’t greet him casually just yet, not with the room as crowded as it was. He was with the other Dluskers who were keeping to themselves for the moment. “I don’t think I have to tell you to be very demure, and discreet.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

The Baron and Baroness took advantage of their early arrival to mingle with the other elite, while Isolde looked for her opportunity to be a dutiful servant and fulfill her Lady’s wishes. It wasn’t appropriate for her to approach Hywel, he had to come to her, but she knew that if he didn’t—even if he was explicitly prevented from doing so by outside forces, or seemed to be actively avoiding her—it would still be her fault if she missed the intended encounter.

She grew a little anxious as the minutes stretched on and he didn’t part from his peers or even look over in her direction. It couldn’t be too long before the Duke’s representative made themselves known and revealed the business at hand. Would she get the chance to speak to him later? Did the Baroness like her enough not to hold it against her if she did miss her chance? She doubted it.

At her back, a sunlit warmth brushed against her, and she turned to find the vampire, Lord Astarion.

“Hello, my dear,” he inclined his head, and to her surprise released a sheepish sigh. “I do hope it’s not too uncomfortable seeing me again, after all that unpleasantness.”

“You? No,” her chest fluttered a little again, she tried not to look too delighted at his approach. Surprise would be more demur . Isolde tilted her head in the direction of De Cloyo.

“Ah,” Astarion pulled a slight frown that somehow turned back into his crooked smirk by the time he met her eyes again. “Right. I did try and make up a nice gory retelling of your tragic demise to sate his imagination. He was rather disappointed to have missed it. About a week later he came barging into my private boudoir quite furious that you were still alive. No idea how he found out.”

“I have some idea,” Isolde took a quick moment to check the glaring corners of the audience hall around them. The Baron and Baroness hadn’t looked at her in several minutes. De Cloyo kept her in the corner of his eye. Hywel seemed to finally be growing bored of his little flock, but hadn’t moved away from them or looked at her.

“I’m surprised you stayed in the city.” Astarion was different from how she remembered him. She should have expected that. In the months since their brief, bizarre encounter, she was sure she would have imagined an idealized, and perfectly fictional version of Astarion to embelish a dark fantasy, and admittedly, to comfort herself. But in person she found that there were some enticing details she hadn’t remembered. 

His eyes were even more piercing in the daylight, somehow. His manner, more graceful. The way he spoke to her, fully engaged and focused, as though nothing else could draw him away. If she wasn’t careful, her delicate mind would take every soft look he gave her and dwell in the light of him. She already had to contend with the dangerous and admittedly warped vision of him as some diabolic angel who’d saved her, rather than a self-proclaimed monster, who simply hadn’t ended her life when given the chance.

“I wouldn’t have anywhere to go,” Isolde confessed. “But, all the same, I did consider it.” She’d also considered throwing herself in the Chionthar and breathing in.

“No distant relatives? A stately aunt with a little cottage and waterfalls of wisteria?” The way he said this struck her as odd, compared to his usual brash and insensitive insights and violent musings. Saccharine. Then again, perhaps he was being sarcastic. It was a little difficult to tell, as his mood was so changed from when she’d last seen him.

He seemed… maybe not happy, exactly, but energetic, in a way he hadn’t been the night they met. It might be a mask, for the public appearance, but if so, he wore it well.

“Nothing like that, no.”

“Pity.”

“But, I’ve never been anywhere. I think I should like to travel. Waterdeep. Neverwinter. Cormyr.”

“You’re clearly resourceful enough to make your own way,” Astarion gave her more credit than she was due. Why bother flattering her? It couldn’t be a genuine observation. Then again, maybe he was reading too much into her appearance at Court, her nice clothing, the image must be quite the contrast from the memory of her.

Isolde turned a little, to subtly gesture towards the Baron and Baroness with a slight bow. “I am not so much resourceful as aware of my very limited value, to a small number of people who may choose to help me. And I did need help.”

“So? You did what you had to. No shame in that.” Even the way he said it told her he wasn’t convinced of the truth of that statement, but still, when he flicked his eyes away from the nobility to look back at her, he softened. For a moment she was spinning in his bedchamber all over again. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually fallen over multiple times, but it had felt like she had, like she had to steady herself on every piece of furniture within reach. Her feet continually crashing out from under her—but she’d been coming off a sedative, mixed with wine, overwhelmed and facing doom. 

Up against his smile, even in a sunlit, crowded tower full of fine manners and tight sensibilities, she felt her knees buckle. 

His approval was a potent thing. 

She had to change the subject. They couldn’t keep talking about her, giving him opportunities to pay little compliments that she would wonder at the sincerity of for the rest of her life. “How’s Alice?”

His smile loosened and he let out a soft exhale, “she’s a spawn now.”

“You gave in?”

“I did indeed,” he sighed and rolled his eyes. “I thought about what you said. I was refusing to give Alice what she wanted, precisely because she wanted it. But. There is much more satisfaction in receiving obedience from one who properly worships me and doesn't need to be compelled in all things.” 

That was his takeaway? Alarming. And, they were talking about Isolde again which wasn’t her intent.

“In any case, it’s going rather well. Compared to past attempts.”

That could mean anything less disastrous than having to destroy Alice, but Isolde tried not to be too morbid. Maybe it was fine. “And what do you compel her to do for you?”

“Nothing,” he raised and lowered one shoulder, the picture of innocence. “I haven’t had to yet. But it’s an important tool to keep in reserve, and I will use it when forced. One day.”

“Really?”

Astarion faltered just slightly under her gaze. She didn’t even think she was giving him more than a slightly skewering look, but with a narrowing of his eyes he conceded. “Well, it’s a passive thing. To an extent. I speak and she reacts. But, I’m careful what I say. Nothing more demanding than the occasional request for a fresh quill or clean towels.”

Did she believe him? Isolde studied his face. He really did look better. She wouldn’t have thought that was possible. But. There was still something like sorrow lingering over him. Or, apathy, perhaps. She did believe him, but it made her a little sad to realize that it was only because a moment’s consideration led her to the conclusion that he wouldn’t bother to lie about this. He didn’t care what she thought of him, or of Alice, or of any of it. He couldn’t. 

Some of that aura of tragedy ebbed, the longer she stared and he just stared back at her, content with the silence. Was that amusement growing in the suspended air between them? She must be so obvious, she must be a lurid shade of red. He wet his lips and she felt the slightest tremor through her core as she caught a glimpse of his fangs again.

“My Lord—I wanted to say,” but she stopped herself to take a sustaining breath. She never thought she’d get the chance to say anything to him again, so she hadn’t really considered if what she wanted to say was wise. Or even true. “Thank you,” she finally managed. “Thank you for sparing me—and, I wanted to explain. When I asked you to…” Gods this was difficult. Was anyone looking at them? Was anyone listening? She could hardly tear her eyes away to check. “When I asked for that , I was just so very frightened and I thought if I could only pretend for a moment…”

“You don’t need to explain.” Astarion’s voice was warm. His smile was still as cruel as ever, especially with just how amused he seemed at her growing discomfort. But in contrast, his tone stayed gentle, his eyes resting on hers, without digging. “It’s alright, Isolde.” He gave a slight incline of his head, and to her immense disappointment she realized he meant to step away.

Then she realized that while they’d been speaking, the rest of the room had started to hush and orient themselves around the very end of the audience hall, where the Duke’s representative was standing, in anticipation of receiving the attention of the crowd.

When she looked back, Astarion was gone, leaving a space that she instinctively filled, like she was following after him, for just a step.

“Isolde?” a hand touched her bare shoulder and she turned to find Hywel.

In that exact moment, the Duke’s representative began to speak, but Hywel didn’t seem to care, he leaned in and whispered into her ear so she couldn’t hear a thing the representative was saying. “The Baroness certainly seems to enjoy having a life-size doll to adorn.”

“Anything for the Lady’s birthday,” Isolde forced a smile, but couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Hywel. The Duke’s representative offered a natural spot in the distance to fix her gaze, and she resisted the urge to search for Astarion in the crowd.

“Such a dutiful little waif, aren’t you?”

Isolde didn’t see Astarion again that day. She told herself that it was for the best. That she shouldn’t feel disappointment that he didn’t seek her out again. Instead, she ought to feel relieved that their conversation had been so brief that her Lady didn’t pay any mind, even to mention it. The focus was all on Hywel and what he wanted and how Isolde might go about giving it to him discreetly and demurely.

[stories-and-chaos]

Tarnished pt 12

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 12/?? Word count 2746 Cw: burns, torture]

—————

15 years ago, while Octavia was still in the egg.

Stolas had been suffering through tea with his wife and brother-in-law when King Paimon ordered his son’s presence. Details of the owl prince’s formal investiture ceremony needed confirmation from both men and the use of Stolas’ grimoire.

While all options for this afternoon’s activities were distasteful, Paimon’s demands trumped Andrealphus’ social call. Blitzø helped him into more formal attire to meet with Paimon. The imp was staying back though. Stolas tried to keep the interactions between Blitzø and his father to a minimum.

Fortunately at this point the imp’s leash extended to all of the Pride Ring and some of Wrath. He didn’t have to accompany Stolas when the prince took the book from the estate. There had been plenty of times when Blitzø had been forced into Paimon’s (or other Goetia’s) presence because of that stupid binding. Being able to stay at the palace was a relief.

Which meant he was at the palace with no buffer between him, Stella and her brother.

Which meant he didn’t have a reason to refuse when the two royal demons ordered his presence.

Blitzø and Stolas had been in such a rush to get Stolas ready and out the door, the owl hadn’t thought to give his friend permission to leave the grounds. Both of the other Goetia expressed disdain over Blitzø in general. But so far they had mostly ignored him.

I gotta tell Floof for next time, Blitzø thought as he stepped into Stella’s drawing room. She had her own set of rooms within the palace, in an adjacent wing to her husband’s. Blitzø kept his voice as flat and expressionless as possible. “You called, ma’am?” He mentally choked on the phrase but managed it.

“Come here imp.” Stella looked down her beak at him and gestured to a spot next to her seat. Fuuuuuuuck me. Whatever she wanted couldn’t be good. Andrealphus, for his part, had a smug look as he watched Blitzø approaching.

Once he was next to the table, Stella swung her arm. The serrated steak knife in her hand was quickly deflected from his neck. What would have been a fatal blow instead gave her a stinging palm as the knife spun away.

Andrealphus sighed. “It seems the reports of protection on him were correct. I’d hoped with Stolas and his grimoire absent it would be weakened.” Blitzø wasn’t about to let this bastard know he was right. “Fucking bitch!” he growled, turning to run.

Shrieking with rage, Stella flung her teacup at him. The cup cracked on his horn just above his eye and the scalding hot liquid splashed over half his face.

He yelped in pain. “Shit!” Blitzø stumbled to the door, only for Andrealphus to grab a horn tip and pull him back.

“Well! I suppose the protection isn’t absolute,” he said with sadistic glee. Blitzø could feel icy magick radiating from the bird demon as he was hauled onto the table. “I believe this will require some experimentation. Don’t you agree my dear sister?”

“Indeed Andrealphus. It will be quite an educational experience for us all.” Stella retrieved the knife and ordered teapots filled with boiling water. While they waited for the pots to arrive, she used the knife to cut Blitzø’s clothes away.

He tried to get away, spewing a stream of curses at the siblings. Andrealphus, tired of holding the imp down, pinned his wrists and ankles to the table with magickal ice. It being magickal didn’t stop it from being painfully cold, as much as the burn on Blitzø’s face. It did prevent the ice from melting; neither his body heat or the boiling water had any effect.

Blitzø might not have been able to escape, but he wasn’t about to give these cocksuckers the satisfaction of him screaming. He’d seen the sadistic excitement in both of them and if he couldn’t fight back, he could at least make this less entertaining for them.

Besides, one of his special skills was pointing out people’s flaws. Another was making insults into an art form. So he kept up a litany of insults, criticisms, and curses while Stella poured boiling water on his bare skin and her brother applied more of his freezing cold magick.

There was a point when he couldn’t help but scream though. Thankfully, Stolas burst into the room moments later. The prince was panting after sprinting to the room; he still had his hat and cape on. Blitzø caught a glance of an imp behind Stolas. One of the servants, unable to stop the royal demons, had alerted Stolas as soon as they could.

Blitzø barely managed to whisper Stolas’ name before he fainted.

The imp spent weeks healing from the incident. Even though his kind of demon healed quickly, over half his body was covered in burns and frostbite. Even the Goetia would take a long time to heal from something like that.

He didn’t remember the first week, he was on so many painkillers. Probably for the best as when he was weaned off some, the pain was still intense. Some changes had already occurred in that first week.

Stolas couldn’t divorce Stella over this, not yet. The precautionary heir this arrangement was meant to produce hadn’t even hatched yet. He did however banish her to the other side of the palace. Stella’s new suite was as far from Stolas’ as possible. Their single egg remained in Stolas’ wing.

While Blitzø was recuperating, Stolas had the Hellhound guards rotated. It took some time, but between Vex, Scarlet, and Blitzø (once he was conscious) they determined which ones were loyal to Stolas, which still sided with Paimon and now Stella, and which were neutral. While the imp hated it, he had at least one friendly Hound guarding him until he was back on his hooves.

Stolas couldn’t keep Blitzø with him constantly. Technically he could, but despite their relationship turning intimate a few years prior, neither demon wanted to be glued at the hip together. He was determined to give his friend and lover as much privacy and freedom as he could. So he had the rooms next to his bedroom altered. It had been linen storage for his chambers. Now it was something like a studio apartment, complete with kitchenette and full bathroom. The only entrance was a door next to Stolas’ bed.

Blitzø said it looked a lot like a fancy cell, but something about the secure space was comforting. Stella couldn’t get into here. His friend had put a great deal of effort into warding the door. Only Blitzø, Stolas, and Scarlet could enter freely. Only Blitzø could allow anyone else in.

It took Stolas two months to get the spell tuned correctly. The prince felt every bit of effort had been worth it. Once Blitzø was able to be up and about again, he could see the fear his friend tried to suppress whenever Stella was near. His wife could see it too. She made every effort to be in Blitzø’s vicinity at least once a day, just to experience the thrill of his trauma.

So seeing the terror melt away in Blitzø’s new safe haven, it broke Stolas’ heart while validating all those hours of work. The first night they knew it was secure (Vex had been the test subject, not being on the entry list) Blitzø fell asleep the instant he laid down on the bed.

In an echo of their first days together, Stolas covered him in a blanket and tucked Waffle Iron the plush horse in the blanket with him. Waffle Iron had been the most loyal of inanimate objects, sticking with Blitzø through all the worst days and his battered appearance showed it. His stuffing was clumped in sections under the cloth. There were awkward repair stitches in spots and patches that were starting to get threadbare. Scarlet had offered to take Waffle to a ‘toy hospital.’ It was essentially a repair shop that specialized in toy restoration. But Blitzø had refused, saying Waffle Iron was perfect as he was. Privately, he admitted to Stolas that once Waffle’s legs started falling off he’d probably take Scarlet up on the offer.

But for now the valiant Waffle Iron was a steady source of comfort for Blitzø. Stolas remained in the room, reading on the couch. It wasn’t a velvet upholstered, gilded, and ornamented affair like so many others in the palace. Like the rest of the furniture Blitzø had selected, it was sturdy and comfortable, with no frills or added fanciness. Plain brown cloth with horse pattern blanket draped over the back and horseshoe cushions. If there was a way to make an object horse themed, Blitzø had incorporated it. He had a room in the palace before but this was the first time he’d been able to choose how a room was furnished and the imp ran with it.

Stolas’ reading selection was more work than pleasure tonight. He didn’t have many friends among the upper echelons of Hell’s society. Those he did count as friends were as passionate about learning and using magick as he was. One of whom had found some works concerning magickal bindings and contacts. Stolas was loaning one of his books on prophecy in exchange for the one he was studying now.

He still didn’t know the exact spell Paimon had forced him to use on Blitzø. They knew the results but demonic magick was a tricky thing, even for high ranking demons. There was a great deal of fuckery involved whenever something new was added. Even a different word tense could alter a spell.

The somewhat fickle protection on Blitzø was evidence of that. Stolas pleading ‘don’t hurt him’ while the initial casting was in process had changed a servitude binding to something they still didn’t know the extent of. We may never know all the specifics, Stolas thought glumly as he turned a page.

Like most books on magick, this used a runic alphabet and Stolas suspected there was a code in some sections as well. Annoying but he’d puzzle it out. By this point the prince was sure that the bond couldn’t be broken. If nothing else, his own growing power, while allowing Blitzø more physical freedom, was reinforcing the existing chains.

He was focused on nullifying the effects instead. Perhaps he could subvert the specifics of the bond. So any scrap of knowledge he could gather was helpful.

Stolas stayed up much to late and woke up to Blitzø snuggled up next to him, tail wrapped around the prince’s waist while he scrolled through his phone. “Morning Floof. You didn’t have to stay here all night,” Blitzø said dryly once he realized Stolas was awake.

“But I wanted to, darling.” Stolas nuzzled the base of Blitzø horn sleepily. Anything else he was going to say was forgotten by a pounding on the door.

“Master Stolas!” Vex’s voice had an urgent edge. “Your Highness! The hatching started sir!”

Stolas squawked and flailed for the door. Holy shit it’s happening! Terror and excitement filled him as he flung open the door. He thanked Vex, the paused. “Blitzø, you don’t have to accompany me if you don’t want to. Stella will likely be there as well.” Stolas wasn’t going to miss more of his child hatching than he already had; he could only assume Stella would be the same.

Blitzø paled and gulped. He’d been anticipating the egg hatching too, if only to see Stolas’ reaction to become a father. He wavered for a time while Vex helped Stolas change.

Stolas had dashed off to the nursery. The hatching had barely started; he could hear little peeps in the egg and the tap-tap-tapping as the baby worked at making cracks. He made soothing trills to his chick, letting them know a parent was nearby and encouraging them.

Half an hour later, minimal progress was made. Every egg took time to hatch and there was no rushing the process. If the chick was in distress, someone could help them. But forcing an egg open could kill the hatching. Stolas wasn’t surprised by the minute changes in the shell.

He was surprised by Blitzø’s arrival with breakfast. “ I’m not gonna fucking miss this Floof, not even the bitchy feather duster could keep me away.” Blitzø had decided he wouldn’t let Stella ruin what happiness he could manage and that included being involved with Stolas’ kid. “Besides, when else am I gonna get to see you look this stupid over a wiggly potato?” Stolas chucked a bit of toast at him, which Blitzø caught in midair.

The hatching took all day, it turned out. Stella arrived in the late morning, saw how little progress was made and told them, “Call me when it’s almost out,” before leaving the room in a swirl of silk. She grinned at Blitzø’s stiffness at her presence and the wide eyed look he couldn’t suppress.

But she couldn’t do anything to the imp with Stolas there. She left for some gossip as social plotting with her friends.

The egg cracked open about half an hour before midnight. The baby Goetia rested with part of the shell stuck to their butt and another part on their head like a hat. The palace doctor made sure no one touched the hatchling yet. “Give them some space; they’ll get the rest of the shell off when they’re ready. Send another message to Lady Stella.”

Stolas looked besotted with the wrinkled chick. He and Blitzø had both been talking and giving encouragement to the baby as the egg rocked and cracked over the day. Now he was crouched next to the nest, eye level to the newborn. “Well done, little one,” he praised them. “You’ve worked so hard, I’m so proud of you.” The hatchling peeped quietly in response. “Take all the time you need, Daddy is right here.”

Dammit, Blitzø thought, he looks stupid and adorable. Not fair Floof. That didn’t stop him from snapping pictures, including a couple selfies next to them. “Dude, they really do look like an angry potato.”

Stolas just had a stupid smile. “A precious angry potato, isn’t that right little one?” he cooed to both Blitzø and the chick. As if in retaliation to the potato comment, the chick kicked off the rest of the shell.

The doctor came up to examine them. After confirming the baby was in good shape, she wrapped up the hatchling and handed the bundle to Stolas. “Congratulations your highness, it's a girl.”

Stolas’ expression was full of wonder as he carefully cradled the baby. “Hello my darling girl, welcome to Hell.”

Stella walked in, yawning as she did so. “It’s finally done?”

“Yes my lady,” the doctor answered. “You have a healthy daughter. Congratulations.”

“Oh, well that is lovely.” She gestured imperiously to Stolas who handed her the baby. “Hello there, poppet. I’m Stella, your mummy. We’re going to do great things together.” She cooed down at the baby who wriggled in her wrappings. “Obviously once you’ve got some feathers and your feet under you dear.” She handed the girl back to Stolas. “The nursemaids are all prepared? Excellent. I’ll be back in the morning.” She turned to leave.

“Stella?” the prince called out to her. She looked at him over her shoulder. “The baby’s name? I was thinking ‘Octavia’ would suit her.”

Stella glanced between the baby and her husband. “It was on our agreed list of names. Octavia it is.” Then she was off.

Blitzø, who had stayed out of her sight, was flabbergasted. Even his own dad, the greedy jackass, hadn’t been so detached. “Christ on a stick, she might be worse than your sperm donor Floof.”

The prince just sighed. “Not to worry Octavia, Daddy will always be here for you.” He patted the tiny chick gently. “Would you like to hold her Blitzø?”

“Uh, I guess?” The imp carefully held the squirmy chick. “Uhhhhh, hey there miniFloof?” Octavia yawned hugely. “Aw dammit, you are a cute potato.” He gently stroked her wrinkly head. “Hi Octavia. I’m Blitzø, the ‘o’ is silent. I’m your dad’s friend, so I’ll be here for you too.”

His burns were still healing, so Blitzø couldn’t hold her for long. He passed Octavia back to her father and the two men enjoyed the bit of peace in the nursery. At least until Octavia started crying for food.

—————

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[pirate-of-the-southern-isles]

Fanfic snippet - When Hans had learned about the "Troll theory"

Not so long after, the company has spread around the bookshop and disappeared from each other’s sight. Which, as Hans thought, was probably the safest option for him. He was finally able to find a nice chair and sit down for a moment to think about what the hell just happened.

His father, his brothers, his whole family, has spent three years hammering into his head with a burning passion what a shame he brought to them all. And he could even agree with them. And now it turns out that there are some people out there who consider him a hero? How?! Everything was perfectly clear! Anna, in this letter of hers, wrote the truth, the whole truth and only the truth. What was their reason not to believe her?!

It wasn’t like this, like, at all. OK, it was, but in a totally different way. Yes, he was handing over those blankets and jackets, and yes, he found a place in Arendellian palace where people could find a shelter and food, and yes, he was watching over the hot glogg. Yes, that’s true. But he wasn’t doing all this because he cared, he was doing it, because he wanted them to like him and trust him and accept him as their future King. There is a difference. And then… then it was completely not like the lecturer has told, because no, there was no troll magic, that’s impossible. The plan was ready for years! Since Lars has told him about Elsa and how he should consider marrying her!

He shut his eyes and tried to recall that scene. Lars was searching through his maps and wondered why father allows Caleb to run amok – which, in a language of simple folks, was called „causing incidents on borders”. It was right after their mother’s birthday dinner, when the rest of those apes made bullying him a main attraction of the evening, as usual. So, after he had rested in the docks for a while, he went to the library. And then, the twins came to tell Lars about the death of Arendelle’s royal couple. And then… damn, how much he would give to have Lars to shut up this one time.

He remembered it. He remembered the red velvet chairs, a smell of dust and a warm tone of his older brother. He remembered the sound of the doors opening, Rudi and Runo’s stupid faces and papers, blown away from the table by a sudden air movement.

But… if trolls have changed Anna’s memory about Elsa…

Whatever Kristoff says, is irrelevant. He is a side in this conflict. No. Hans had to conduct his own research.

He got up and took the flyer to find an etnography and etnology section. He went right there, not sure if he can trust in his own sanity. Yes, he encountered a lot of creatures with abilities to alter people’s – and other animals – minds with venoms, hypnosis or other stuff. But if it will turn out that he was imprisoned and went through it all only because some trolls wanted to have their own man in the palace…!

Calm down, it is impossible!

Is it?! He just learnt that his ex’s memories were literally changed and cleared, so she couldn’t remember about something as important as her own sister’s magical abilities! Who knows, if…

He suddenly felt sick. He needed to sit down again. There was no time to look for another chair.

Three years.

Three years of hell.

And now someone is stating that there is a possibility he could have been framed?!

If that’s true, I will burn Arendelle to the ground.

No. No, no, no. He couldn’t think like that, not anymore. He grabbed his left ear. He felt the cold of his earrings. Took a few deep breaths. He imagined a night full of stars. Warmth on his skin. Smell of the open sea. Sails’s flapper. Hard, wooden bench by the cabin, right between doors and left stairs. Calm, kind voice of captain Rogers, asking, as usual, the right question.

„If that’s the truth about what happened” imaginary Rogers started „think, what would have happened if they wouldn’t alter your mind.”

„I wouldn’t rot in those stables for three years, that’s what would happen".

„Yes, and you would still be a prince of the Southern Isles. Were you happy back then?”.

„Happier than a slave in those stables”.

„Let’s try differently. That night, you know which one… where would you be, if you were still a prince?”.

Hans took a breath. A sea. A smell of salt.

„I would be… probably in my chambers. Or in Arendelle, depends if I would convince one of them to marry me”.

„So you wouldn’t be in your cell, is that correct?”

A big explosion. Boom. Pieces of wall, made of a black stone which was not supposed to break under any artillery, but then it did. A cannonball that brought him a new life.

„That’s correct. I wouldn’t be there”.

Waves crashing on broadsides. Morning Star’s gentle rocking.

„Are you happy as a pirate?”.

He smiled. Now he was remembering different things. His head was suddenly flooded by the bright, happy memories. Layla’s insane laugh. The first time when he tasted a coconut. Mango, purring in his lap. Successfull boarding upon some unsuspecting ship. His crew cheering. How the world looks like from a crow’s nest. Egg patting his back. A bet with Bernard, easily winned. A sight of a group of wild buffalos, when they once anchored in the New World. The day when he became a captain. The first time in the Republic, when he saw how different the world can be. Dancing in their favourite bar. Meeting new friends. Those evenings with shanties on their deck. Yet another one lost treasure retrieved. Cannons’s boom and reckless duels, sacks of gold and chests of jewels.

„Yes” he said, almost out loud.

„I am glad” Roger’s face was brightened by a smile. „But let’s wonder… would you become a pirate if you weren’t there that night? In the exactly right place in the exactly right time?”.

It was a tough question. The pirates were all over the place. He could, in theory, grab and make his offer to any of them. But would he be desperate enough to change his life this radically?

No, he admitted right away. In this case – no. In this case he would probably stay with his lovely family and be miserable till the end of his days.

„So… if they really did something to my brain… I should be grateful?”

„Dear Neptune, no! I didn’t say it. If that’s really their work and you went to Arendelle with truly good intentions, then you have every right to be furious. And I am saying like Davy Jones’ level of fury.”

„Exactly!”

„But, in the end, your fate was changed. I think, for the better. Wasn’t it?”

Without those three years in stables he wouldn’t became a pirate, that’s for sure. There wouldn’t be the first time crossing the Equator. There wouldn’t be passage round the Horn of the South. He wouldn’t get himself tattoos or earrings – hell, he wouldn’t even think about it! He wouldn’t be laying down on the incredibly soft, white beaches of the Coconut Isles. He wouldn’t see volcanos explode, nor the whale’s inside, not the Pearly Gates open down in the Southern Ocean. Layla wouldn’t teach him to play stories. Bernard wouldn’t teach him how to shoot a musket and a colt. He wouldn’t have met many people he was no longer able to imagine his life without.

He wouldn’t have met captain Rogers.

It was all truth, but those three years were so damn hard.

It just… He just wished he was certain that he had deserved it. Because if it turns out that he had to endure this nightmare without any actual fault of his own, then… then it would make it, somehow, a lot worse.  

----

Chapter 35, "The Pirate of the Southern Isles".

So, Hans and his guests were able to hear what the rest of the world is thinking about events from six years ago in Arendelle. It is safe to say that it didn't go exactly how they imagined it will. What they have heard was basically one, big, fat Hans' defence and laudation. Including the famous "Troll theory" - a theory in which it was the trolls who actually made Hans evil, to "get the fiancee out of the way" for Kristoff.

When Hans heard about it - and learnt that they did the same thing to Anna - he started to question his own sanity and bought himself a lot of books to learn about the trolls and their abilities.

...but no, his mind wasn't altered. It was still, to his own relief, all his fault.

When Hans is overwhelmed, or sad, or angry, or when he has to make a choice he is not sure about because his moral reasoning is still a little off, he grabs his left ear (the one with the earrings) and try to ask himself "What would captain Rogers say?", because captain Rogers (the captain of the "Morning Star", Hans escaped from the Isles on its deck) is his final authority now.

Sorry about all the mistakes, English is still not my native language.

[i-put-the-ryan-in-orion]

Shark x SeaWing!reader

Is originally a remake, and edited as needed.

Original Post: Link

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚. ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌊🦈˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚. 🌊˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.

Chaos. Dragons screaming. Burnt bodies everywhere. Clear water stained black. Fire everywhere.

The burnt body of your dead friends made your stomach lurch. You didn't even try to make an escape. The entrance to the tunnel was crowded, dragons shoved, wings and tails flailed about as they desperately tried to get away from the flames and chaos.

You stayed huddled in a room on second floor, praying for your mate to find you. But you knew Shark was in the Deep Palace, yet your hopes lifted when you realize that he will immediately come to deal with the attacking SkyWings and MudWings. Smoke burned your eyes and gills, making you tear up slightly and cough. You can't stay here long... The options were either to hurdle into the cramped tunnel or up to the hole in the vegetation roof where flaming logs fell, and where a sky full of SkyWings and MudWings wait.

Weighing out your options, you chose to suck it up and fight your way out. You dodged a flaming log sharply as you flew towards the sky. The flames heat brushed your (blue/green) scales, but you continued to wing it. You heard the log splintering crash to the ground, followed by a scream of agony. It made you flinch and only made you fly faster. The SkyWings and MudWings were surprised as you shot out from the Summer Palace, the SkyWings quickly confront you. You clawed their faces and knocked them out of the sky with your powerful tail. There were other SeaWings fighting with the invaders, appearing that the attackers numbers began to dwindle.

Claws slammed into your back, ripping at your scales, sending bright pain bursting into your body. You roar in fury and pain, whirling around to attack. The MudWing ducked under your fishhook claws and head budded your belly. The air was knocked out of you, almost making you forget to beat your wings. The MudWing then grabbed your neck and squeezed, choking you. You gasped for air and clawed at his arm as your vision blurred and darkened. He just tighten his grip, growling. Suddenly, his grip vanished with a shriek. Your eyes adjusted as air filled your lungs once again. Commander Shark had tackled the MudWing off you and was now attempting to kill him. The MudWing fought back fiercely but had his belly scales shredded by Shark's claws, and Shark took one of his wings and dislocated it, letting him drop into the sea below.

You flung yourself at Shark, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Shark! My moons, your safe!"

"I was worried about you being safe!" Shark snapped, grasping your shoulders. You winced at his touch, your back still bled and throbbed in pain. He saw this, going behind you and examined your back scales, frowning at the amount of blood. "Go to the Deep Palace, (Y/n). Get a healer for your back." He ordered you as gentle as he could, his blank eyes staying on the gouges.

You looked over your shoulder in disbelief. "What?" you demanded, almost hitting Shark with your wings as you whirled around. "I'm staying here and fighting!"

"I don't want you to get killed!" he roars, shoving you sharply towards the blue water below. "I... I don't to loose you." His tone softened to a mumble.

You frowned, taking his talons into his.

"I'll go, just so that you don't worry too much about me," you told him. "But please, please, please come back in one piece!" (Not that you didn’t underestimate the commander.)

Shark smiled ever so slightly, showing his sincerity by nuzzling your head against his. You pulled away and dove through the air and into the safety of the waters depths, feeling Shark's white gaze watch you. You swam to a current, got tugged along with it. The battle above you was muffled and almost soundless. The dragons were blurred and mushed together in almost unrecognizable globs. But you can still see Shark's pale coloring dart through the globs as you were pushed further and further away, making it difficult for you to see him anymore. You sent your prayers of safety as you couldn't see him anymore.

[sabraeal]

Unexpected Complications, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki Trope Madness 2023 Championship: In Love With the Mark

The ballroom doesn’t so much spin as sway; the bob at the end of his heart’s pendulum, at the mercy of its heady beat. Obi screws his eyes shut, fingers gripping tight on the beam. All it’ll take is a few quick breaths and he’ll be able to walk right out of here. Just a running start to get him moving. This thing’s practically a paper cut, more bark to it than bite.

He levers himself to his feet, knees trembling under him, and oof, all right, maybe it’s not. Still not the worst injury he’s got on the job, though.

There’s a commotion down there now; not the delicate squeals of young ladies frightened by the unexpected, but the shouts of grown men. The kind that call out “Search the palace!” with authority, and waste no time adding, “I want to account for every inch.”

There’s inches a plenty up here, ones they’re going to find in short order once one of them remembers how to look up. Might take a while-- always does, in his experience-- but eventually some rookie’s going to get bored guarding a pile of glass, and glance up, wondering, just where did this come from anyway--?

And he better not be here when they do.

A feat easier said than done. One step nearly wobbles him right off the beam. That might make some new guy’s day down there, but Obi’s not about to launch any career other than his own. He crouches instead, working on all fours-- all threes, really, since he doesn’t want to mix up his insides with his outsides-- to the window he slunk through hardly an hour ago.

It’s higher than he remembers. His side burns as he stretches to catch the sill; it takes the generous application of his boots to some goddess’s face to get the momentum to pull him over, but he manages. One handed, even, balancing on the narrow leaden frame.

Torches leap to life in the distance before the strident shouts of the guard scatter them. Some start to poking along the perimeter-- the sort of creativity he expects from a bunch of knights, which is to say none-- but a decent group fans out into the royal forest, far enough apart that they need to call out to keep tabs, but too close to allow a slender spy to slip though. Or, at this rate, comfortably pass out in.

Well, damn. Looks like he won’t be biding his time in a tree branch this time, waiting for all this to blow over. The flat’s straight out; he’d have to make it across open ground and out one of these gates, and with his side like it is, he’ll be passed out long before and gate keeper could squint over his credentials. No, there’s no use in running, but where...?

There’s no time to let his thoughts settle into something like sense, not when he’s going to sway right off this sill any minute now. There’s risks to hiding right under the royal noses, but he’s got a shit hand, and the longer he waits to fold, the more likely it is he might lose his shirt with it. Or his head. 

But there’s not much for it. On anything more than a wheeze pain burns up his side, enough that he’s got to grit his teeth to keep his scream silent. He’s running out of options, and fast.

It’s a shallow breath that trembles through him, probing that wound like a sore tooth, but that’s all he needs. With all the coiled strength of his limbs behind him, Obi throws himself into the air, whole body stretched long--

And trusts his hands to catch him. They always do.

The stone is slick beneath his fingers, the worn soles of his boots sliding as he braces himself for every jump. It rained some time tonight, and even his sharp eyes struggling to gauge the range between rails. It’s not enough to slow him, but it takes effort, the kind that doesn’t leave him much in the way of thought. He just keeps reaching out and putting his feet beneath him, trusting his gut to guide him to safety.

A stupid idea, really. His gut’s what got him here in the first place. A fact he’s so conveniently forgot, right up until his feet skid to a stop. The library doors loom before him, dark behind their glass, and of course he’d lead himself here, of course. What better place to hide than the last one he felt safe?

It’d be nothing to turn away, to throw himself to the next balcony and hope for the best. But his knees tremble with the first step and stumble on the second. The third’s barely upright. He’s losing blood with abandon now.

His fingers dig into the meat of his side, a poor excuse for a bandage. This isn’t the worst place to lie low, he has to admit. There’s not a knight alive that’s going to look for an assassin amongst the stacks. Not until they’ve turned over every other stone first. That give him until morning, at least.

The lock’s a simple pin-and-tumbler-- more to keep the doors from blowing open in the wind rather to keep anyone out-- which is a good thing, since his fingers are half numb on the pick. Any more than jamming a pin in the lock and he would have spent the night bleeding out on the balcony. What a title that would have made for the evening edition.

Instead he’s put in the proper position for knowing just how plush the carpet is when it rises up to greet him. Not Viandese, of course-- couldn’t have plebs dirtying those precious piles with their slippers and shoes. But it’s fine enough for his purposes: lying flat on the floor and thinking about how he needs to get this damned side of his stitched.

Without the drumbeat of his heartbeat driving him, Obi can admit: the library might not have made the top of his list for hiding places, but there’s a logic to it. The way the shelves sweep from floor to ceiling, clustered with no little regard for the passage of natural light, there must be places that are dark even in the day. Even with a lantern, the windy warrens burrowed through the stacks had pressed in around him, so complex he doubted most guards could find their way in, let alone out. And despite the sprawl, it didn’t seem the hang out for high society, at least according to Sh--

Ah. His fingers clench around a shelf, trembling. That’s the last thing he needs to be thinking about.

A breath or two rolls him onto his back, and with a concerted-- yet ginger-- effort, gets his feet beneath him. It’s good he’s landed himself a place to lay low, but he can’t just lay here on the carpet until morning. Not unless he wants to take a few years off a librarians life and maybe add a few dir to their pay check.

“Obi?”

Air hisses through his teeth. Pain makes everyone a child, he knows, but he thought he’d lost the instinct for comfort a long time ago, on a night darker than this, on a rain-slick ledge that the blood would never wash free. But for him to hear her voice now--

“Obi.” Light sprays across his boots, dispelling the shadows as two soft slippers pad into view. “Is that...? Ah, I mean, are you all right?”

It’s reflex to look up. That’s a mistake too. He’s supposed to run, to hide himself from every set of eyes he can lest they give the guard something to work with, but--

But these ones are green. Not olive, the way most are, but a full, deep color, like jade or juniper. A thing he only knows because he’s spent the last few nights getting lost in them. Seems a waste to hide now that she’s looking back.

“Why, Miss.” He shifts his clutch to a casual lean, smile sliding onto his lips as easily as his hand slides over that inconvenient slice in his side. “What’s a girl like you doing out at this hour?”

That lantern of her might cast her face in shadow, but he can still make out the way she blinks. “I could ask you the same thing, couldn’t I?”

“Got tired of your friend’s shindig.” He tries a shrug, only to abandon it halfway through. Some theatrics just aren’t worth the pain. “Wasn’t anyone there I wanted to talk to.”

Her head tilts, and that cascade of red shimmers like a river of fire. Oh, how he’d love to burn. “So you came to the library?”

“Sure.” His smile slant to a wicked smirk. “Had a good time when I was here last time, didn’t I?”

I might just be a trick of the light, but he could swear her cheeks pink just from that little tease. “But that wasn’t even when...”

Her lips press shut, but Obi doesn’t need her to speak to know what she meant to say. That wasn’t when we danced. That wasn’t when you tried to seduce me. That wasn’t when you ruined this.

His mouth twists, wry. If only she knew. “I know.”

There’s a pause, a silence. A breath where the lantern trembles and the shadows dance, a moment where not only her eyes are a mystery but her entire face hides from him. And then her hands reach out, steadying it. “You went to the ball dressed in that?”

Obi snorts. “Funny thing to say, considering what you wore last night. If you don’t think they’d let me through the door, I’m surprised you...”

It’s part of the bit for his gaze to drop, to drag up her from hem to hairline with all the charm of a chamberlain with a checklist and mark her wanting. But when he strays from the safe harbor above her shoulders, it’s...

It’s linen, woven finer than anything he’s has the pleasure of putting against his skin. Not stark white, like these fine young ladies would wear, but creamy and uncomplicated, the embroidery around the slim-fitting cuff done in a floss meant to give texture rather than color. There might be more above the cinched-waist-- more than likely, considering the fussy little placard of buttons running down to it, with the barely hint of a ruffle-- but he can’t see it beneath her thick shawl.

Hardly fashionable of her, the thing drawn over her thing shoulders the way the grannies in the market would. But then again, nightgowns typically weren’t meant to be seen.

“Ah, Miss...” Shirayuki’s never fit the look of a prince’s mistress, but now, now...she could be someone he knows. The girl from the market stall on the corner, or the barkeep’s daughter he sent off to the university up north. Someone only a step or two out of his reach, rather than a whole ocean. “So this is what you look like.”

Better not forget that it’s only an illusion.

It’s harder when she blushes like that, two pink spots riding high as kisses on her cheeks. “It is.” Her glance is almost shy when she says, “Is this how you--?”

She blinks. “Is that blood?”

Obi glances down, and oh, hm, looks like all that warm, fuzzy feeling might just be blood loss. “Ah, now Miss, it looks worse then it is.”

It shouldn’t excite him how stern a turn her mouth takes, nor how firmly she grips his wrist. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

Obi’s not typically one to protest when a lady takes him to her rooms, let alone her bed. But when Shirayuki sits him down on hers, hard enough his breath gasps out on a confused woof, he tries. Just this once. “I shouldn’t be here.”

He might not have bothered for all the attention she pays him, scurrying around her room with the same fervor as a squirrel uncovering its nuts in the spring. A bottle here, some thread there; everywhere has something more interesting than his single attempt to be decent.

“You’re a nice young girl,” he tells the ceiling, helplessly. “Woman, I mean. Wouldn’t do for you to be caught with a charming rogue like me behind closed doors. Maybe--”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you’d let me take you to the pharmacy,” she reminds him with the careful sort of politeness kind-hearted young girls like to use on boys so far in the dog house they have to dig themselves out. “Garrack’s a much better hand at this than I am, so if you’d like...?”

She gives him a meaningful glance over her shoulder, but he just clenches his jaw. “No pharmacy.”

A sigh saws out from between her lips, but she bustles over to him anyway, a small basket in hand. “If you would take off your shirt, please.”

The shame had been worked out of him long ago, but it doesn’t stop Obi from clutching at his shirt, whispering with all the dramatics of a widowed aunt, “Miss.”

She may give him that stern stare all she likes, but he sees the way her mouth twitches, trying to smooth away a smile. Or better yet, one of her smirks. “I can hardly help you if I can’t see what I’m doing.”

“You shouldn’t be helping me,” he reminds her. “A good girl would have left me right there on the carpet, or even--”

“Here.” She presses a cup between his hands, urging it toward his mouth. “Take this. It will help with the pain.”

He does it before he can even to think what’s in it. A pity, since the thing burns going down. “Ah, now that’s bitter.”

“Better a little discomfort now than what comes after. Now, this.” With an impatient lift of her brows, she tugs at the hem of his shirt, as if he might forget where it starts without a reminder. “Off, please.”

“Why, Miss, if you wanted to seduce me, you only need say--”

“Obi.” He blinks down, watching the outline of her bleed into the dim before settling out clear again. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” The word feels good in his mouth, so he tries it again. “Goood.”

The room’s been swaying for so long he hardly notices the change in its rock, in the way it hangs just a little bit to either side, like time stretches out between his heartbeats, and--

Obi squints at the cup, taking a sniff so deep of its contents it stings.

“Miss.” It’s a miracle that he gets the words out, considering how his lips are numb. “You drugged me.”

“Only a little.” His girl’s not even the slightest bit contrite. It’s terrible how much that works for him. “Just a finger or two of roka liquor. Maybe four.”

“That’s devious,” he hums, impressed. She isn’t, for her part; just heaves a sigh and steps in, coaxing the slick material up over his head with hardly any help. And, if Obi’s being honest, probably a fair share of hindering.

“You’ve put me at your mercy, Miss.” He giggles as the fabric tickles his chest, suddenly so sensitive. Well, always so sensitive, but more now. “Now what will you do--?”

“Lay down.” Tossing the shirt to the end of the bed, Shirayuki has plenty of hands to put on his chest and push-- deliciously firm, if he does say so himself, promising even-- straight to his back. “This isn’t going to be pleasant. But try not to pass out.”

A giggle bubbles out of him. “Don’t promise me a good time.”

Her lips part in a grimace. “Trust me, I’m not.”

“There, all done,” Shiryuki murmurs, pulling the last stitch tight. Or at least so he assumes; despite all her dire warnings, Obi can hardly feel a thing. Well, beside the way her hand’s pressed to his belly, keeping him on the mattress. “How does that feel?”

“Like you should keep touching me.”

It’s out before his teeth can snatch it back, and oh, she pulls that hand away like he’s made of fire.

“Ah, Miss!” He makes to sit up, but ah, looks like that roka liquor can’t cover the way his insides slosh around now that he’s been sewn shut. “Youch.”

“Obi!” Her hands cup his shoulders, supporting him as he sits. “You should really lay down. You lost a lot of blood, and the roka--”

“I’m fine.” It’s a lie; the room’s spinning and his stomach is two sailors short of a heave, but his hand wraps around her wrist, her warmth washing into him, and he can’t find it in him to mind. “I shouldn’t have-- I shouldn’t tease you like that. Already made you upset once.”

“I’m not...” Her lips press together, tantalizing. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

A smart man walks away from the table while he’s winning, but Obi’s never been much of a gambler. His mouth opens, and it’s a roll of the dice to see if he’s ruined. “But I upset you last night. Talking to you like that.”

“I...” Her gaze skitters away from his, fixed to the lantern first, then her basket. Anywhere but him. “It’s not that. I just...I wasn’t expecting it.”

“From me?”

Pink floods her cheeks, and his lips itch from how much he wants to press them to it, to feel the heat against his mouth. “From anyone.”

“What?” A laugh hiccups out of him. “Not even your prince?”

Her hair sweeps across her shoulders. “I already told you, it wasn’t like that. We never...”

It would be stupid to push, to ask just what it was like, but well, tonight’s not the night for smarts, it seems. “Never...?”

Her hands flutter in her lap. “We only kissed. Just a few times. He never mentioned that he might...that he could...”

“Want you? How?” It’s the wrong answer, he knows it before she even flinches. “Sorry, I wasn’t...I didn’t mean to, er...”

“Ah, no, d-don’t be.” Her hands fly out, catching his. They’re soft, her calluses concentrated on the knuckles of her first two fingers, smooth as shells worn by the sea. It would be nice, if she left them there.  Forever, maybe. “I mean...not if you meant it.”

His fingers curl so tentatively around hers, encouraging them to stay. At least, he hopes so. “Would it...be all right if I did?”

Her chin lifts, and it’s not so much her smile that draws him in-- though it’s no small part, her mouth so soft and pink and just for him-- as the spark it lights in her eyes. “I already said it didn’t upset me.”

“Ah.” She’s so close his breath ruffles the lacework of her lashes, sending her flyaway scattering. “How encouraging.”

“I would...” Her fingers knit around his, nerves drawing her tendons tight. Good thing he’s still half numb; her little kitten grip might be painful otherwise. “...I would like it, if it were true.”

He doesn’t so much lean in as fall toward her, slowing his descent enough that when his lips first touch hers it’s nothing more than a brush, a whisper of skin against skin. It’s nothing, but already it’s too much, every bit of his skin left raw and aching from just that.

“I think,” he murmurs, close enough that each word makes its own kiss. Or at least enough of one to make the arousal sleeping in his gut shiver, threatening to turn over. “I could die happy.”

Ah, well. Hadn’t meant for that to slip out. That roka stuff is one hell of a drug.

Her hand scrubs up the undergrowth of his scalp, smile slanting to smirk when he sighs into her mouth. “Not just yet, please.”

There’s a tease at the tip of his tongue, a quick little quip that’s sure to make her laugh, but he never has the chance to find out, not when her mouth opens beneath his and swallows it whole. It’s a groan that falls out of him in its place, his fingers flying from his lap to grip her elbows, dragging her closer--

And he loses a minute. Or maybe only a few seconds. Hard to count when he can hardly catch his breath, the whole world spinning as Shirayuki steadies him with her smile.

And her hands too, if the grip on his shoulders is taken into account.

“Ah, careful.” She guides him back to the bed, more gently than she had before. Tender, even. “You should really lay down. Gets some rest.”

His fingers tangle in hers as they pull away. “Only if you stay with me.”

Those pretty eyes of her round, matching the set of her mouth. He can’t quite puzzle out why, not when he only--

Haah, those drugs have really done a number on him. “Ah, sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to--” proposition you again-- “Er, don’t mind me, rea--”

“Obi.” The mattress dips, and it’s only when he opens his eyes to see her perched there, smile practically incandescent, that he realizes he clenched them shut at all. “If you want me to, I will.”

“Ah...” A killer like him shouldn’t have the shame left to blush, but here he is, like some young lord tumbled by his first farm girl.

“To look after you,” she adds, her own cheeks a darker shade than pink. “Not for...other reasons.”

It’s habit for his lips to part in a grin, to let one brow hike heavenward as he drawls, “I don’t think I have enough blood to go around for other reasons right now, Miss.”

“Obi--”

“But, if you don’t mind...” Earnestness fits like another man’s glove, but he breathes into the stretch. “Please. Just for now.”

It’s the tiniest tug he gives that hand of hers, but she falls beside him, tucked into his shoulder. “For now.”

[rhaenys-queenofkhyrulzz]

song that reminds me of mctna

This song gives different vibes throughout so i'm gonna try my best to explain. It's called "Without You" by Ursine Vulpine & Annaca- Extended Version. Personally, this slowed version just makes everything seem more cinematic and powerful. On to the explanation (fair warning, I got a bit carried away).

In the first verse and pre-chorus, it seems as if Seon-ho is the one speaking to Hwi in the first 4 episodes.

If it's gonna get violent tonight Tell me you gonna be alright, you gonna be It's an eye for an eye and I don't know if I want you to fight Want you to fight I'm losing my mind Don't leave me behind We need a bit more time

The first line is Seon-ho's thoughts prior to the military exam while the 2nd is when he's lying helpless on the floor and trying to reach Hwi as he's getting beaten up for calling out the examiner. The rest of the verse takes me to the burning shack confrontation. Seon-ho trying to stop Hwi from fighting further and villanising himself so that Hwi abandons him. That's all he can do. There wasn't enough time to make things better.

The chorus changes the feels a bit though.

'Cause I don't want the world to turn without you And I don't want the sun to burn without you Yeah, I don't want the world to turn without you And I don't want the sun to burn without you

The first line, Seon-ho is still thinking about Hwi but in the second (in my mind at least), he's talking to bang-won (the 'sun' is Hwi obviously). This gives way to some messy ot3 feels where there's a lot of self loathing on Seon-ho's part for wanting both of them but feeling deserving of neither.

The 2nd verse switches pov.

You don't have to be the brave one every time I know you wanna make it right, you wanna make It's a lie for a lie and I'm getting tired on the other side On the other side

I feel like either hwi (canon) or bang-won (in an est. relationship scenario) could say the first 2 lines to Seon-ho. Hwi says the 3rd and 4th lines though. This would take place during the 4 year period in canon when the Nams were using Hwi. Seon-ho keeps on lying to and hiding things from Hwi and Hwi has had enough. For Seon-ho's lies, he now returns with his own: deceiving the Nams and teaming up with bang-won.

Pre-chorus but Hwi's thoughts:

I'm losing my mind Don't leave me behind We need a bit more time Can you hear my cry, an old lullaby drifting through the sky?

The distance between them is driving Hwi insane. What happened to that kind-hearted noble person Seon-ho used to be? Now he's too far away for Hwi to even reach, gone in all the ways that matter. Can Seon-ho even hear Hwi calling out to him? The familiarity they once shared is nothing more than a memory now; an old childhood lullaby, a bedtime story of fantasy that can only be whispered at night. It is a frail thing that, under the harsh light of reality, it will shrivel and burn.

When I tell you this bridge brOKE ME.

So won't you hold me now? Hold me like I've never did anything to hurt you Don't let go Give me another minute to play here in your echo

Major time skip in explanation but bear with me. This can have multiple povs.

The first is seonhwi in the last episode. Imagine them sitting together in the Northern Punitive Force Village trying to reconcile and agreeing to smile more only to flash to Seon-ho in Hwi's arms on the palace grounds. Hwi is holding him and looking down at him with that same devotion and loyalty Seon-ho spent half his life craving again. In that moment, nothing else matters. Hwi is crying because 'don't leave me Seon-ho-ya, not when I've only just gotten you back again'. As Hwi's eyes lock with Hui-jae's, he knows that leaving- moving on- isn't an option for him anymore. He will remain close to Seon-ho in death the way he couldn't in life. Hwi smiles, taking his last minute to hold Seon-ho's limp body- the last echo of him on this earth. He remembers the way Seon-ho's eyes used to crinkle back when they'd run together in the forest, back when he'd stay over with Hwi and Yeon and they'd talk about everything and nothing, drunk on laughter and naivety. He looks now at the peacefully closed eyelids and closes his own.

The second pov is banghwi in the last 2 episodes. By killing Hwi's father, Bang-won doomed their relationship before it even began. And when Bang-won asks Hwi 'why aren't you asking me the reason why?' only to learn that Hwi has decided to disregard his actions all for Seon-ho's sake, he knows it to his core. Hwi will never be Bang-won's. But still, selfishly, he yearns. (<- first 2 lines) In the 3rd lines, Hwi pulls away from Bang-won for Seon-ho's sake and Bang-won can't stop it. In the last line, Bang-won is on the throne. "You did well." With the echo of Hwi's words ringing in his ears, he allows himself this last moment to mourn for Hwi, for losing him by his own hand.

I don't wanna live a life without you I will watch the world burn without you

The 2nd to last line can refer to any of the 3. Seon-ho pov- his life is worth nothing to himself anymore. If he can sacrifice it for Hwi's sake in the hopes that Hwi will live, he will do so in a heartbeat. Hwi pov- Seon-ho is gone and he can't go one without him anymore. Bang-won pov- never has he been one to put his wants before his ideals. He will carry on but will mourn Hwi in his heart, taking his memory with him to his grave.

The last line seems like a good choice in fic if either Hwi or Seon-ho survive and want revenge.

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

Well, that was my explanation. Hope it wasn't too much of me just going off on a tangent. I know it went into fic territory a couple times but hey, it was just more fun to explain like that.

[whatsjenniupto]

Morning in Monserrate

Question 1: What did I want to see at Pena Palace? The outside of the castle with the brilliant colors, a bit of the Moorish architecture.  

Question 2: Can I see those things if I just buy a park and grounds ticket for half the price? No.  

Hmmm.

Fact 1: You hate overcrowded places.  

Fact 2: You have no patience for selfie takers.  

Fact 3: You barely survived Quinta da Regaleira and it's not the main reason people come to Sintra. If you hadn't had the empty paths through the hills, you would have stormed out in burning boot fashion. You will not survive Pena. Let's be real.  

Original Sintra Day 2 Plan: Pena Palace and Moorish Castle 

New Sintra Day 2 Plan: Monserrate  

It wasn't on my radar, but if it had Moorish architecture, choose your own adventure grounds, and fewer people, it seemed the much, much better choice for me.  

Ticket booked, off I went in the 100% humidity of morning in Sintra to catch the first bus up to Monserrate. The second my ticket was scanned and I started down the path to the villa, I knew I had made the best decision. This. Was. Amazing.  

I strolled down paths, over waterfalls, around fountains, through the lush foliage of Monserrate. I had purchased the audio guide for an extra euro and used it to navigate my way through the forest to the villa.

While the audio guide was beneficial when walking the grounds, I was a bit disappointed to find it was exactly the same as the information on the displays in the villa. I could read it myself or wait for the guide to load and the narrator to read it at a much slower pace. I read and it was fascinating. The people who have stayed at the villa, the photos of former owners enjoying the grounds, all enjoyed with only a few other small groups of people shuffling around with me.

As I made the rounds around the villa, I found a paper map of the grounds on a table – unfortunately it was all in French, but with the pictures and the rudimentary amount of French words I can get my brain to remember, I was able to locate all the spots I had missed on my descent to the villa.  

Like the false ruin chapel. (Sure, if you're building something where something similar used to be, building ruins makes sense. I think.)

And the ornamental lakes with gigantic pine cones. I was incredibly disappointed there weren't any lying around. How big is a 10kg pine cone?

I had planned on skipping the Mexican Garden. I live in Phoenix. These are my plants -- but I ended up on the path and I could not have been more wrong. They were my plants on steroids. Just like the 10kg pine cones, everything in Sintra was bigger than I had ever seen. That plant below on the left? Easily 7ft tall. Like, if I found a leaf on the ground, I could lay in it.

It was mind-blowing. I had never seen these plants this big. I almost felt like I had been shrunk. I walked back to the lawn for a final picture.

And then it was time to head back to the street to locate a bus to Sintra. I had snagged a public bus up to Monserrate for 2,60€. There were a couple options, but that was the first one that left from the bus stop. I was following the same concept to get back to Sintra. Take the first bus that comes along. A Scotturb bus came along and two other groups of people flung out their arm like I did. I lined up at the door in between the two groups, noting that the 435 number wasn't displayed, but it was the bus company, so I went with it.

Long conversation in Portuguese, showing the driver a slip of paper, and shaking heads. First group stepped back, annoyed. I hopped on, said I wanted to go to Sintra, and got charged 4€ (saving 10 cents because he didn't have correct change). Uh, what?! Oh, right. I do remember Scotturb having ridiculous prices when I researched this bus line. Ugh, oh well. This at least gets me back to Sintra for lunch before I head out to Ericeira. Second group stepped up and had the same interaction that the first group did. They too stepped back, annoyed. Another woman joined the line and had a long conversation about prices, but she paid and away the two of us went back to Sintra.

No idea what sort of bus I was on, but pretty sure it wasn't the 435 Scotturb that I'm guessing the other two groups purchased round trip passes on. And I'm quite certain I saved at least a euro by taking the public bus instead of buying a round trip ticket on Scotturb. Really would have been nice if a public bus was the first one by on the way back too.

[taintedsoul-if]

It is burn-to-the-ground Anon! 🔥🔥 Sorry for not sending react messages cause I’m still processing all your posts tbh because damns, this one is pure angst and dark af. You think it is HE? It’s actually HuHu (*crying sounds*) Ending. Also, burning is not an option, taking everything and become Queen is the option 😈 And no, Trysten/Trista is not allow in my team, maybe Nyssa/Nyala cause I can tolerate crazy but not arrogant and disgusting bastard. I took all the things I said about Trysten/Trista back then because that person is definitely not deserve happiness or MC or original MC. No. No. No no no no no. No. No. Just..No.

Also, wtf is wrong with you Trysten/Trista and the Emperor too. They gave me goosebumps, and not the good one.

Just-..Just give me more times to process because the damns Royals just creep me out 😖

Anon, I am here searching for a hugging emoji, but I can't find it! Alright my dear Burn-to-the-ground Anon, don't you fear. Remember you don't have to romance them. I hate Trysten/Trista family as well. They disgust me. I feel like I need time just like you to process all this... But 😖 I have to keep writing because I want to have the new update out in twelve days.

Nyala/Nyssa isn't a bad thing. Remember they have a vendetta against the royal family. So them getting revenge is a must.

Burn-to-the-ground Anon, my heart ached as well! I was here cursing the author! I mean who created such a plot?! Who made the original host go through hell and back?! 😭 horrible author!

🤭 over the years I've been a fan of palace intrigue drama... especially the ones where the MC transmigrated or reborn. The backyard for the emperor's are never clean. These imperial concubines be doing more than the ministers in the imperial court. I tell ya. I don't know if anyone has heard of this Korean drama, but I plan to binge watch to get a bit more inspiration. It's called "Under the queens umbrella." I've heard good things about this series. ☺.

Don't worry.... depending on the ROs your MC get together with.... you'll get a good ending. 😏 I know for a fact one of these ROs will die in arc 2. They'll redeem themself before though. I wonder though, will your MC live in grief all their life? Or will they move on? Or will they accompany this person to their grave. 🤣

So don't worry Anon. I'll be here waiting. Come back, when you feel like you can face this slag person.

😫 you know what as well? I feel like I am almost finished with chapter1. I am so excited! Looking at my notebook, that is full of words that needs coding... makes my heart leap in joy.

Alright my dear Burn-to-the-ground. Thank you for the ask. Have a wonderful day and stay safe. *hugs*

[bike42]

Saturday May 4, 2024 Split Croatia

Hard to believe we’ve been aboard for more than week! We’re just getting into a routine and figuring out the decks and staircases! I was up on the deck for yoga at 6:30am as we pulled in today, appreciating the beautiful morning, solitude, and gorgeous scenery.

We arrived in Split, and apparently had an issue with a ferry blocking our berth, so they found another. Our captain was very apologetic about the MSC cruise ship again blocking our view of the city, not a big deal to me.

Split is the largest coastal city on the Adriatic, second largest city in Croatia with 170,000 people. The peninsula has a natural bay and the harbor is filled with tourists boats, sailboats, and pleasure boats large and small.

Local economy: limestone quarries, ship building, fishing and tourism.

Dalmatian coast, one of the geographical designations in Croatia (other are Denatic Mountains - extension of the Alps)

We showed up for our excursion, a cooking class, but learned it’d been cancelled due to lack of participation. We were offered the option to do a Dalmatian Tasting Tour and without any research, said yes to that.

We joined a large group, 34 with us, and walked off the ship to an awaiting bus where we met today’s guide, Egorna. She described old town as a “Very Mediterranean place.” The Bell tower is the center. We’ll return here after our trip to the tasting: 15km to the mountains visiting estate Stella, where we’ll taste - wait for it: Olive Oil!

Tasting:

Swirl to warm the glass

Smell - should smell great

Slurp and Swallow - should taste peppery or pungent, burn your throat (but not rancid).

Can’t tell real EVOO by reading the label. If you put it in the fridge for a few hours, it should form large crystals.

Shouldn’t buy/store in plastic bottles, only dark glass.

Consume within 18 months of opening.

Grounds had beautiful botanical gardens, which I’m always drawn to. Really can’t wait to get home and start playing in the dirt!! We had a chance to shop of course: olive oils, tampanandes, spice mixes, candy, and soaps and cremes made from their botanical gardens.

Riding in this comfortable Mercedes tour bus, driving back into Split, feels a world away from Montenegro - so much modern development! Multi-lane roads, buildings that look less like a communist concrete development, etc. Fancy cars, and traffic flowing easily on this Saturday morning.

Ancient Greek were first to arrive here, 500 years BC, they called it Aspalathos.

The name was derived from the name of the yellow flowers that are blooming everywhere.

In 305AD, it became the site of the Palace of the Roman Emperor Diocletian, and became a prominent village then as his 700 member royal guard and their families lived within the walls as well.

By the 1400s the Venetians were in control, and called it was Spalato, so the name was derived from there. The Venetians controlled the sea, the Ottomans controlled the mountains and inland, therefore this was an important fortress.

The rest of history follows the similar pattern of struggle for control, ending with Croatia being granted independence from Yugoslavia in 1991.

The economy was good during the Yugoslav area, with revenues from shipbuilding, textiles, plastics, chemical and the food industry in addition to tourism.

The palace was never abandoned or destroyed, and approximately 200 people still live there today (like we’ve heard before, most apartments are AirBnB or “historic accommodation” now. About half is government owned, other half is public. The Bell tower added 15th century in front of the tomb. Sarcophagus was removed by next emperor, who was a Christian, apparently Diocletian had worshiped Jupiter. We heard a lot of that sarcophagus raiding kind of story over this past 10 days, but I guess it goes with the concept of conquering!

We stopped for a gelato after our walking part of the tour, then headed back to the boat for an afternoon of leisure, lunch, napping, reading and writing. I was napping on a chaise on the deck when we set sail. Turning the boat took away my sun, so I was going to head back to the room. However I walked aft, and spied an empty hot tub, so I jumped in there instead. PJ (entertainment director) was doing a setting sail performance from the deck above me, singing opera songs - wouldn’t have been something I’d generally find to be interesting, but the combination of the music with the amazing scenery as we headed through the bay gave me goosebumps, even in the hot tub!

I went back to the room and cleaned up. JT had been there reading, and we headed out to the back deck where it was very quiet. We had a glass of wine, played cribbage, and watched the amazing scenery unfold.

We had dinner in Candles tonight, opting to sit inside instead (the outsiders all came in after their dinner still huddled in blankets). Tonight’s entertainment was Staff Talent Show - wow. Another amazing evening. Some great singers, a few talented dancers, a comedian, a number predictor, and a “synchronized swim team” which was just hysterical. The band played for a bit afterwards, including a repeat performance by the guess Russ from Nashville. Not sure if he’ll make it there, but he has 200 new fans now!