After reading some spoilers for ep1 all I’ll say is Colin Bridgerton is some high level of BS.
I knew the whole swagger thing was a facade, I just had no idea how high the fall was going to be. Like the guy has traveled to a few cities that were not in the United Kingdom, has slept with some girls and suddenly comes back to the ton all grown, changed, wise, mature and has cracked the code to how life works??? Colin “I still have not found my purpose” Bridgerton? This man is on some wild stuff.
He’s honestly going to strut into her garden, say “I’m a charmer, I know how to flirt, let me help you find a suitor” while batting his eyelashes at her. Just to watch her find a suitor without his help, and the only thing he’ll achieve is to fall irrevocably in love with her? And he thinks he’s so cool when really no, he’s just not 😂
I cannot wait for him to be knocked off the little tower he’s built himself. Watching him crumble like a carefully constructed jenga tower is going to be the highlight of this season for me.
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My god I finally finished the damn thing. 2AM posting, activate.
Not Particularly Threatening is an explicit Link/Sidon fanfiction that plays with power dynamics in a literal sense of the word. It clocks in at 8k words and, I hope, tries to maintain a balance of "horny" with "character examination." It's set within the canon of my other BOTW work, To Be Well, but doesn't require knowledge of that story to be enjoyed.
Link’s heart stutters in his chest, something new now awake within it. He does not have the slightest idea how to ask for what he wants, nor if Sidon will be offended if he does. This is the kind of thing he should wait on, bring up before the situation gets hot and heavy, something to be discussed with clear heads and full understanding. This is play that could cross lines. But Link has never been a planning type.
“Fine,” he starts. His fingers fumble over the signs: “I want—I want you to make me your prey.”
Other fun tags for this story include "FTM Link is non-op because I said so", "biting you biting you biting you", "Sidon But He Maybe Speaks a Little Too Formally But It's Fine", and "me needing to google if it's common for people to use sign language mid-sex (the answer was 'not really')."
Finally, a shout-out that I hope is okay (let me know if it's not and I'll remove it): this lovely art by @jibberjibbsart did a lot of the heavy lifting in terms of inspiration for this story. Go check them out!
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"You gaze upon Murder's progeny, child..."
The man's voice is a low basso growl, a rumble like distant ominous thunder. Hector feels the hair on the back of his neck prickle to hear it.
The three blood-soaked women in the smaller thrones all swivel their heads to look at Hector at once, three sets of eyes burning into him.
"His most ill-trusted zealots," murmurs the human in the center.
"HIS FAITHFUL DEPARTED," crows the drow on the left.
"Prodigal servants," growls the elf on the right, "each returned to do his bidding eternally."
Narrator: This man is known to all Baldurians, and his presence sparks dread in the pit of your stomach.
Narrator: Before you is Sarevok Anchev - a Bhaalist who almost brought Baldur's Gate to ruin a century ago.
Hector feels his gut twist with anxiety. As if this whole business was not mad enough, he is now staring into the eyes of a face out of history, a face matching a name he read about in countless texts in the safety of the monastery. A face that was responsible for the worst wave of bloodshed Baldur's Gate had ever seen... at least before the Absolute.
Moonmaiden, guide me. I am deep in the black heart of this place...
"This is the court of the Dread Lord's tribunal," Sarevok rumbles. "I am its custodian. Here come those who seek to transcend. Aspirants of his most profane order - the would-be Unholy Assasins of Bhaal."
Thus far he has clearly been speaking in ritual text-- but now he pauses, and then his lip curls as he looks over the group. His eyes pass over Hector and Karlach almost without seeing them... but linger on Minsc, and then fix on Jaheira.
"But these are not aspirants..." he snarls softly. "You have brought traitors of Bhaal into our midst." His golden, glowing eyes narrow to slits. "Harper worm - the abdicating hero... your keen sense for this city has withered in your absence." His gaze shifts back to Minsc. "And you, Man of Stone. As you stood a statue, a helpless ornament, your city warped. Changed. Became ripe for the plucking."
Hector glances sideways to Jaheira and sees that she has gone ramrod straight and still, her expression cold as ice. At her side, Minsc has both fists clenched and his eyes are wide; Boo is scurrying back and forth on his shoulders with soft chitters of agitation.
"Sarevok," Jaheira says mockingly, though Hector can hear the tension in the tone strained almost to the breaking point. A muscle is working in her jaw, betraying fury that has been buried for a century. "Bhaal's least favorite son. Still tied to daddy's apron strings, I see."
Narrator: The history they share may be long gone, but the threat of violence between them is as fresh as newly spilled blood. Neither party will let the other walk out of here alive.
Sarevok's eyes remain fixed on Jaheira for a long moment, then return to Hector. "What purpose do you have in bringing these heretics to the court of Bhaal?" he asks disdainfully. "Speak, or death will be your final word."
Hector can feel the tension vibrating in the air like the aftermath of a plucked lute string. This situation is making his skin crawl - the presence of this man, the staring blank eyes of the Bhaalspawn revenants in front of him, the unmistakable fury of his companions.
They came here for Orin - to find a way to the temple, close the deal, rescue Lae'zel. Sarevok's presence here is an unexpected threat, one he was not prepared to deal with.
But it is one that has to be dealt with, nevertheless. He does not know how long Sarevok has been down here passing judgment on new acolytes of the murder god... but one thing is clear - Jaheira and Minsc will no longer settle for a quiet passage through this terrible place, even if one is available.
There will be blood here, with or without Hector's agreement. So he will stand with his friends.
He meets Jaheira's eyes; she looks back steadily; her hands are on the hilts of her scimitars, but she does not move. She respects him too much to strike without giving him the chance to speak. Perhaps she knows that he will do her the same respect in return and ready his fists.
(It is not like fighting alongside Caden, or Rasaad, not really, but there are shades of both of them looking out of his eyes, and standing there with Hector, with Minsc, even with Karlach who carries some of Khalid's kindness and Imoen's spirit and a ferocity that would do both of them proud...
Just for a moment she feels a hundred years younger, staring down Sarevok once again deep beneath the city they have all sworn to protect...)
A slight, humorless smile tugs the edges of Hector's mouth. "Would you two like to kill the old man or shall I?" he says softly.
Jaheira's eyes flash with satisfaction at the words, and she gives a sudden savage smile in return. "You get to my age," she says dryly, "you have already done everything. Be my guest."
Minsc's fists clench at his sides and his grin spreads from ear to ear. "We have already smashed Sarevok's soul from his body once. Boo says it is your turn!"
Sarevok smiles as well, a cold expression heavy with malice. "And so the Harper and the idiot ranger raise their weapons against Sarevok once more." He stands slowly, deliberately, drawing a heavy blade from its sheath at his side.
"Your hubris will be your undoing, as it once was mine. Only this time *you* will fall. And Bhaal will have his offering... by my hand."
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