#wayfarer society

[wayfaresociety]

What to expect from us:

Happy timezone, fellow Wayfarers!

We previously introduced our values, but we also wanted to introduce what you can expect from us in both our original and reposted content.

We explore various themes relevant to our contemporary society and the society we wish to build. Here is some of what to expect:

A highlight on current events.

Discussions of urban design and transportation systems.

Diverse community building and maintenance for online and in person.

Conversations about sustainability.

On topic book, podcast, and video reviews and suggestions.

And so much other content that aligns with our values.

Please engage, share your thoughts, and follow to be a part of the conversation!

-Wayfarer ❤️

#urban design #community building #Sustainable Living #Current #Events #innovations #Media Recommendations #Empowerment #Social impact #solarpunk #hopepunk #Environmentalism #social good #climate solutions #anticapitalism #anticonsumerism #decolonization #wayfarer society

[moncherellie]

the few truths on the seven seas

a/n: back with a pirate AU!ellie lets gooo. i wanted to provide some fluff because i've seen some people asking for it :D

content/warnings: 1.4k words, sfw, gn reader, fluff, slight angst/yearning, mentions of pirate violence, kinda historical (?), innuendo, r gives ellie a massage but nothing happens lol

While wayfaring the vast seas, there are few truths. Pirates, by nature, are underhanded beasts with no integrity, taking every chance they can to scramble ahead, pulling you under the waves if the opportunity arises; Debaucherous lowlifes operating with the highest level of chicanery despite being, for the most part, bumbling idiots. If one makes the mistake of trusting a pirate, it may prove to be fatal. You know this all too well.

There are few truths. Sleep with one eye open- never lay on your side, or you'll be stabbed in the back. Know that you have allies, but understand you have no friends. Keep your allies close, but your enemies closer. Everyone operates under the same assumption- "everyone is out to get me," and they're right. The second someone becomes comfortable on their ship is the perfect circumstance for mutiny.

There are few truths. The key word is few. Despite pirates holding nary a thing precious, there is an unspoken understanding amongst all who traverse the waters around Jackson Island.

Captain Williams is the Lord of the Ocean, the Scourge of the Seven Seas.

Her ferocity and strength know no bounds. How else could she have risen to such an infamous position? She pushed down the part of her that felt... anything... the moment she stepped off the dock and gained her sea legs. When the Captain struts into a tavern she holds her head high, sneering as even the most revered pirates make way for her, trembling and cowering behind crates. She sits at the bar and orders potent rum while the bawds in dingy corners flutter their lashes at her, hiding their flush behind silken fans.

Every so often, she'll watch with a spark in her eye as the strumpets attempt to seduce her, but the Captain never gives in. The women eventually give up, coming to the conclusion that she truly was as cold-hearted as they all say.

When the Savage Starlight docks at the port and Captain Williams comes bounding down the creaky gangway, those who wish to live flee.

Except you. With a bright smile and open arms, you run toward the danger and the hands that have slain hundreds pick you up and swing you around, greeting you with a hearty laugh coming from deep within her soul.

"Evening, lass. Fancy meetin' you 'ere," she rasps in the euphonic husk that makes your head spin. Her voice is shot from yelling commands down to her crew, not the smooth, mellow voice she once had, but it's home all the same. It's not often that Captain Williams can make her way back to Jackson Island, but whenever she can, she makes it a point to visit her anchor; You.

You met as young street urchins with matted hair and sack clothing. You were the warmth the Captain had lacked back in the day and the warmth she desperately needed now. At that point, she was still just Ellie, idealistic and naive. She would take a wooden pike in a dank alley and stand tall, brandishing the stick as a cutlass. She'd scream to the high heavens about her future plunders, and as she mounted a barrel, you would be below her, sitting with wide eyes and admiring the glory that was Ellie Williams.

You had always known Ellie would grow up to be a woman of great power and you'd done everything you could to support that dream. You were all she had, and she was all you had. Your parents were long gone, you were abandoned by society, and old enough that the charity of strangers had run dry.

Ellie would snatch a loaf of bread and you'd trip the merchant she'd stolen from, the both of you bounding down the streets laughing up a storm. You'd share the food, giggling and pushing each other playfully. Sometimes, after being caught by local authorities (they couldn't hold you long anyway), you'd hear a ruckus above the dungeon and know instinctually that your foul-mouthed knight-in-shining-armor had come for you with a key and a new series of scars. (Presently, you liked to trace her scars while laying in her bed, recounting fondly your childhood together.)

It wasn't long before the bond had turned into something more- how could it not, after everything you two had been through? Playful shoving turned into bashful looks and touches that lingered suspiciously long. You were an inch away from being more than "just friends". With time, you'd discovered each others' feelings, and while the passion of being hers had never and would never subside, neither would the bittersweet feeling of having her leave every month, not knowing if or when she'd return.

Many days, you didn't know what to do with yourself, seeking her touch and warmth but knowing that she was living her dreams. Joining her was not an option, as Ellie would never put you in danger like that. She had seen too many allies slaughtered mercilessly to ever put you in the position to witness that. So you stayed on Jackson, twiddling your thumbs. Every day, without fail, you left your house to walk to work and your eyes would momentarily flicker to where the sky blended into the hues of the ocean, hoping that the mast and sails of the Savage Starlight would creep slowly over the horizon. There was some comfort in knowing that every day, you grew closer to when the Captain would return, and with her, your Ellie.

Ellie would never let the crew into her quarters when you were with her. She didn't want to be bothered, instead opting to make the most of her time with you. She adores how genuine you are. Being around pirates who could, at any moment, betray her, left a mark on her soul. She was constantly looking over her shoulder, never quite letting her guard down. But with you, she could strip herself of the Captain persona and feel safe, something she treasured beyond your understanding. She would take her shirt off and lay down in her bed, the plush mattress dipping as you followed her suit. Straddling her, you would knead your fingers into the muscle between her shoulder blades. She can hear the teasing lilt in your voice when you ask her how it feels, but she doesn't mind so long as you keep relieving her like that.

The biggest compliment Ellie gives you is when her eyes flicker shut, entering deep sleep and letting out small snores. You brush her bangs out of her face, kiss her cheek, and hold her close, admiring the subconscious smile adorning her face. You love that she feels comfortable in your presence. You won't let anything happen to her, and she knows that. Ellie usually has to be the arbiter, the guardian, but with you she is subdued. The door remains deadbolted, though, for if her crew saw her in this manner, they'd lose respect. But for a few days out of every month, you both find solace from the hardships of everyday life.

You hold her in the crook of your body, entangling yours and her limbs until you can't tell who is who. That's how she likes it- close, blended, one. Ellie can forget about the violence she's accustomed to (which, she admittedly seeks out) and lets the world fade away, instead focusing on the warmth of your body on her chilled skin.

When you wake up, she's already dressed, used to rising at daybreak. She sits in a chair with her legs spread, pants billowing around her legs, and elbows resting on her knees, covering her mouth with her hands. She rubs her face as her eyes take in the sight of you bathed in golden sunlight. Ellie hopes to save the feeling you give her, commit it to memory, or at the very least, savor it for the time being. Because, at the end of the day, there is no certainty on the open ocean. Who knows what could happen?

There are few truths, she thinks, as she ruefully hoists the anchor and climbs the mast. Her hair flows in the wind and she watches you wave goodbye from the creaking dock. Ellie grips the wooden finish of the crow's nest, feeling splinters slide into her palms, but the sting is nothing compared to the pain of leaving you again. She hopes she'll come back. You pray she will.

There are few truths while faring the seas, except for those that are given:

Captain Ellie Williams is irrevocably in love with you.

⚓⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪 <33

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #tlou2 #ellie williams x reader fluff #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x gn reader #pirate AU #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams oneshot #moncherellie writing

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Tav has a dream and makes a decision about Astarion.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 16: Dream

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word count: 10.3k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Sexual Language, Self-harm, Blood, Gaslighting, Manipulation, PTSD , Act 1 Spoilers

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What is the cost of turning dreams into reality? The payment of man: his duality. Morrowland awaits for those who can pay, Death masks made for any in his way.

— Raphael, diabolical discussions at the House of Hope

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The first detail Tav noticed about the rich northwestern Sea Ward of Waterdeep was the malodorous stench.

A reeking unpleasant mixture of old and new greed asserted through questionable bargains. The pungency in fear and scandal-mongering behind palatian villa walls. Secrets hidden well beneath caked layers of powdered cheeks and painted façades of cordiality from each patriar’s cut stoned smile.

Gathered in droves did the wayfarers come, to celebrate Winter Shield as the largest holiday of the year. A specified duration for one day, underlining the spectred accounts from the past year. Follies and good cheer, recognized as an enthronement for the special occasion.

Cassalanter Villa towered self-righteously over Tav as she eyed its structure, hearing the roaring jollied voices from the party that was in full swing indoors. And there, her beloved Algos presumably waited, working the visitors strategically for dividends should he grant the evil desires of their hearts. A strange residence he coaxed her into attending to mingle with the orgies of blue bloods at the behest of his aspirations.

It wasn’t that she had never dealt with patriars—especially back in the comforts of her home in Highmoon—but moreso, that she loathed unnecessarily gleaning attention out of highbrow society. She cared not if her singing mouth or the whorl of her rapier impressed upon their besmirched mortalities.

As she approached, dolled up in an empire waist gown crafted from azure ombré velvet and hand painted whitecaps resembling the salt waters of the Sword Coast, she began collecting her nerve to enter the villa, reciting Algos’s instructions in her mind. Each rehearsed pleasantry urged upon her to perform at the upcoming soirée, formed together as they would leave her murmuring lips in an alphabetical soliloquy.

Practice makes perfect.

Good thing I’ve perfected the art of a side glance to deal with these pompous dickheads, she bemoaned in her thoughts, reluctantly walking up to the closed doors.

Tav’s hand hovered above the door handle, a million excuses sprinting through her gray matter as to why she shouldn’t walk across that threshold into the lion’s den.

She formed a closed fist, letting it fall unceremoniously away.

“What am I do—oh…you’re here,” the elven woman quietly proclaimed.

Warmth dispersed between her collarbone and upper breast tissue as her soulmate mark gently made its presence known. Breathing. Alive. Pulling at the invisible bond betwixt them, causing her clattering heart to slow its pace.

She looked down at her chest, imagining the dark brownish shooting star underneath her gown stirring to life. Her mate’s long, steady, drawn out breaths tickled across the astral shape, expanding and contracting. Oh, how many nightfalls had this rare blessing kindling her pale skin endowed her with reassurance?

Tav imagined her soulmate in different scenarios whilst their shared token heated her. Had they been laughing at an embellished joke? Mayhaps demonstrating the proper launch techniques of bows? Or, could it be they were mapping the skies above for an exciting adventure?

However, what she knew for sure was that her mate had acknowledged her hesitancy from whatever location they occupied. Their connection abundant the most during the trials they each faced, knowing the precise moment to lend one another strength to will their resolve to conquer such trepidations.

Still, there loomed something eerie and tenebrous beneath the surfaced flushing emitting from the mark. Flecks of dark scattered emotions that would quickly dissipate into the channels of her nerve endings.

During those periods, she would often sing to her soulmate as she began to do now. Dulcet lullabies from ancient elven lore, hummed prettily off the glint of her lips while she lightly grazed the top heap of her bosom. Tav prayed that the solace from her songs filled her mate’s body, healing their troubled spirit through their fated link as she always did.

And just as suddenly as the dreamlike sensations from her soulmate appeared, they were gone.

With newfound will, it didn’t take long afterwards for her to prepare herself to enter the indoor gathering.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Spine straight.

Doors open.

Welcome to a new hell.

Barges of colors flashed behind Tav’s eyes when she slipped into the home, like fields made from dying stars erupting to give birth to interstellar clouds. A contrast to the falling snow outdoors, entoiling the city of splendors in quilts of white.

Gold and silver tinsel hung from every lit candle wall sconce. Balsam garlands—decorated with fir cones, orange slices, and tinkering brass bells—drooped in a zigzag pattern high above the visitors’ heads in the grand foyer only feet away from the entrance. Noises rang off champagne flutes, filling the air with their own caroling orchestra.

To her left, an ornately carved pulpit stood leering over guests filing in from the cold to administer judgment before they joined the festivities. A toffee-faced dwarven woman, elderly and worn, stood raised behind its face. Large baskets filled with wreaths stacked perfectly on either side of her: novelties of cultural celebration for new beginnings.

“Happy Winter Shield and welcome to Cassalanter Villa, my lady,” the noble dwarf politely announced. “I am Madam Robine Cassalanter and today: our home is your home. Please warm your bones and feast for as long as your belly will allow or until dawn breaks and I put everyone back onto the streets!”

Tav forced a smile, noting the slightly serious tone of her last sentence, evident of her classist ethics. “Your hospitality is without rival, Madam Cassalanter.”

Robine removed a wreath from one of the baskets, steadfastly holding it between her plump sausage-like fingers. “Care for one? The servants have painstakingly outdid themselves this year with them I believe! Handmade over a thousand each in a tenday’s time.”

The dueling swordswoman nodded quietly, moving closer to the pulpit. Patiently waiting as the woman fixed a wreath created from boxwood leaves and winter berries onto her head, Tav observed the smoothness of her hands. Clearly lacking the same scars and calluses she had acquired, she doubted the dwarf had worked a single day in her life that didn’t involve hosting grand parties and speaking gossip over towers of scones.

“Lovely,” she exclaimed, admiring her minimal labor. “Now, is there anything else I can help you with?” The dwarf peeked down at the cuffs of her tacky white and emerald suit, pretending to be unsettled by an invisible stain that just seemed to require all of her attention.

She blinked away the melting snowflakes occupied on her lashes, resisting the urge to subtly insult the woman’s sudden rudeness. “Saer Algos. Do you know of him? He should have arrived an hour or so ago.”

Madam Robine stopped fidgeting with her sleeves, widening her eyes to stare at the woman regarding her. Head tilted curiously, she leaned over the pulpit shifting her vision to study the elf more closely.

Odd. Strangely so.

Tav slightly furrowed her brow, vexed further by the woman’s demeanor. Minutes ticked away before she decided that the suddenly mute dwarf was a lost cause and she would be better off searching for him on her own. Turning away, she proceeded to walk towards the upbeat gathering.

“Saer Algos? Why, yes, he should be inside,” Robine abruptly interrupted, halting Tav. “Now that I think about it, he did mention he was expecting his fiancée to show up sometime after him. Would I be correct that he also said you are a dazzling vocalist and would graciously sing for us this fair eve?”

How very like Algos to use her talents to captivate and indoctrinate the masses for his cause.

Her long dress spun around with her like dancing waves as she looked back at the woman that now had a cheshire grin spanning the entirety of her lower face, further indenting the wrinkles around her eyes.

She swallowed down her objection into the pit of her stomach. “If it should please you and your guests, then I would be honored.”

Tav reminded herself this uncomfortability was for Algos. “For the future” he often reminded her. Should he rise to meet his goals, protection across Everska, The Dales, Cormyr, and perhaps one day The Sword Coast, would be guaranteed. The people would want for nothing, only to enter a unified golden age that had yet to be seen.

His vision: enticing as forbidden pomegranates ripened upon a tree. Seeds of an ideal utopian nation, waiting for their arils to burst open, intoxicating the land. How could anyone refuse? Algos designated himself as the man to conduct the events that would jumpstart everything. A man possessed with masterminded strategies to outwit opponents into carving his position amongst those on lofty perches.

Algos would not fail; he would immolate any that deemed him to do so.The Madam nodded, snapping her fingers at a nearby servant. “May I have your mantle then, Miss…?”

“Tavelle Etriel’kerymaera. My name is Tavelle Etriel’kerymaera,” she answered affably, untying her fur mantle to hand over to the maid obediently holding her arms out like a coat hanger.

“Tavelle Etriel’kerymaera,” Robine slowly enunciated, continuing her strange all-knowing smile. “Enjoy your evening, dearest.”

Bowing her head courteously, she half pivoted to depart—“One more thing Lady Swordsong,” Robine called out, crinkling her mischievous eyes. “My nephew Victoro Cassalanter and his wife Ammalia are here tonight as well. I believe they would find you quite beguiling! And I am sure given your contributions, this won’t be the last we see of each other.”

Contributions? What in the hells was she referring to? Tav entertained.

The elf visibly narrowed her sight, no longer able to hold back her suspicions about the dwarf’s behavior. “Forgive me for my intrusive assumption Madam Cassalanter, but why does it seem as if you know far more about me than you’re revealing?”

She shrugged her shoulders, fixating her interests on the next wreaths to prepare for the guests that had just entered from the blistering cold. “Fly along now Sword of Deepingdale,” the aged dwarf ordered. “You shouldn’t keep your handsome beau waiting any longer.”

Tav bit down on her lower vermillion, contemplating a walk back towards the pulpit to fetch the crone by her hideous jacket to demand answers from her smug face. However, Robine was right: Algos expected her to be by his side tonight and that included demonstrating her best temperament. Despite her reluctance in attending the party, she knew these negative thoughts were temporary and in contrast to the importance of their presence there.

From the entryway to the grand foyer, Tav glanced out amongst a hive of rabid nobles. Each one buzzed about, collecting useful rumors like pollen, transferring it back to the rest of the broods that kept encircling the hall. They sucked and they sucked and they sucked, addicted to every bit of nectary gossip they could store inside the cells of their brains until they could use them for their benefit.

But then, she found her soon-to-be husband, dwelling near an ivory pillar tucked away in a quiet corner. Hair slicked back and robust body clad in a long navy velvet coat trimmed in charcoal-dyed fox furs, Algos’s long shadow peeped out across the marble floor. He was dashing as ever—facial features more intense than usual from a clean shave.

Though, what she did not anticipate was the unrecognizable companion flouncing around him.A human woman clung onto his arm. Pinned glossy black hair. Dressed in gold silks. A pair of sirenic sea green eyes. Breasts pushed alluringly into his bicep. Beautiful and refined by most standards.

The elf watched as Algos’s heavy tongue—presumptively dripping with honeyed charms—whispered into the lady’s ear, causing her to giggle. She craned her neck to peck the corner of his full lips, a row of pearly whites gleaming in the dim light. Then, as the she-wolf was about to depart into the lively crowd, her peachy hand casually slid downwards until her palm met his outlined cock in his trousers.

Wait.

That can’t be right.

It happened so quickly it could have been easily mistaken for a trick of the eye.

“Ah, there she is: my beloved birdie!” Algos waved at her with a half filled glass of champagne, intruding upon her fretful thoughts.

Robotically, her ears perked up, obeying the seductive and cajoling drag from his wispy gruff inflection. The breadth of a faux smile chained itself to her lips.

“Good eve to you my love,” she replied, curtsying as he met her near the doorway.

Should she question him about what she saw? Surely, she was mistaken.

His sight raked over her body, doubtlessly searching for any imperfections that could cause that infamous astringent glimmer in those hickory coal eyes. “You look astonishing,” Algos complimented, appearing pleased.

“Well, I suppose I should, given you were the one that picked out this dress,” Tav tried to quip, briefly ignoring her concerns.

His left arm slotted itself around her waist, pulling her into him. “It has been vastly boorish here without you.”

Tav’s hands flatly landed against the intricately stitched rows of velvet along the upper torso of his coat, as if to guard him from her heart. “Has it? It seemed like you were having quite a bit of fun with that black-haired woman just a few minutes ago.”

Algos threw his head back in laughter, his Adam’s apple sporting a few missed coarser hairs from his shave. “You mean Ammalia Cassalanter and the kiss she gave me? Oh my dove, she was simply thanking me for a little problem solving regarding a mercantile disagreement I did for her husband Victoro. It saved them from loosening some of their funds to placate the persons involved.”

“It’s not the gratitude from her peck that bothered me, but the squeezing of your cock before she sauntered off,” Tav frankly reported.

Without another word, Algos seized her hand and led her into a small sitting room adjacent to the foyer entrance, closing the doors behind him.

Instead of releasing her, he instantly looped her arms around his neck. His free hand tilted her chin up towards him, peering down into her face. “I’m unsure as to what you think you saw, but that didn’t happen. Aside from that meaningless kiss, she didn’t touch me.”

Tav stared up at him silently, the various shades of pink on his cheeks a symptom from imbibing. He always knew what to say to her, always in a way that his manipulations convinced her breaking heart to continue bleeding for him.

“The only woman I want is you,” he cooed, pushing into her plush mouth with his broad tongue, snuffing out her angst immediately.

Upon his slithering tongue slipping betwixt her lips, a delicate sweet tang was tasted, covered under the fruity notes from the champagne. A taste she could equate to the lustful moistures of labia folds mixed with intoxicating jasmine at the end of each breath he aired out.

Tav fought back the vile images of Algos’s head between Ammalia’s thighs, sucking her clit into orgasmic bliss. She was a married woman, after all, with a husband whose watchful gaze vigilantly scanned the perimeter of the grand foyer. How could the two of them manage to get away with their affair within the past hour?

Yet, it occurred to her that even though she could taste the lies on his tongue, he would likely show no remorse. She could certainly probe him enough to admit his adultery to her, but his confession would turn to a plausible excuse that feasting upon wealthy cunt would somehow give him further access into this family’s maggoty circle he aimed to control. The pain of his betrayal would foreseeably become a fleeting hurt to help him usher in “the future.”

This man—this horrible man Tav loved—knew by her altruism that she would always put others before herself because she felt everyone else’s lives were more important than her own.

And he could get away with it all.

Algos leaned back, lips plump and deeply hued in rouge. “Do you believe me?”

No.

“Yes,” she fibbed, swallowing her torment because that’s what he would want to hear.

“Good girl,” he praised, patting the side of her neck. “Now that your worries are eased, did the matriarch of the family treat you decently when you arrived?”

“Madam Robine Cassalanter? She was genial as any patriar pretends to be,” she slightly frowned. “But, something was off about the way she regarded me. What did you tell her?”

The back of his thick index finger gently stroked her cheek. “I should have known my perceptive little bird would pick up on that. To answer: I may have slipped a very rare map into her possession that once belonged to one of the many heroes from ‘The Iron Crisis.’ The Cassalanter’s were quite thrilled that the daughter of that self same hero—you—and a Sword of Deepingdale herself, would offer such a gratuitous gift.”

Her jaw felt like it entirely unlatched as her mouth flew open in disbelief.

By that admission alone, Tav figured out the artifice he meant to play before he even explained himself. She was seething, her chest tightening with heat. “You not only stole a part of my inheritance, but you also laundered it away to one of the most notorious families in Waterdeep to gain an alliance?!”

“Now, now, the Cassalanters have graciously received us. There is absolutely nothing to be upset about,” Algos chastised with a click of his tongue. “Moving people along the game board is all part of the political blueprint. You must have favor with those in disreputable positions to guarantee their compliance for your goals, else chaos ensues.”

“Besides, you should be honored that your mother is the bladesinger, Evenlit Etriel’kerymaera! You’re practically royalty, my dear,” he unerringly said, taking a casual sip of gold fizzy liquid from his glass. “It simply baffles me that you have not taken more advantage of her blood running through your veins.”

Tav grimaced, letting both her arms fall at her sides like lifeless pieces of twine. “It feels like I’m nothing more than the dowry in your marriage to your ambitions.”

Algos glided his finger down the side of her face, finding a loose curl to toy with. “No need to make extremes out of this, love; you’re much smarter than that. All I ask is that you stay by my side and trust me to handle the meat boiling inside the bones,” he slowly said, curling his lips into a smug look.

The muscles in the groove of her lower mouth involuntarily twitched. “Stand by your side as you galavant around with actual criminals while using me and my family like whores?! Those are the types of individuals that have rotted Faerûn, Algos! Ones whose damned schemes we should be disemboweling,” Tav snapped, trying to keep her voice down.

She angrily clutched the hand stroking her silken tresses. “Nepotism by my parents' accomplishments is not something I believe in exploiting. That map was…do you have any idea what you’ve done? The danger involved? I never agreed to any of this.”

Algos raised her hand to his lips for a kiss, devious eyes peeking over her knuckles under a weighty brow. “And yet, here you are continuing to pretend to be everything you hate. Putting on a show in front of all the upper class to garner their favor for yours truly,” he whispered harshly. “Even going as far as to allow me to use that very nepotism you have carefully avoided to strike together the flints that will spark the flames needed to build an innovative future.”

“Besides, the people love to hear stories about heroes: their rise and their fall,” Algos forebodingly remarked, gulping down one last mouthful of drink.

Fall? Did he mean to suggest—?

Disoriented in the hollow of his words, she sensed she was caught in yet another trap. Caught in his orated words that carried separate terminologies from the sentences he formed. Caught because he held both her dreams and night scourges in the palms of his hands, conducting them as a marionette. Caught because she was frightened of what he could do to her and her parents. Caught because of what he’d already done.

Caught because she loved him.

Yet, wasn’t sacrifice part of truly loving someone? Stripping everything away until all that was left were both their damnations and heaven’s respite in their cohesive bodily belfry. At least that was what she had come to believe about love.

And loving Algos? Ha. That had become a form of self-flagellation. With each lash from his actions—his words—welting her mind in the deepest shades of blues and blacks.

Tears formed in her ducts, stinging the thin skin there. “How much further are you willing to go, Algos?” Tav shakily questioned.

“As far as I need to,” he growled, forcefully wrapping her hand around his bicep as he walked them towards the doors to soon reopen. “We’ll address this confusion later on. For now, shall we head back? You do have an audience to enchant.”

From the songstress’s mouth, the Anima Sola suffered in her throat, threatening to painfully scream while she tried to break her shackles to a man she devoted her life to for close to a decade.

This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him.

He loved her…he loved her…he loved her…

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It has been said that the eyes are the window to the soul. Yet, what of doors?

Doors open and close: one opportunity leading to the next. A ceaseless funnel as the era of the living persisted from birth into death. Still, regardless of the ability to seize such possibilities, a numerous amount remained soundly shut. Shut because of the cruel mistress called fear. Humanity with their spiritual set of keys oft left staring too long at locked doors, that they fail to see others that have been left ajar.

For Tav, however, it had been the opposite. The yawning doorway she found all those years ago, murmured false promises of love, security, and happiness in the form of a man named Algos. And, oh, how guilelessly she tried to steal it all away for herself without even fathoming that she should have waited in front of that one forsaken sealed door until it was ready to be unbolted.

But now, as she followed Algos’s lead stepping over the doorsill back into the stimulating celebrations at the Cassalanter villa, Tav knew he was throwing them both into their inferno graves. Reflexively, she shut her eyes as they moved, listening to his heavy boots for guidance.

The countdown in her head started until they would be met again with an onslaught of noises.

One, two, three…

Silence.

…four, five, six…

More silence.

Her lids flew open, peering out into an entirely different scene. The guests had disappeared. Victoro and Ammalia Cassanter, even his aunt Robine, were nowhere to be found. The villa had transformed into what appeared to be gray slabs of rocks and splintered bones, floating in a strange sky. Above her, the impeccable ornamental garlands had mysteriously vanished, leaving behind a dusky galaxy oscillating in blue, purple, and misty hues.

The bard checked herself, noticing the gown she had worn changed into her usual camp clothes. Even the sophisticated ringlets she donned were replaced with her regular plait thrown over a shoulder.

And then, she understood: it was all a dream.

Tav pieced together that Algos had not escorted her into their once lethal future beyond that portent door, but instead, out of a nightmare from their past life together and back into her present day—or wherever this foreign place was.

She called out to her companions one by one, hopeful they were in the same vicinity. “Shadowheart? Wyll? Gale? Karlach? Lae’zel? Halsin? Astarion? Scratch? Where are you guys?”

However, despite the lack of an answer from her friends, she wasn’t alone.

There, in the quiet proximate distance, her ex-fiancé idled near a shadowy precipice observing a formation created from debris out in the buoyant space that Tav couldn’t entirely see.

“Algos…?!” She alarmingly squeaked out, as if she had seen a ghost.

Why didn’t he disappear when she woke from the dream? He couldn’t still be—no. That wasn’t possible.

The man turned to her, a tranquil smile deepening his aging lines. It astounded her how he looked exactly the same as he once did, save for being clad in shining golden armor. “Hello. Are you alright? I know this is probably unsettling for you.”

Instantly, tremors overtook her body, rattling her teeth together. “But, you’re…you’re…dead! H-how…are y-you…s-s-still alive?! I k-killed—.”

“I-I k-killed…I KILLED YOU!” Her voice curdled, as it thickened with her screaming saliva.

Tav fell to the ground sobbing, an urge to vomit steadily filling her throat. The pangs in her heart became unbearable as her blood seemed to be blockaded from entering its ventricles. Her fingertips clawed into the thin layer of stony dust for purchase, hoping the ground would swallow her whole. Regardless of the passed years after his death, she was nevertheless at his mercy.

Salted earth inside his mouth, He has been preserved. Discord: his acolyte, Has time already been served?

Footsteps approached her, crossing the gigantic craggy mass confidently. “I am sorry to have frightened you. Let me help you up so I may explain,” his soothing vocals seeped out into the air over her.

Through Tav’s overgrown bangs, she saw his hand reaching downwards, palm opened for her to take. Angrily, she swatted it away. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you EVER fucking touch me!”

Algos patiently retracted the scoop of his mitt. “Perhaps it would serve us both better if I were more direct about your predicament. For starters: I’m not actually Algos.”

She loudly cackled. “Not actually—oh, that’s fucking rich! Out of all the times you’ve gaslighted me, this is certainly a first. Run out of interesting ways to terrorize me? Decided to finally manipulate me into believing you’re someone else entirely out of boredom, have you?”

“Do me a favor and kill me off like you should’ve done 10 years ago. Just get it over with. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?!” Tav added as salty streams soaked her cheeks.

He cleared his throat. “Tavelle, you’re still dreaming.”

“What…?”

“This,” the man gestured around the unknown area. “is a lucid dream; a by-product from the tadpoles. It’s how I’m able to somewhat physically manifest to you and your friends. Had I known this form would upset you in this manner, I would have reconsidered my choice.”

“I don’t—what?” She repeated, crossing her shaking arms tightly against her chest.

The subtle infliction of desperation buried in his tone did not escape her. He had knowledge about the tadpoles and, given mention about her friends, their travels thus far. Shit, stranger things have happened to her since they started said journey—taking a sun-walking fussy vampire to bed being one.

Should she believe him? Or It? Would it serve her to extend an ampul of her trust to his claims?

As she studied it, Tav admitted that this version of Algos did appear different. Concentrating on its speech patterns, it struck her that it was vastly more monotone—clearer—than the man she called her ex sweetheart. Its mannerisms were devoid from the calculating quirks she was forced to accept, in favor of an almost calming breeze to its movements. If anything, it was worth it to consider it was being honest and Algos—the real Algos—was still decaying six feet underground for her own peace of mind.

At this point, what did she have to lose? The inner twistings from the mind flayer transmogrification may happen soon anyways.

“This is insanity,” she blew out, wiping her face. “I am probably a downright twit for even considering some of this to be true, but what—er—who exactly are you then?”

It took a moment to answer. “I’m an adventurer—just like you. And just like you, I wish to be free of this infectious mind control. I was the one that saved you from the Nautiloid; surely you remember?”

Memories brightly erupted in the dimples throughout her brain as it rushed its thoughts into her. In one scene, it stood before her pod, unlatching the mechanism that kept her contained. Then, it kept her falling body from colliding like a ragdoll into the sands of the beach back near the crash site.

“Gods above.” She pushed herself upwards, balancing on the balls of her feet until she regained her strength to stand. “That still doesn’t explain why you look nearly identical to Algos,” Tav pressured. “Are you a changeling of some sort?”

“It’s more complicated than that, but I will clarify as much as I’m able,” it started, folding its hands together below its waist. “I can connect with, not only yours, but all your companion’s tadpoles. Through those connections, we’re able to communicate telepathically. The visions within your thoughts sometimes become like a puzzle for me to piece together; other times, they are transparent.”

“Algos” held out its arm to the side signaling for them to take a walk. “Your trances have been consumed with images of this man whose likeness I have taken on. When I realized I could properly meet you through your dreams, I decided the best way would be for me to greet you through the image of someone you once knew. Perhaps I did not deduce the full gravity of your emotions towards this human, and for that, I apologize. It is not my intention to deceive you—quite the opposite actually.”

Tav held up her hands, swirling her index fingers in a backwards circle around the other. “Wait, back up. Am I to understand that you also have a worm inside your head and you can hear or see my thoughts?”

“The uncomplicated answer is: yes.”

Her brow lifted suspiciously. “And the complicated answer?”

The “changeling, yet not changeling” considered her question, a droll hum rumbling at the top of his throat. “First: may I change into someone more palatable for you? Then, we can discuss some of your queries.”

“How are you even able to do that? Is it like a flick of the wrist and bibbidi-bobbidi—nevermind. I mean, please go ahead, just…nobody I know.”

Except, it did shift into someone she recognized. A highly regarded older graying woman that was oft mentioned amongst the civilians for her astute political position in the ‘Council of Four’ as they propagated the daily streets in Baldur's Gate. One that she had never formally met, but saw distributing a few coins into her tip bag while playing the lute on street corners within the big city.

“Duke Belynne Stelmane?” Tav huffed out an unbelievable laugh, planting her hands on either side of her hips.

The morphing creature presented her with a closed mouth grin, identical to that shrewd pucker Stalmane typically touted. “Yes. Do you know about her?”

“It would be hard not to; she is one of the most important women in power along the Sword Coast. I never had the opportunity to speak with her seeing as we obviously ran in different cliques,” the bard answered truthfully. “Did you know her personally?”

“For a while. She was a dear friend to me and one that helped me to seize back my life at some point. We worked together to make a real change out there. But, that time has aged and deteriorated.”

‘Curious,’ she thought. ‘Those unblinking eyes barely show a hint of emotion.’

“I am sorry to hear that Duke—ahem, could I possibly call you by a different name? Just in case you decide to have another glamorous makeover that I may not recognize next time,” Tav teased. “How about the name ‘Dreamy?’”

“You may call me whatever you wish for the time being,” Dreamy coolly accepted.

“Grand! How about we take that walk now?”

They circumnavigated the rocky terrain several passes as Dreamy patiently answered Tav’s questioning scruples. It explained to her that the tadpoles were swaddled in exceptional magic that prevented withdrawal, but she should evaluate learning how to use their power as it may be the only way to save the possible destruction of Faerûn. Its only option was to steal the power that was now protecting them, but at the cost of creating a lot of enemies.

“When I discovered information that these ‘True Souls’ began infecting the people by turning them into their own vessels, I realized they meant to do more damage than creating a surplus of mind flayers—they wanted dominion over them,” Dreamy stated as it turned to view Tav’s shock. “True Souls carry the same supernaturally-infused tadpoles as yourself. The only variation being that those that are infected with normal worms hear the True Souls as if they are connected by a colony hivemind and believe them to be gods.”

Her mind raced trying to process the minutiae to the bigger picture. This was nowhere near what she had predicted after wobbling out of that flayer pod; this was a sentient, respiring nightmare. Would it even be possible to eradicate the True Souls if they wielded that amount of power? And what about the consumption of additional tadpoles? Dreamy failed to mention side effects that could be associated with such risks.

“I-I’m unsure what to say,” Tav muttered at a loss for words, stretching her arm upwards to tug at the skin above her collarbone as if she was still proving to herself that any measure of this was real. “May I return now? Out of this dream and back to camp. I need to speak with everyone as soon as possible.”

“You have been through enough tonight, I will sever the connection as you’d like,” it said, bowing respectively without a single hair of Stelmane’s resemblance loosening out of place.

Her lips pulled up in gratitude while she watched Dreamy walk a few paces ahead, once again beholding a fascination for an object out in the oil slicked atmosphere.

“Tavelle?” It asked before a pregnant pause, the clanking of its armor becoming silent in the unfamiliar ether. “Do you think you should tell them?”

“Tell them what?”

“About what happened to your family.”

Tav inquisitively stared at Dreamy as she sharply took a breath, the thudding of her heart jumping into her windpipe. “Why? All of Faerûn already knows what I’ve done.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Do you trust it?”

“Hmm?”

“The dream guardian. Do you trust it?” Gale persisted, biting softly into an impeccably made cheese sandwich.

Shaking herself from focusing on the shoddy stitchwork in her lap, Tav amusedly spied a couple breadcrumbs becoming lost in his unkempt beard “No? Hells, I don’t know. It certainly told us a convincing tale. What about you?”

“I typically like to err on the side of caution, but I’m in agreement with you: it did tell us a convincing tale. The fact that it conveyed nearly the same story to us through our dreamstate, makes me think we are its only hope. But, this could be yet another trick. Let us carry on and see what comes of this protector of ours for the present.”

Around them, a chilled breeze in the late afternoon warned of the beginning transition into sunset. The day had been wrought with conversations surrounding the group’s mutual restlessness about where the lines of reality and dreams blurred pertaining to the peculiar protector. Yet, there was no hesitance in expressing their heedfulness about Dreamy.

The wizard took another large chomp into his snack while he plopped down onto the crate, moaning in culinary bliss. “‘av, ‘o yoo wa’t ‘um? I’s ree’y goo’!” He excitedly said pointing at the sandwich with his mouth full.

“I’m sure it does taste good—judging by how loudly you’re chewing—but I’ll pass this time, Gale. Thank you,” she hastily replied, growing more frustrated with the lapse of her sewing needle determined to create a crooked line.

“Ah,” he hissed out, swallowing chunks of Waterdhavian down his hatch. “Honestly, all that’s missing is a bottle of Athkatlan clarry wine.”

“Bollocks! I can’t deal with this right now,” she huffed out, tossing the tailoring kit and torn shirt aside.

Gale turned to her, a fair amount of worry drooping his bark colored eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

How could she possibly ever explain everything to him? She could feel herself packed to the brim, ready to burst through those seams at any moment whenever she began to dwell. The tadpoles. Algos. This journey. The dream guardian. And whatever the fuck her involvement continued to be with Astarion, had her wound like a rubberband ball about to unsnap.

The bard lifted her knees to rest the side of her face against them. Her hair unplaited, captured the last chirps from the evening songbirds upon each strand blown in the wind. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

“The beginning may be as good a place as any. After what you did for me—standing for my honor against the others concerning the Netherese orb—listening is the least I could do for our troubled leader.”

Tav seriously pondered over his words. “You don’t owe me anything. None of you do. Being here is sufficient.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Is it? Sufficient—I mean.”

“What are you implying?” She asked with a hint of unease in her soft pitch.

Gale raised his head to peer out towards Wyll and Lae’zel preparing the evening campfire. “You know, when I locked myself up in my tower for that fretful year, I had nobody except for Tara,” he proceeded with his thoughts. “One full year waffling in my depression and consuming whatever magical items I could to stabilize this infestation in my chest. One full year of never reaching out to another to relinquish some of my misery, convincing myself it was my own burden to bear. Maybe I could have blamed some of my pridefulness on my lack of seeking another’s sympathy, but I will say, after I was captured by the mind flayers and took up with you all, I realized just how starved I was to share my struggles those that would have my best interest in heart.”

As she listened to the wizard’s voice—which reminded her of roasted chestnuts over a fire—attempting to lull her into a vulnerable place, Tav began to trace all their companion’s names in elvish Espruar letterings into the dirt. With each elegant curve she made, her index finger either thickened or thinned its script. She wondered if amongst her index finger’s fluidity imprinting these names into the ground, which of them—if any—could lay their hands over her metaphorically slumped body in an act to invoke a holy entity for her healing. Yet, her impulse to safeguard what was still left within her mortal heart took precedence, leaving her with bouts of emptiness where trusted connections should form.

Astarion had been right all along: nothing was holding her hostage except herself.

“What I’m trying to say is that perhaps it’s not me you wish to unload any of this haul of yours onto, but I have little doubt that a single one of us would turn you away if you wished to do so,” Gale ended, fixing his gaze on her.

Tav froze her mindless scribbles in the middle of drawing Astarion’s name. She lifted her head to gently grin at him. “You are singing to the bard here, Gale,” she replied, laughing at her own corny joke. “But know that it is never something to take personally. Maybe after I’ve found time to recharge, I can try to talk about the myriad of problems I always seem to have. Would that suffice?”

He patted her on the back, grunting a noise resembling a throaty “yes.”

Familiar post-mortem gouge, A lance through her vitals. Rearing bestial head, Close and closer it came, Scraping and howling to blow down the bricks to her castle walls. From high above the turrets, She would tearfully shoot the animal down. And then mourn its lifeless shape, For the offense of trying to see inside her.

“Ahem,” an unreserved voice cleared itself, announcing himself to them.

Astarion had arrived, leisurely walking by with his impossibly straight nose pointing down at a book in his hands. His loose curls relaxed along the nape of his neck as his chin tucked a little further into his chest.

Gale sat up straight in his seat, running a hand through his brown hair to find relief from the assaulting tresses tickling his face. “How many times has he passed by us now?”

“Three. He’s pouting and hoping I’ll change the terms of my arrangement with him,” Tav responded, sighing.

The vampire kept his garnet view studying the pages in his book. “You do realize I’m able to hear the two of you gossiping hens from here, don’t you?” He sneered.

“Hello again, Astarion,” Gale called out. “You’re sounding rather optimistic tonight. Is there anything we can do for you?”

Tav jumped to her feet before he could answer, dusting earth from her rear end. “Astarion, are you hungry? It’s been a bit since you’ve fed on me and it’s best if you’re healthy, especially given what we are facing tomorrow with the gith.”

Without lifting his head away from the book to glare at her, he waved her off disdainfully. “Sorry darling, but I think my palette is evolving to a taste that’s less…stale. But, I bid goodnight to everyone not named Gale.”

“Yes, well, please do let us know how we can inconvenience you yet again on your fourth stroll around here!” The wizard shouted as Astarion roamed away towards a set of archway ruins overlooking the mountainous valley.

Tav stared at his back as he left their vicinity, unsurprised by his reaction. She nipped at the inside of her cheek, ruminating on their last interaction during their spar. Did he believe she was trying to punish him with the boundaries she set? Their failed companionship was one item to gripe about, but overall, she wanted Astarion to survive with them with his freedom intact. Why couldn’t he see how much she cared—

Then, an idea struck her. Impulsive and dangerous. An exact counterbalance to her predicament undertaking his hunger.

Wiggling a dagger out from its sheath tied to her belt, she placed the sharp blade against her right forearm. “Gale, will you find me an empty bottle?”

He gawked at her. “Gods. Let me jot down that bloodletting is an active interest of yours. Whatever are you doing?”

“When a patient refuses to take their medication, it is usually hidden in their food or drink for their own benefit. If Astarion continues to be stubborn in his feedings, I’ll just have to concede to a different way in helping him. He’s not the only one that can tempt another,” she smirked, deciding on the proper area to slice.

Mouth agape, pupils larger than copper coins, Gale ran off to retrieve her request with his robes swishing fastidiously behind him. Almost instantaneously, he returned stumbling over his feet with an empty bottle, clean bandages, and a quartered-filled healing potion.

“Here, this should do. The healing potion should stop most of your bleeding, but not right away—hence the dressings.”

“Greatly appreciated,” Tav beamed. “Actually, this may go better if you could hold the bottle for me. If I die, be sure to let Shadowheart know I forced you to help with a charm spell before she resurrects me.”

Gale silently assented, pacing himself until he stood close enough to hold the container under her arm. “Tav, I realize this may be none of my business, but why even bother? I know you care about the man, but is it really worth continuing to sacrifice your own health for? For any of us really. Perhaps it’s best to leave him be.”

He made a lot of valid criticisms, but her memories of the past decade were a potent drug. Alone. Frightened. Traversing the lands with no support. Her name: a stain on her people and her family’s triumphs. Because of this, Tav vowed to herself and to the incorporeal buzzards circling overhead waiting for her collapse, that any person she became acquainted with would not have to face their suffering alone as she had.

The bard grit her teeth together, slowly cutting through several blood vessels in her arm. As her crimson dripped in hurried rivulets, she positioned the wound over the glass.

“No. I can’t do that to him,” Tav weighed in, starting to feel lightheaded. “Much like I said I wouldn’t abandon you, I won’t abandon him either. Gale, he needs to be given a real decent chance to live again so he can see what a good life can offer him. I don’t think he understands what that means and, gods help me, I’m determined to at least help push him in the right direction if it’s within my ability.”

A sympathetic expression washed over his face as he held tighter onto the small container while it filled with her ichor. “I didn’t before, but I think I slightly understand now why you protect him—us—as you do. You’re too good for this world and I pray Astarion sees what your compassion is capable of doing.”

“W-well, I don’t know about that,“ she timidly blushed, resheathing the blade while she scrambled to unravel the bandages to tie around the gash. “Mayhaps I am being preposterous, but I really believe Astarion has something good inside him that hasn’t had a chance to grow in 200 years. Imagine being forced to suppress your growth and emotions for that long in order to survive. Would it be so terrible of me to help him search for that?”

“Terrible? No. A damned lunatic? Yes.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Rosymorn Monastery Trail was a location that appeared suspended in time. Vast jagged mountainous rocks reaching high into the heavens above. Overgrown trees refused mercy to the ridges they shoved their roots into, leaving behind a surreal sight to behold. Built alongside the trail were shrines and statues dedicated to the dawn god Lathander—some in literal ruins, others standing proud. All forgotten. Left to nature’s decay.

The dusk showed the first presentations of celestial bodies over the breathtaking scenery, dimly twinkling as they labored to shine brightest through refracted streams of light. They reminded Tav of the vampire she was on foot to visit, peacocking his demeanor as if he wanted to be noticed while a preferred distance remained a tumultuous comfort.

In her hand, she clenched the bottle of her prepared blood, wondering how Astarion would receive the expiatory truce. Should he refuse, her defeat would be taken into the underworld, letting the spirits from their continued disputes roam the meadows of ordinary souls. Yet, if he accepted, even their united breath could help them conquer any that confronted them: gods; true souls; themselves.

Though Gale's earlier woes weren’t without merit, Astarion’s needs may extend beyond her remediable efforts. However, who ever genuinely tried? The tiniest granule of real unfettered hope could change everything for him—unlike Algos who believed fear was more powerful than hope.

Fucking Algos, she snarled to herself. In my dreams. In my thoughts. Even in the afterlife, you’ll never leave me be, will you?

Yet, being alone in the moment, permitted her to meditate on why her trances had been enthralled by her ex lover lately. Tav could never quite escape her nightmares germane to him, even after his death, but following the Nautiloid collision, they hounded her into turbulent—sometimes insomniac—nights. The only reason she could chalk up, had to be because her mind was trying to warn her of the similarities between Algos and Astarion: self-serving, manipulative, at times cruel, and far too concerned with outward appearances. Comparative personality quirks, yes, but weren’t they used for different tactics? It was palpable what Algos’s intentions were, but for Astarion, Tav suspected it was a way to survive.

Conversely, Astarion was the only one between the two men that had treated her as an actual human being despite his historical flaws. He respected her autonomy, although he loved to disagree with her. When she announced her boundaries, he didn’t barge through them to control her, but instead insisted she didn’t put up enough of them—at least when it came to anyone other than him, that scoundrel. Most of all, he never took anything from her unless she agreed to it.

To Astarion, perhaps these actions meant naught to him other than some part of his personal moral compass he routinely enacted. Whereas for Tav, these were exhibitions of consideration for her well-being that he may never understand what they truly meant to her.

Maybe she really was a lunatic. Maybe she was some idiot who couldn't help but to throw herself into another man’s haunted house. Or maybe her muddled head was overthinking too many disorderly thoughts that she failed to notice her arrival at the wrecked archway attached to what was left of an abandoned sanctuary.

Shivers prickled down her spine while she briskly searched the area for any evidence that the spawn was closeby. “Astarion, are you here?”

Over crumbling and desolate blanched stones, she anchoraged herself with the foundation of her lower body. The bard’s eartips perked up, attuning to the awakening eve’s sonances. Save for the mating cricket chirps, it was pleasantly silent. She walked through the open arch, peering out towards the empty cliff behind the building.

“‘Starion?” Tav whispered.

“Ah, and thus does the bouquet arrive to offer unto me chastisements for biting words,” a nasally voice odically narrated on the other side of a neglected wall holding the arches afloat.

“Oh my gods!” She yelped out in surprise, nearly dropping the vessel of her sanguine fluid.

He was leaning casually back against the ruinous wall with his eyes peacefully shut, letting her ogle bluish thin capillaries webbing his lids. The black and plum coat he often wore was unbuckled, opened wide, revealing a plunging neckline above his usual ruffly shirt underneath. And, oh, did the moonlight ever decide to accentuate the forbidden dips of his collarbone and pointed jawline right when her gaze fluidly crossed his path.

Tav’s view dropped away, cheeks reddened as if she had caught him in an intimate moment. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over vampires' corpselike stillness,” she noted with a jittery chuckle, coming down from her adrenaline spike.

The vampire’s right eye opened, appraising her gestures as he inhaled heavily through his nostrils. “Are you wounded? You smell like you’ve been doused in your own blood.”

“Something like that,” she confirmed, lifting up the bottle and confidently pushing it in his direction. “A peace offering.”

“A potion? Darling, you shouldn’t have! How did you know this is what I’ve always wanted?” Astarion mocked in annoyance, pushing off the wall to grip the bottom of the glass.

Tav shook her head. “Not a potion. Open it.”

He skeptically gaped at her as he popped the cork out. A single sniff into the dense bottled air, bathed his expression in euphoric and ravenous delight. The tips of his fangs glistened with a string of saliva connecting one of them to his tongue when his mouth fell open. Low groans, short and reverberating, slipped out, leaving the woman’s heart fluttering.

Seconds passed before he spoke, his accent thickly laced with hunger. “What did you do?” He mumbled, bringing his sight to level with hers.

Tav removed her hand from the object, allowing its heft to nest in his grasp. “The day after you told me you were a vampire, we made an agreement for you to drink my blood as needed. This may be an unconventional method to do so, but I mean to uphold what I promised to you regardless of what’s going on between us.”

“Where?” He breathed out.

“Where what?”

“Where did you cut yourself open?”

She held up her forearm, hidden from view by her long-sleeved blouse. “It doesn’t hurt much; I drank half of a healing potion to stop the bleeding. I wanted to catch up with you before it chilled, but I can always go see Shadowheart later on to close it up properly.”

Astarion narrowly squinted at her arm, then back to her shy simper.

“Don’t do this again. Not for me; not for anyone. If I need your blood, I’ll feed from you when the others are around—per your suggestion,” he firmly stated, frowning.

Like a hallucinogenic taking effect, there was a waxing vagrancy in his eyes. Tav assumed some recollections of his chronological life, where the electric wirings in his brain became polluted, had swam through his cerebral nerves.

This was not the reaction she had anticipated. Tinges of guilt cratered themselves in her stomach, like bombs being dropped onto the ground. Amid their last tiff, Astarion had been absolutely resilient—dubious even—when Tav proposed a new feeding arrangement due to his disassociating incidents. Why did he suddenly change his mind?

She resisted sinking her teeth into her lip. “Have I upset you? I’m sorry if—”

He combed his thieving fingers through his fluffed coif, ending with a sigh. “You haven’t upset me, songbird.”

Tav stuffed her hands into her back pockets, avoiding his unreadable guise. She didn’t want to explore his response further. “Okay, good. That's good."

Loud barking at the camp’s site, saved her from the awkward silence they were wallowing inside. Someone shrieked—possibly Wyll—at Scratch for stealing their underclothes off the temporary clothesline they erected. The distracted bard merrily puffed away a chuckle, imagining the feisty dog darting through their tents with a pair of shorts in his muzzle.

As she directed her attention back towards Astarion, swift torrents from her bottled crimson cascaded into his gullet as he swallowed. Her lips were consumed with a warm smile as she watched visible glowing pinks tint his pallored skin from her blood filling his body. Engrossed by the sight of him, Tav allowed a single memory of teeth marks and tongue frisks branding her. She introspectively touched the side of her neck, finding that she missed the two punctures that had mended.

Astarion wiped his mouth, gingerly swiping up blood droplets. “Something wrong?”

Using her wit as a deterrent from her gawking, the songstress deflected. “N-Nothing. Well, not nothing, but I was just thinking about something I haven’t told you yet. Do you think you can keep a secret?”

His lips curled impishly. “Entrusting a vampire with your secrets? What an objectively brainless thing to do.”

Like a bullet cleaving the wind, she speedily thought of a ridiculous, yet honest fact about her.

Besides, it couldn’t hurt to be a little open with him.

She innocently studied him under gossamer lashes as he ingested another red mouthful. “Urm, well, you were also my first…”

“What?!” He coughed up after gulping a huge liquidy glob.

“…in a decade,” Tav giggled, breaking her previous act. “You were the first man I’ve slept with since my ex.”

“Bloody hells! Had I a functional heart, I think it would have seized just now.”

It wasn’t that she hadn’t been propositioned during her ten year drought. On the contrary, plenty of men—sometimes women—pledged marriages, endless wealth, distinguished titles, even rare treasures, to have her company in their personal quarters since her last relationship flatlined. Compelling words they undulated into the flue of her ear about tasting her skin until she would give her heart to them. Oaths to help her become the most famous bard in Toril, like enticing wildfires from treacherous tongues.

But, none of it mattered to Tav. She already knew she couldn’t trust them. They never offered her what she wanted—what she needed. Never bothering to unfasten even a fraction of her armor to see what was moored underneath. All her fragility and sorrow waiting to be exposed like a creature sliced open upon a taxidermist’s table.

Until she met Astarion and he saw right through the remnants she tried to mask.

Astarion swigged the rest of the bottle’s contents, releasing a pleased keen. “Call me a scamp all you want, but if you had asked me to deflower you, I would have at least treated you to a romantic dinner of half-eaten apples and stale bread beforehand,” he teased, spryly reaching out to brush the back of his knuckles along her jaw.

She playfully pushed his furled fingers away. “Knave!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you have preferred tenderized lamb shank and white wine?” He taunted, examining his spread fingers out in front of him. “Our options are clearly limited to a more—bleh—provincial lifestyle.”

Laughing, she lightly thudded her back against the wall, pulling fountains of hair over her shoulder. Astarion mirrored the elf, resting his body next to hers, shoulders inches apart. Their breaths tapered into steady and mellow flows, each trying to match the other.

“So, was your ex love your first?” He curiously asked after a time, wiggling his brows.

“No, thank the gods,” Tav informed. “Aah, my first was a young elven man. A sailor visiting his family in Highmoon. It happened so fast, I barely remember anything from it aside from the, ahem, initial pain. He was sweet and a gentleman, so I suppose it could have been worse.”

“Tsk. Had it been me, I would have taken my time with you.”

She blushed, clasping her hands together nervously. “What about you? Who was your first?”

Astarion’s face tensed. “I can’t remember,” he said softly.

Tav looked at the ground somberly, saddened he may never regain his memories. Her guts burned thinking about what Cazador took from him and how, when they finally reached Baldur’s Gate, the vampire lord would not even have the chance to knock at his true death’s door.

The spawn shifted, placing a loose fist under his chin in thought. “Ten years without so much as a single caress, huh? No wonder you were so…,” he trailed off.

“So, what?”

“...sensitive.”

“Gods, I should’ve taken that one to my grave,” Tav lamented, florid embarrassment heating tender skin down the length of her ear from pointed tip to lobe.

Astarion laughed at her, showing his upper row of teeth. “With my ravishing looks and debonair, bedding me was bound to happen either way.”

“That’s not why—you know that’s not why I slept with you, right?” She replied tilting her head at him as she crossed her foot one in front of the other. “Being intimate with you actually came as a bit of a surprise to me.”

He rotated his head, focusing on her with roguish eyes aglow. “Okay, I’ll bite. If you would like to do the honors of fluffing my ego, why choose me to be your first after all that time?”

Before sleeping with Astarion, Tav undeniably missed having sex. How its divinity left her with stains bordering a perverted religious baptism of climaxing deaths. Or the aftermath that granted venerated connection in the arms of a lover—its carnality secondary to the special bond that had formed.

Though she discovered through their brief reverie that they may not have been meant for each other, the bard confessed she had wished for more with Astarion. Yes, she had every justifiable reason to abhor the man—especially with how he had hurt her—but Tav could not forget how he made her feel like she wasn’t a ruined afterthought and that her heart could stir once more. There lay something bittersweet, full of acceptance and forgiveness, in those insights as she clung so tightly to those whirl-winded emotions. With everything that they had been through already, she knew death’s hand could claim their lives at any moment with no pardons for a final eulogy of contrition. Knowing this, Tav wanted to absolve them from their mistakes and animosity towards each other in order to move forward with grace.

Under the cosmos, they connected by flesh. Lonely wanderers: drifting, searching, waiting to be free. Under the cosmos, they did part. Runaways still enslaved by scars of old stones.

She gazed up at the stars. “I think I may have made a mistake in somehow making you believe I only wanted sex from you, and for that, I sincerely apologize. You are attractive. You are a fantastic lover. But, that’s not all you are. When I mentioned that we needed to get to know each other better before we were intimate, I wasn’t lying. I wanted to learn about you as a person.”

Twisting her neck, Tav swept her stormy mist-filled eyes up the scope of his neck, directly meeting his widened ruby stare. “Despite the fact that your behavior has done harm and makes me want to trim off those gorgeous curls of yours sometimes, I still can’t imagine completing this pilgrimage without you. We may be better suited to stay friends, but ‘Starion, I want to believe I can trust you to have my back as I have yours. Without trust, we have nothing.”

For several beats, Astarion did not move. She observed as his pupils dilated and undilated, battling through miles of his ageless carnage. Then, he blinked at her. Once. Twice. Until his chest inhaled her scent into him.

He cleared his throat, weary creases returning to his forehead. “You want to shave my head?”

“Only in theory or when you’ve angered me.”

“Not like I needed to trance with one eye open from now on or anything, you horrid thing,” he retorted smoothly.

Tav simpered stupidly at him, laying her index finger against his lips to quiet him. “Could we sit here in silence for a little while and watch the stars?”

Astarion silently nodded, depositing a faint smile she couldn’t see, into the heavens above.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Notes:

Elvish name: Tavelle Etriel'kerymaera = Lady Swordsong

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 tav #tav #epistles of saints & sinners #smut #slow burn #astarion fanfic #astarion acunin #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fanfic #bard tav #spawn astarion #bg3 smut #bg3 soulmates #soulmates #soulmate marks #female tav #fem!tav

[at-thezenith]

writeblr intro

hi! i’m hel, i have a ba in creative writing & film, and i’m currently studying a publishing masters. i am currently creating a drive of my notes from this degree, you can find that post here.

i love sff, literary fiction, and anything kind of weird. my favourite series is the wayfarers by becky chambers, a sf series that has fantastic worldbuilding, alien societies, complex inter-species relations, and just a whole lot of beautiful writing.

my main wip is called the faery children, a broody, morally grey fantasy story about elemental witches, which you can read about here. 

i have just started outlining/drafting a short story called baby, let the band keep playing, we’ll keep swinging ‘til last call. you can read about it here and here.

i’m an editor (unprofessional)! i love reading other people’s work and am always looking to help people with their own writing. if you're interested you can contact me on here. i have experience with essays, fiction and non-fiction articles, and i have spent the last two years as an editor on a creative arts magazine.

i also beta read! that does not need to be sought after on a separate site, feel free to drop me a message or an ask and i will quite literally drop everything to read something. fully not joking.

i would love to make more writer friends of any form or genre :) ask and tag game friendly!!

#writers on tumblr #queer writers #writeblr #writeblr intro #writing community

[regular-gnome]

do the archivists speak dutch?? lmao. now im curious how their names would translate

Iiiits more that I speak dutch and gave the twins nicknames not really expecting anyone to ask about them:P and found it funny to consider they would rather make nicknames from numbers than decide on individual name

But as for the translation of the titles, Dutch and English are from the same language family, so they sound pretty similar, with only really two names being different. Anatomist would translate to Anatoom and Wayfarer to Reiziger; Architect and Curator are the same in both languages. In the ofical translation of the series, the name for Collector wasn't changed, anddd with all my love for Dutch, I think its better than Verzamelaar

On how everyone experiences languages, my take is that on the Isles, there is a variation of some common language with different dialects between islands that can be understood universally. With societies divided by the sea, it's a great environment for the language to differentiate, but there are Titans that are able to walk between them and communicate with, and since they are a very important part of the cultures, the language would reflect that. After the titans were gone gaps were closed by sea voyage. At least, that's how I would explain why witches from the Boiling Isles and Titan Trapper Island understood each other. Titans have their own language too, which is separate from the common tongue, but they only use it among themselves.

As for Archivists, they travel between a lot of places that don't really share a tonge or planet but still somehow communicate with mortal beings. My take on that is pretty generic: they have a magic that allows for it. In the encode-decode model of communication, it's like a spell that covers code and channel parts. The exact wording doesn't matter that much, the meaning is received. It's a bit like reading a book in another language or watching a show; sometimes you don't remember in which language it was or wording, but you still remember the information conveyed

For the comic format, language barriers don't play a very big role, mostly because everything takes place in a pretty small territory and because I write everything in English to avoid confusion:P

#If the story was written in polish there would be some sweet kaszubski and śląski incorporated #my brain just went with Titans speak something like Interslavic and diffrent islands are the slavic languages but do not take it to heartxD #ask #the owl house #titan trappers #toh titans #toh archivists

[koshercosplay]

one of the (many) things that resonated with me after reading the Wayfarers series by Becky Chambers (if you haven't read them yet, GO READ THEM) is Ouloo's opinion on the exhaustion of political activism vs taking the easy way out and letting others do the work for you.

she wants to live a quiet life, and she wants people to stop killing each other. that's the extent of her politics. she doesn't know the complexities of the political landscape of the galactic commons in which she lives, nor is she obligated to become an expert in it: fundamentally, she wants people to get along, and she wants to serve them cake, and she does her best to live her life in exactly those terms. when she's confronted with her own biases, she works doubly hard on herself to overcome them, because her existence is dominated by that one, very very simple thing: be kind to others. some of the other characters look down at her for it, saying it's naive, that the world can't be made better with cake, that if she really cared she'd do something more tangible about it.

but I think there's something really valuable in that mindset. I want to be kind to others, and I want others to get along. I don't have the answers to all of the political questions in our society. but also, I don't have to. not everyone is capable of being loud and angry. I go through so much anxiety and stress, worrying that I'm not doing enough, I'm not loud enough, I'm not doing my part to change the world we live in, what if I'm just being lazy?

sometimes living your own life gently and with kindness and interacting with others from a place of love is enough. we need both kinds of people in the world. and sometimes gentle people get loud, and sometimes loud people need gentleness.

not having all the answers all the time is okay. worrying is not activism. anxiety is not activism. you are allowed to take care of your body and mind.

#this series also singlehandedly made me do a complete 180 on the subject of sex work #but thats another post #thoughts #rambling #feel free to reblog but dont clown #wayfarers #becky chambers #the long way to a small angry planet #a closed and common orbit #the galaxy and the ground within #record of a spaceborn few

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Since you mentioned Becky Chambers, do you know anything that comes close to the vibe of the Wayfarers or the Monk and Robot series? Not necessarily sci-fi but definitely with worldbuilding. I’ve been looking all over and can’t find anything that comes close

okay, here's my absolute best rec: check out C.L. Polk's Witchmark and its sequels, Stormsong and Starsoul! it's gaslamp fantasy rather than sci-fi, but similarly cozy. the books are about horrors of empire and exploitation, but I've also seldom encountered novels where the characters take such care to make sure that everyone is fed and well-rested. there's a ton of worldbuilding, with stratified magical society and international politics and a whole other world of fey, but it's also very focused up on a tight-knit crew of main characters and their personal struggles alongside their efforts to solve mysteries and enact change in their world. also, there are some devastatingly cute romances along the way!

#bookblr

[idrellegames]

im not sure if this was the intention, but i just wanted to say as someone with a chronic pain condition that affects how i function in society, i really appreciate the level of thought and care that goes into exploring how the wayfarers all function in a world that is not catered towards them. it's very cathartic to see similar things i experience in media and i so rarely find things exploring it beyond the surface level.

Thanks, anon!

I have talked about this before, but I can't find where on my blog the ask is buried. Being a Wayfarer - or lacking magic - in this world is, I suppose, a metaphor for living in a world that is not made for people like you. When we get a little further into the story, you'll see how this extends to not just the main character and Aeran, but also to characters like Felix, who has low levels of magic and is put in a place where he makes some very difficult decisions to "fix" the issue at hand because he feels he has to conform to the societal ideal.

The further I get into this project, the more I find it does resonate with topics like chronic illness and you're not the first player to make those connections. It wasn't intentional from the start, but it is a by-product of thinking about the worldbuilding and following through on how a society that uses magic for everything (to the point where it's built into their infrastructure) would be for someone who cannot use those systems. I don't want to go into my own experiences here, but there are elements that resonate very deeply on a personal level.

I am glad it is cathartic for you. 💗

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #answered

[townesorsomething]

a couple beloveds! i actually started putting together what i thought bertbert looked like BEFORE getting to the line about sygians not being fish people, but i was just too attached to how i had been envisioning her, so now you get anglerfish light bertiluna ok? ok. glad we’re on the same page.

also, shout out to my partners ( @ashbyyyrose + @the-murder ) for this one! ashby has been taking notes on the different species in the midnight-burger-verse, which was helpful, and crow has been having Very Academic Debates with me about headcanons for Truskan society (especially how gender vs sex works for them) and also about which of our interpretations for how they look is right (he thinks they’re bug critters which is fun too, but i’m stuck on them looking kind of like the aandrisks from the Wayfarers novel series <- if you like MB you should read those)

#my art #rambling about stuff again teehee #midnight burger #midnight burger fanart #young leif #young leif fanart #bertiluna young leif #bertbert young leif #bertbert #dez young leif #dez

[timemachineyeah]

A thing I love about Becky Chambers Record of a Spaceborn Few in the Wayfarers series is how she depicts a moneyless space community of future earth refugees with no requirement to labor to have all your needs met and they obviously still have work and they obviously still have sex workers. And that’s just incorporated into the community and not even particularly notable to the people. Like, of course some people have a job of offering sex to people who just want sex. Of course some people just want sex with the understanding that’s all it is.

There’s lots of work I think wouldn’t exist without capitalism. Capitalism requires overproduction, making and doing well beyond what is needed or often even wanted - creating artificial demand, artificial scarcity, bullshit jobs.

But the desire for sex is older than humanity itself. And people’s needs and desires will be there no matter what system we make.

Part of the reason I can never be a SWERF is that when I ask myself, “in a society where everyone’s survival needs are met, everyone has community, everyone has safety, would there still be sex work?” the answer is clearly yes. There would still be people who benefit from safe consensual no-strings-attached sex, and there would still be people who get personal fulfillment by offering that to all comers when they feel able to. And they would clearly establish a structure for making that happen, just probably one safer and more straightforward than what we’ve got.

Sex is the one desire or need we say has to be filled by close personal relationships. We’re fine outsourcing for food, for hobbies, even for conversation and emotional support. We aren’t expected to get all of that just from our closest friends and family. Of course outsourcing our sex lives would also appeal to some. And of course offering that would be a skill some people work hard to develop and take pride in providing.

Sex work is mangled by capitalism just like all work is, but it’s valid valuable work. Treating the workers or their patrons as uniformly victims or villains is deeply misunderstanding what it means to be in a human society that accommodates our humanity.

#timemachine wuz here

[wayfaresociety]

Bookish Things

2023 OCT-DEC

Currently Reading

Yes! Magazine: Growth (2023 Fall)

Decolonizing Design Elizabeth Tunstall

Read & Rated

The Tenant Class Ricardo Tranjan

TBR

Speculative Futures Johanna Hoffman

Homo Deus Yuval Noah Harari

Watershed Sentinel: Water = Life (2023 Summer)

Colour Key: POST LINKS, GGL LINKS, WEB LINKS

#solarpunk #hopepunk #decolonization #anticapitalism #community building #tbr #book review #books and libraries #wayfarer society #activism #culture #urban design #environmentalism #social justice #We will keep this list pinned and updated as often as possible #ref

[rebelichor]

MEDIEVAL

Ariadne Xeha Nihilis of the noble house Deleoux, first of her name, firstborn twin. Daughter of bravery, skies and tide. Forged of ichor and blood. Demigoddess of unseen forces. Naa of Xe tribe.

Ariadne is all that she is and all that she will become because of her twin brother, Vergil. Like ebb and flow, they maintain balance, and together they are stronger.

Ariadne is known across the Kinglands as the silver witch. It is a cold reputation, one that plays on peoples fear of the unknown. She is a master of that which the eye cannot see... What her reputation fails to acknowledge is the one behind it. The girl. Ariadne. The world is cruel but she is not. She seeks to be fair. To be honest. To have a merciful heart. However, the walls she has built around herself are a fortress, and she herself fears her own power, of losing control. It is better to keep the world at arms length with a reputation that pushes others away.

With maturity, she becomes a wayfarer with an adventurers heart, wishing to explore the world and to seek out knowledge whether it's yet to be found or long forgotten. Ariadne has documented several star maps with her celestial navigation, surveyed the flora and fauna of distant lands, and explored ruins from ages long since passed. Throughout her lifetime she expands the trade of goods across the waters, discovers natural medicines, and has hand written invaluable tomes for the scholars of her age.

Maternal grandparents Mahasra, goddess of the oceans. The Tidemother and patron goddess of Galahd. Celebrated for her fierce battle prowess and nurturing heart, she is a symbol for warriors and close family ties. Respect and maintaining balance is key. Galahdan's often warn fellow seafarers about only ever taking what is needed from the ocean and nothing more, else Mahara will reclaim the debt from seawrecks and catastrophic waves.

Xe, god of the night sky. Best known as simply the moon god, he is multifaceted — flamboyant with stars upon his skin and moonlight braided in his hair, the life of the party, full of laughter and mischief. But behind the mask that makes him difficult to read, he feels, and he feels deeply. His most devoted followers make home in the Tribelands, in a tribe of his namesake.

Mother Xemos, first of house Nihilis, goddess of eclipses, shadows, and dark tides. Xemos is as feared as they are misunderstood. They are a goddess of the road less traveled, of the unknown, and what has yet to be explored. They were not the first of the Reborn Pantheon to choose a life among mankind, but they are among the first to fully integrate into human society and remain within the mortal realm. Those who move within the shadows pray to Xemos — the downtrodden, the persecuted, and the criminal.

Paternal grandparents Menrva, goddess of the sky. Also known as the Skymother or Queen of the Gods. Though she is the most well known of all the gods and goddesses, little is known about her. She is a distant goddess, and deeply private, though surprisingly this has only served to elevate her status among mankind. Menrva ushered in a new age — having traveled from a dying star, she led fellow gods and goddesses to a new home. They were all young, minors among the Primordial Pantheon, and they made the heartbreaking decision to leave their dying home. To leave what was left of their families who refused to flee out of fear they would become dead without rest. To defy the end of days for a hope of another tomorrow. For this, Menrva is praised as a radiant leader among her peers, her word is law, and her law is absolute. The Kinglands pray to one Goddess for guidance, and she is always depicted with a solar crown.

Lazarus, former head of the noble house Deleoux, also known as the crownless King, whose selfless deeds elevated him to that of a folk hero of his age. Grounded and chivalrous, he was the mortal Prince who fell in love with Menrva and sought to prove himself worthy of her affection. There are those that confuse his tale as that of a man who sought godhood, when he stripped himself of his birthright to inherit his father's crown, and when he sold his material possessions to found the humble beginnings of the home of scholars, he did so for betterment of people, all people, not only the rich.

Father Lazentis Deleoux, demigod of order and divine protector of mankind. He is the first and the only child of Menrva and Lazarus, a golden child among gods and mortals. Before he drew his first breath he had impossible standards expected of him, and he will strive until his dying day to not only meet, but to exceed each and every one of them. He is a gentleman and a perfectionist whose work is never done, but do not test his patience or good will. He has the kind of stern gaze that can cut a person down without so much as a word. Lazentis is best known among scholars and knights, he receives few prayers because those that look to him look for the strength of his convictions.

#this artwork is the sketch form of a paid commission #art credit: ana1984 #one day I will upload the finished version with better listed credits #but today I will flood the dash with my fever dream typing as a self treat #art #Ariadne #headcanon #verse; medieval #tw long post #Vergil #Mahasra #Xe #Xemos #Menrva #Lazarus #Lazentis

[ottiliere]

what are your go-to resources for phantom blood fashion historical accuracy...... ...

ok I'm glad you asked this because I've been writing up a whole other post on dio's fashion sense and i wasn't sure how much of the period's fashion trends to explain since I didn't want to make an assumption that nobody knows anything about late victorian fashion. this will be a good reference post for me...and you... and anyone else who wants to use it.

regardless; I hate to say it but the best way to start drawing period clothing is to do a little reading on the fundamentals of [late] victorian dress because it will seriously assist you in the long run, e.g., you won't have to scratch your head and spend time wondering why you keep coming across two different lapel types on tailcoat fashion plates if you're aware that both peak tips and shawl collars were in vogue in the late 1880s and the '90s.

I'll put some basic information that I've collected for myself here so you don't have to go looking for it; I'm going to write this assuming you're a newborn baby deer poking your nose into the victorian era for the first time in your life fully unaware of the customs.

reference links for the wayfarer so you don't have to scroll all the way to the bottom:

Etiquette books. Look for anything written in the 80s/90s; again, period trends change. There's usually always a section on how men should be dressing on different occasions (weddings, funerals, daily casual travel, etc.) in these. In an ideal world one would only have to reference books written/published in London, however I've found that there are many more from US. This is fine though IMO, there was a lot of cross-talk between countries due to the implementation of the telegraph and hence a lot of etiquette standards are "universal" (it's why fashion between EU/US/AU can look pretty similar at the same time--they were all talking to each other). If there's a difference between the "New York" way of doing things and the "London" way of doing things, the authors usually point this out. kind of funny. I love reading these, they're also very good for understanding the general quirks of late Victorian society and how the standards at the time characterize their behavior.

The National Portrait Gallery (link is an advanced search; you can change the dates. I set the results to be located in "london")

Victoria & Albert museum online gallery

The Met museum online gallery (in general for clothes on mannequins, but they also list an archive of fashion plates here, separated by year. A lot of them are misfiled though so be wary of that)

Alamy website. genuinely one of the most all-encompassing resources I've used, I use it for everything and especially when I'm into period pieces. "boy 188*" "man 1880s portrait" "man 188* suit" etc. you find a lot of illustrations from the time period this way too. it fucking rules. my computer is on the brink of crashing 24/7 because I keep too many alamy tabs open at all times. A lot of really good Vanity Fair illustrations are on here too, just plug it in with a year and see what pops up.

Sites like this (Gentleman's Gazette) with little articles giving a run-down of period clothing can be helpful...... to an extent. idk. I don't really trust them. GG is solid for the most part and so is The Black Tie Blog and Victorian Web, but I've spotted too many errors on other sites to trust anything they say wholesale. Fashion Institute of Technology is worth mentioning as well, though, despite their coverage on men's fashion being pretty brief. Goes by decade, though, with a lot of information on women/children's fashion, too (it's very interesting! I linked their 1880s fashion rundown, highly recommend going through it, especially the Aestheticism segment). TL;DR: My advice when it comes to website hopping is "stick with primary sources".

How to Read a Suit (A Guide to Changing Men’s Fashion from the 17th to the 20th Century) by Lydia Edwards. Look this up on libgen. It's broken down into chunks of decades; REAAALLLYY recommend reading the introduction to "Chapter 4: 1860-1899". Probably the most historically informative consolidation of relevant fashion information in one place. Very interesting writing, pretty short too. If you're gonna read one thing out of this whole list, make it this.

The Dictionary of Fashion History by Valerie Cumming. look this up on libgen. for when you don't understand what some article or book is talking about and google will not give you answers. as it is it wont to do. (could not wrap my head around top frocks until this point; the wikipedia article for it is quite frankly embarrassing.)

here's my google drive of fashion for this time period, I had just been keeping these on local folders but I think drive would be better so I started transferring them here... compiled myself. this is a "work in progress" and will be updated.

I am going to write a bit about men's fashion at the time period under the cut because I think it's important to understand, if you don't know much about the victorian period, that the dress decorum was heavily emphasized and if you wore the wrong ensemble in the wrong setting everyone WOULD think you were ill-bred and would not invite you back into their home again. because just seeing you exist like that was impolite and quite frankly very embarrassing to witness. these resources are great but not if you don't know where and when these guys would be wearing these things... for instance i know the fashion plate archive there are some drawings of men in livery and you may be tempted to put dio in something like this because WOW! they do look kind of cool. with the big brass buttons... but I think he would more readily batter another human being physically than dress up like a butler at a dinner party and get mistaken for a butler. it's the little things.

first thing: you were expected to dress differently for different times of day. This consists of: morning dress, afternoon dress (semi-formal; not really "mandatory" except at special events, like weddings, at least for men), and evening dress (anything past 6 o'clock or "by candle light" is the general rule).

here are overview excerpts from Modern Etiquette in Public and Private published by Frederick Warne and Co. in 1887:

and excerpts from The Complete Bachelor: Manners for Men by Walter Germain, written in 1896:

Cecil B. Hartley states in his Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness (1860) that "by dress we show our respect for society at large, or the persons with whom we are to mingle".

He advised men that there were “shades of being ‘dressed;’ and a man is called ‘little dressed,’ ‘well dressed,’ and ‘much dressed,’ not according to the quantity but the quality of his coverings.”

Black was "the" color. As Lydia Edwards writes in How to Read a Suit (2020), "while it is unrealistic to imagine that all men everywhere only wore black, the acceptable color palette was certainly more limited at this point than it had been for the first half of the century. The rising professional middle classes seemed to embrace a centuries-old association with black for certain professions, which perhaps made this an inevitable choice for the evolving and expanding world of work in the nineteenth century."

I'm going to add illustrations now; humbly request you ignore how terrible the paint canvases i threw things in. Things to note moving forward:

there were three different types of shirt collars in vogue at the time: stiff, high stand collars that hugged your neck, wing-tip collars, and one that's closer to the "regular" collars you typically see nowadays (banker collar). don't really see the last one in any of the fashion plates but you do see it in portraits.

Do note that walking sticks were commonplace and in fact expected to be touted around, hence why they (in addition to umbrellas) keep reappearing in the illustrations;

(1890)

Frock coats were the most "formal" of the daywear. When going through the National Portrait Gallery website you'll notice that most men are wearing either a morning coat or frock coat; the lounge coat was still too informal to be considered for how much money you'd spend to get a photograph taken. Don't you want to look nice?

Lounge suits, again, were the ultimate "informal"; they were viewed with distain by the frock-coat. (here's a good thread on this, actually; i love this fucking guy lol). really, really don't think Dio would be wearing one that often. maybe a double-breasted one? i really think he's too much of a snob to wear what he sees as filthy poor people rags. appearance is everything, etc.

~~~

waistcoats you have a lot of freedom/liberty with, at least in regard to design (except for evening waistcoats). different lapel shapes, no lapels... unfortunately shifting into the later decades of the 19th century it was pretty much expected that the fabric of your waistcoat match the fabric of your suit (along with your trousers; called a "ditto suit"). jonathan would conform to this mode IMO, i don't think it stops dio. he has a vision & his waistcoats are likely very extensively detailed. actually I just remembered that we do see one as depicted by araki's tenuous grasp of historical fashion and it is. awesome. i, too, love to wear cravats directly underneath my shirt

(1891 / 1892)

~~~

Evening dress is (comparatively) much more simple & men had much less artistic freedom in their choice of dress: black tailcoat, white gloves, white tie, waistcoat in either black or white, black button boots. Regardless, it was its own beast in the fact that this was something that you really weren't supposed to dick around with. (Dio would've found a way, but that's a discussion for a post that isn't crashing every 3 minutes.) From A Gentleman by Maurice Francis Egan (1893):

If a young man is invited to a dinner or to a great assembly in any large city, he must wear a black coat. A gray or colored coat worn after six o’clock in the evening, at any assembly where there are ladies, would imply either disrespect or ignorance on the part of the wearer. In most cities he is expected to wear the regulation evening dress, the “swallow-tail” coat of our grandfathers, and, of course, black trousers and a white tie. In London or New York or Chicago a man must follow this last custom or stay at home. He has his choice. The “swallow-tail” coat is worn after six o’clock in the evening, never earlier, in all English-speaking countries.

(1885 (misfiled) / 1888 / 1888 / 1890)

MET evening suit ca. 1888; different aspects of the ensemble displayed solo at this link.

In the 80s the "dinner jacket" ("tuxedo" in US) was introduced. It was used for more informal occasions.

final evening dress "tips":

~~~

Outerwear was pretty varied… you can get a pretty wide dynamic of form depending on choice of coat, so keep that in mind. chesterfields tended to be pretty formless, top frocks a bit more fitted. Length/density would change depending on season, too.

~~~

Children's fashion:

end notes:

everyone would be wearing suspenders, not belts; belts were pretty much only worn with military uniform at this time (except in america)

sweater vests were really only considered sportswear until the first few decades of the 1900s. they would not be wearing these casually under jackets, they'd be wearing waistcoats

button boots were buttoned using a special button hook. video demonstration

NOTE: trousers being "creased" began to be more in vogue in the 90s; this is because they finally invented the trouser press. read article for more information--you sometimes see creases in the 80s, really not before then though. look at how they bunch at the knee (c.1880s)!

When it comes to gloves, different colors denoted different occasions to wear them. In the text screenshots provided in previous sections, it usually states which colors are appropriate for whichever situation. The paragraph I am about to end this on is relatively useless, but I thought I'd include it anyway:

#ask #dio brando #jonathan joestar #phantom blood #I make myself sick going through fashion plates and the costume archives on museum websites identifying dio outfits regularly #that one image in the frock coat graphic reminds me so much of jeremy strong...kendall will get his day on ottiliere someday. but not today #I'll probably add to this post as I remember or discover more things to add. we're all on a journey of learning...together #posts that crashed one million times while editing #there was a lot more I wanted to add to this but every time i click something in here the entire post crashes. so i am leaving it #also FYI: i don't have a degree in this or nothing. I am a hobbyist victorian enthusiast. don't think anything is wrong in here especially #considering I cite sources but yaknow. <-disclaimer

[bethanydelleman]

I recently learned about the existence of George Sand from Tumblr, so obviously I had to read one of her books. I just came across one of the most cuttingly cynical and unfortunately true paragraphs in literature:

Do you know what they call an honest man in the provinces? He is a man who does not encroach on his neighbor's field; who does not demand from his debtors a sou more than they owe him; who raises his hat to every person who bows to him; who does not ravish maidens in the public roads; who sets fire to no other man's barn; who does not rob wayfarers at the corner of his park. Provided that he religiously respects the lives and purses of his fellow-citizens, nothing more is demanded of him. He may beat his wife, maltreat his servants, ruin his children, and it is nobody's business. Society punishes only those acts which are injurious to it; private life is beyond its jurisdiction. - Indiana, George Sand

Damn girl!

(I don't know if this paragraph is better in French, unfortunately I can only read in English so I'll be reading her translated works)

#george sand #indiana #french literature #1830s #far more sad than Austen #kind of feels like Maria Edgeworth? #But I am really loving it so far #not Austen

[nellasbookplanet]

hello, have you read any science fiction or fantasy novels written in the past 10 years where the government is actively trying to improve the lives of its citizens? (and not in a creepy “we think they’re being helpful but actually they’re not” way)

Hm, that's tricky. Pet by Akwaeke Emezi is billed as utopian and mostly seems to fit, but most that I can think of either boil down to "shitty situation and everything sucks, but everyone including the government are trying their absolute best", or "not really about the government specifically helping so much as a general theme of cooperation and togetherness to solve conflict rather than fighting". Both these categories tend to blend bleakness and hard choices with hopefulness and togetherness.

In the first category: The Touchstone trilogy by Andrea K. Höst (teen girl walks through a portal to another planet, where she's roped into helping fight against extradimensional monsters in a special task force trying to keep the population safe); The Annual Migration of Clouds novella by Premee Mohamed (after societal collapse, a small community works together to regain their feet) & Terra Ignota series by Ada Palmer (humanity has rebuilt itself into a utopia, but the threat of war risks this; very complex books that question the very nature of whether humanity can choose to become better than it is while still remaining human, definitely has some creepyness to it though)

Second category: The Children of Time trilogy by Adrian Tchaikovsky (epic sci-fi, humanity is fleeing the dead remains of Earth seeking a new home; on another planet, sentient spiders are evolving; will the two societies find common ground?), Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir (frankly this one could go in both categories; Earth is threatened by a cosmic threat - as governments come together and race to buy time, an astronaut is sent far away to find a solution to save all of humanity, only to find unexpected help in an alien species) & Vagabonds by Hao Jingfang (human societies on Earth and Mars try to find common ground; a story that recognizes that there's no such thing as a utopia, and that human societies will always have to strive to be better and adapt to new situations and environments).

I would also suggest looking into books described as 'cozy' (not entirely my vibe, but more likely to check your boxes) or slice of life, especially Becky Chamber's Monk & Robot duology and Wayfarers series! The graphic novel Always Human may also check out.

#i'm sure there are many more but these were the ones that stood out to me #i hope you find something to your liking! #nella talks books #nella gets asks #oh i just remembered! where it rains in color by denise crittendon #and the best of all possible worlds by karen lord #may also work for you!

[fernthewhimsical]

Fern's (new) introduction to the Gleaming Grove

The Gleaming Grove is the name I use for my personal pantheon. It is a mix of historical, unrecorded, and constructed deities that I have been honouring for a little over a year now. Some of these deities have been in my life for quite a bit longer, some even right from the start.

Through personal interactions with these deities I have gotten to know them beyond what is historically known. This is called UPG, or Unverified Personal Gnosis. So please, keep in mind that these are my personal interpretations of these deities. Also, as I walk this path and learn more about myself and about these deities, the pantheon might change.

Now, allow me to introduce you.

Cernunnos: Horned Hunter – historical and unrecorded Gaulish deity of the forest, of animals and the hunt. He is the leader of the Wild Hunt and the King of the Fae. He is the god of the liminal, the in between. The cycles of nature – death, decay, and life again.

Nehalennia: Wildmother – historical Dutch deity of nature, the sea, harvest. She guides travelers over sea, guiding them with her stars, or with profitable winds. She is the tempest and the storm, but also the cooling breeze on a hot day. She is the deity of agriculture, especially orchards. Her travel over the sea also includes being a psycho-pomp, guiding those who have passed to their afterlife.

Baduhenna: Rootwoman – historical Dutch deity of the forest, magic, and war. They protect the sacred places and fight against any who wishes to take it away. Protects the oppressed and gives them the tools and power to fight against their oppressors, in both weapons and magic.

Elen of the Ways: Wayfarer – historical or constructed deity of roads and pathways, of journeys both physical and spiritual. She guides us with her lit lantern when we are lost. Labyrinths are dedicated to her, especially as a way to travel inward. She protects us when we travel and nudges us in the right direction of where we need to be. An antlered deity carrying a lantern and surrounded by green.

Nemetona: Sanctuary – historical Gaulish deity of sacred spaces. Protector of boundaries. Both the sacred spaces we creating when practicing witchcraft, as the sacred spaces that are our home and our personal boundaries.

Avalon - Lady of Avalon. Goddess of healing, magic, apples, and harvest. Queen of the Fae, keeper and protector of magic.

Hearthlight – unrecorded and constructed deity of home, hearth, and community. Protects the home and hearth, provides and guards warmth and love in the home. Connections and community. Sharing what you have and taking what you need. Perhaps a mantle shared between different deities

Loki: Trickster – historical Norse deity of mischief, change, laughter. God of the outcasts, challenges societal norms and brings necessary change.

Venaris: Lady of Flowers – unrecorded deity of spring, of flowers, love, joy, mirth, and art. Beauty, music, poetry and inspiration. She invites us to dance to the tune of the seasons, to stop and smell the roses, and see the small wonders around us. Is related to Eostre/Ostra and Meda

Liyesa: The Iridescent One – historical and constructed deity of beauty, self love and -acceptance, freedom. She teaches us there is beauty in all of us, and helps us learn to love and accept ourselves as we are. Breaker of Chains, she guides us to break free of the chains society and our own perfectionism throw around us. She grants us second chances should we need them.

Holle: the Veiled Silence – constructed and historical Dutch deity of silence, of winter and of secrets. She is the silence of snowfall. She urges us into contemplation and introspection, and what secrets mean and how to keep them.

Arawn - historical Welsh deity of the Underworld, the wild hunt, loyalty, and honour. King of the Fae and Lord of the Dead. Also called Gwyn.

Ashka: Ashkeeper – unrecorded deity of the dead, graveyards, and memories. Gathers and keeps the memories we have of those who have passed. Keeps the ‘souls’ safe until they are ready to continue to wherever they choose their afterlife to be.

the Morrigan: Crowmother – historical Irish deity of war, magic, and sovereignty. She is connected to Baduhenna both through historical sources and my own interaction with both.

Mona: Moonmother – historical deity of the Moon, magic, the night. Bringer of change and moving through cycles. Mother/sister to Starsister. Void created the stars, Herta (the Earth) and the moon. We gave them life in the form of divinity. Moon came first, and she inspired humans to give her a sister/daughter.

Stēra: Stardancer – unrecorded deity of the stars and the night sky, of navigation and of hope. A light in the dark, a guide to lead us home. She dances across the sky, leaving a trail of stars behind.

Herta/Arda: Greenmother – historical Dutch deity of the Earth, nature, growth, and harvest. Her day was called “Hartjesdag” or “Heart’s Day” and was a day for collecting magical herbs to bless the home.

Gahella: Void/Creation – The emptiness from which anything can be created (chaos in Latin) The depth of space. The Divine Chaosyne. Void is the emptiness that was here before the big bang. The void from which creation springs forth. They are the darkness between the stars that birth the galaxies and starfields. Chaos is needed to keep things from getting stagnant, and is the catalyst for change.

Werda: Wordweaver – unrecorded deity of words, stories, magic. Muse of writing. They spark the inspirational spark and guide the words on paper. They are the keepers of knowledge, both mundane and magical.

Lycke: Lotweaver – unrecorded deity of fate, luck, and the tapestry of life. They weave the threads of life, guide and watch over them. Fate is not set in stone, choices and such will always have an influence on the tapestry.

Klaithe: Craftweaver – unrecorded deity of creativity, artistry, and artisans. The joy of creation for the sake of creation. The inspirational spark that is within all of us. The need to express our true selves in our own ways.

Spirits honoured in my practice: the Good Neighbours, Alven, Merfolk, Dragon, Unicorn. My ancestors of blood and bone, land, heart, spirit, and craft. The spirit of Wolf and Crow.

[Updated March 9 2024]

#deity #personal pantheon #gleaming grove #unrecorded gods #constructed pantheon #constructed gods #gaulpol #dutch mythology #dutch deities #long post