#And everyone else who has to read your violent fantasies

[palominocorn]

Y'all do realize you can express your dislike of the new dashboard, Tumblr Live, and whatever else you hate about this site WITHOUT resorting to death and suicide threats? Right?

Would you threaten to slit your own throat in Starbucks because the barista put too much cream in your coffee?

Would you tell a mechanic who tried to upsell you that you would strangle them?

Or do you recognize that making violent threats at service workers is bad, in which case, why do you think it's okay to do to service workers online?

I honestly don't know what's going on with y'all: either you think that making graphic, violent threats at strangers is perfectly acceptable behavior, or you're legitimately so distressed about change that it makes you violent/suicidal.

I'm really hoping it's the former and that y'all just need to relearn your dang manners.

Stop making violent and suicidal threats at people.

[ghostscrown]

Dead Boy Detectives characters are such icons fr. We got :

Ghost boy who thinks he's good at hiding his gayness but everyone in town spots him immediately, who's unintentionally rizzing up every single man he meets (EXCEPT his crush) because his charisma is so far in the negative it has the opposite effect, who ran away from literal hell because a spider demon made of dolls is after him, who genuinely thinks hysteria is a very real serious medical thing, and who becomes friends with the fujoshi who introduced him to yaoi

Ghost boy number two with eyeliner and severely repressed anger issues, who beats villains with a cricket bat despite owning a sword, who's completely CLUELESS about his best friend of 3 decades having a crush on him despite literally everyone else knowing the second they meet them, who's running away from the afterlife just because he doesn't want his friend to go to hell, who owns a magic hammerspace bag, and who's in a situationship with a medium

Local fujoshi whose hair became naturally bleached after she was infected by some psychedelic dandelion sprites she's now keeping as pets in a jar in her room, who avoids her problems by running away to another country and watching Scooby-Doo as she ignores her mom's letters, and who organizes dates for her landlord (gone wrong)

Medium girl who can read in your mind but whose memory was stolen by a demon named David who also happens to be her toxic ex, who's haunted by said toxic ex, who was apparently a total bully before she lost memory, who has a black women exclusive meeting happening somewhere in her subconscious, who's full last name is "Palace Surname-Von Hoverkraft" and who violently scares homophobes with the help of her two ghost friends, one of which she's in a situationship with

Blonde witch who bargained immortality to a goddess but forgot to mention she wanted eternal youth too, who kidnaps little girls at night to feed the giant snake she keeps in her basement, who has a personnal beef with some kids, who brutal pipe murders people, and whose ultimate goal is to become the goddess of one town

Goth lesbian butcher landlord constantly covered in blood, who's also a true crime fan, whose crush was actually a stalker and tried to kill her at the first date, and who accepts to rent rooms to suspicious kids talking to themselves and probably in a runaway no questions asked

Crow familiar of the witch, astrology fan who was made human in the sole purpose of seducing the gay ghost to trick him, but it didn't work and he was the one falling in love and being pathetically rejected instead

Catman who wears skirts and eats people, who curses the repressed gay ghost to either sleep with him or count every cat in town like he's a whimsy fantasy creature, in the sole purpose of exposing his gayness, but who becomes more and more of a pathetic wet cat as the ghost keeps rejecting him again and again

Dude who's not a dude but actually a cursed walrus, who was changed into a human and is now owning a magic shop and desperate to traumadump every single person in his field of view

Transdimensional being who uses the power of triggerring PTSD to chase troubled teens in a runaway and take them back to hell, got eaten by a fish and can fit her whole body in a mail package

[feasibilities]

Professional Perversions- Dr. Jonathan Crane x Psychiatrist!Reader ♟️

Warnings: Blackmail, Non-Con, Workplace Harassment, Degradation, Stalking, Dacryphilia, Oral Sex (F), Slapping, Overstimulation, etc. Author's Note: Jonathan is a villain so I wrote him as such. Read at your own risk!

Working at Arkham Asylum for the last 5 years meant that you worked with the criminally insane daily. You were a listening ear to the sadistic fantasies or childhood trauma of your patients. You also prescribed medication that they never bothered to take. More often than not, your patients were repeat offenders who were discharged far too early. You couldn’t understand why this kept happening and recommended institutionalizing them for longer periods. Your complaints fell on deaf, unsympathetic ears. Such is the nature of working for the state. You were at the mercy of bureaucracy. 

Your supervisor, Dr. Jonathan Crane, seemed to enjoy compounding the stress of your job. He was Chief Administrator of the asylum, so there was no way to bypass his antagonistic behavior. He would often assign you with assessing difficult, violent patients. Your medical notes on these assessments came back with harsh criticisms in red ink. He would never answer calls or emails from you, so you’d have to chase him down while he was doing his daily walkthrough. During weekly meetings, he would chastise you in front of your colleagues. It was the little things as well. He’d let the elevator doors close on you or reject your attempts to make small talk. Your days ended later than everyone else’s—and with you sobbing in your car. 

— 

Please come to my office as soon as possible. We have some important matters to discuss. 

Dr. Jonathan Crane 

Chief Administrator of Arkham Asylum 

555-9240

Dread pooled in your stomach as you read the email. What could you have done? Naturally, you assumed the worst—you were about to be fired. Being terminated from a government job would mean you couldn’t get hired anywhere else in Gotham. Jonathan obviously wouldn’t put in a good word for a prospective position. Wanting to get this over with quickly, you made your way to his office. Knocking politely, he answered you from behind the door with the gold-plated sign that read ‘Chief Administrator’.

“Come in.” He said plainly. 

You came in and looked around briefly. His office was luxurious compared to yours. His Ph.D degree hung on the wall above a mahogany shelf of awards and plaques. The chairs were plush and made of leather. The whiteboard was filled with equations that made no sense to you, adding to your feelings of inadequacy. 

“If you’re done gawking at my accomplishments, please take a seat.” Jonathan criticized. You quickly sat down and sighed in annoyance.  

“As you know, I have had some concerns about your competency regarding this job. Your patients haven’t shown any progress. They also continue to report suicidal or homicidal tendencies.” Jonathan admonished you, waiting for a response. 

“My competency is not the issue, but rather the competency of my superiors. Patients can’t progress if you discharge them prematurely. These people need help reintegrating into society. You cannot just throw them out onto the street.” You retorted, growing frustrated already. 

Jonathan’s eyes focused on you intently. You saw a faint smirk flash across his face before retreating back into the same sterile expression. 

“I follow the orders of my superiors. You can submit a complaint if you are dissatisfied with our procedures.” Jonathan countered. 

“As do I. I’ve submitted several complaints and nothing has come of them. You find the time to punish me for the smallest mistakes, but you couldn’t find the time to consider my input? Your competence, or lack thereof, is the reason why this hospital has the highest recidivism rate in the city.” You argued. 

Jonathan swallowed harshly and clenched his jaw. His stark blue eyes were filled with hatred. For you, this was payback for all the times he lambasted you. It was humorous that someone who was so critical of others couldn’t handle it when the shoe was on the other foot. You also had no problem filing a lawsuit for wrongful termination as you had a paper trail on him. You feared him no longer. 

Removing his wireframe glasses, he walked to the front of the desk and stood over you. Uncomfortably close, he stared down at you.

“Fear is such a fascinating feeling, isn’t it? You know that better than anyone.” He teased.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You spat, growing tired of his odd behavior. 

“Every mental health professional that works here is required to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. You were asked what your biggest fear was—are you afraid of being stalked?” Jonathan explained, leaning in even closer. 

Sick to your stomach, you turned away from him and tears brimmed your eyes. He grabbed your chin and forced your gaze towards him. 

“Isn’t it so sick that someone knows your morning and nightly routine? Your favorite perfume? The kind of panties you’re wearing right now?” Jonathan remarked, getting off on your distress. 

You could’ve died of humiliation as you stared up at him. You finally understood why he treated you so poorly—it was a front to hide his obsession with you. During those contentious moments, he wasn’t thinking of how “incompetent” you were. Obscene images of you bent over his desk or you touching yourself in the shower were there. To his benefit, he caught you in the shower one night when you left the shades open. You realized why you found a soiled handkerchief in the bushes the next morning. 

“Why me? What could I possibly do for you?” You croaked, trying not to provoke him. 

“Everything I could ever want.” Jonathan divulged, brushing his thumb against your lips and smudging your lipstick. 

You started thinking of your escape plan. Maybe kick him in the balls and run? Stab him with one of his expensive pens? Before you could take action, he bent down and kissed you deeply. You tried to pull him away, but to no avail. His plump lips caused that familiar twinge in your lower stomach. He ran his large hands up your stocking-covered legs before stopping at your garter belts. He kneaded the exposed flesh there, earning an unintended whimper from you. This emboldened him as he moved his lips to your neck. 

“T-this isn’t right.” You sputtered as you tried to ignore the moisture between your legs. 

“You want this. You always have.” He whispered, moving his hand up further. Your body’s response to his actions made you question your sanity. Jonathan suddenly pulled you up from the chair and laid you on his desk. He undid your garter belts with an almost surgical precision. Hiking up your dress, he stared at the black lacy panties that adorned your cunt. He pulled the material aside and studied the glistening of your arousal. You had the perfect opportunity to claw his eyes out and bolt out of the office. However, you sat there wanting him to finish what he started. 

Jonathan ran his nose down your thigh as he took in your scent. Sliding the lacy material aside once more, he began flicking his tongue against your sensitive floret. Not being able to look away, you took in the visual of your despicable supervisor going down on you. His gaze was no longer sterile—it took on a marked concupiscence. Suddenly, you felt him press his face into you. He sucked harshly, causing you to moan loudly. He buried his nose in the trimmed tuft of your pubic hair. 

“Stop it.” You pled, knowing you wanted the opposite. 

Disregarding your objections, he slipped two fingers inside of you and curled them upwards. Pumping his fingers steadily, another low groan came from him as he reveled in the sapidity of your juices. You yanked at his hair to stop him before you came. You were much too late. You let out an untamed moan as Jonathan watched you fall apart. Your vision went white as your orgasm sent shockwaves through your body. He lazily lapped at your clit as you came down from your high. Removing his fingers, he put them in your mouth. You mindlessly suckled on them. 

“The human mind is so malleable, isn’t it?” Jonathan said. Your humiliation ran deep at his words. You were like putty in his hands and you resented it. He began removing your dress while you looked away from him. Tears started to fall from your eyes as you knew what was to come. Jonathan groped your breasts through your bra and placed your hand on his clothed crotch. His erection was beginning to hurt as he had it since you walked in his office. You felt him throb in your palm. 

“You look so beautiful when you cry. All those times you spent sobbing in your car really did something to me…” Jonathan divulged, undoing your bra and taking in the sight. 

“You don’t have to do this. Just fire me, please.” You agonized. 

“Shhh.” Jonathan hushed you. 

“Don’t hush me. I’m not a child.” You complained. 

Jonathan took a ball gag from his pocket and put it on you. Laying you back on the desk, Jonathan yanked your hips towards him until you were flush against his. Unbuckling his pants, he pulled himself out and sighed in relief. Pre-ejaculate oozed from the tip and he was red hot to the touch. You were astonished at his size. You blinked away tears thinking of the pain you were about to experience. You tried to scoot away before he snatched you back. Growing tired of your insolence, he slapped you roughly. 

“Behave.” Jonathan warned. A searing burn was left on your cheek. Sliding into you, he started thrusting with bestial force. Your breasts moved with each thrust as Jonathan lost himself in your pink depths. Wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, you decided to play his game. You started rubbing your clit fervently and trying to moan his name through the gag. Noticing your reaction, Jonathan pinched your nipple harshly and deepened his thrusts. You mewled at the sensation. 

“This is all you wanted, didn’t you? A good screwing?” Jonathan hissed, watching white slick cover his shaft. You nodded and breathed heavily as you came once more. Skin hitting skin, the squelch of your arousal, and your desperate whimpers were like music to his ears. As much as you hated him, you couldn’t deny how gorgeous a fucked-out Jonathan looked. His face was twisted in pleasure, eyes fluttering closed occasionally. His taut lips pursed intermittently to hold back moans. 

His thrusts started to stagger as he approached his climax. Pulling out, ropes of seed shot onto your torso. An audible groan of pleasure finally left his throat. He made sure to smear droplets of it against your entrance. You recoiled at the thought of getting pregnant by him. He would have you forever. 

“Let’s savor this moment, shall we?” Jonathan smiled, pulling out his phone. Tears welled up in your eyes as he snapped pictures of your body. Holding your throat tenderly, he took one last photo of your face. Those pictures would be kept for his personal collection—and for blackmail if you ever decided to quit. You painstakingly got dressed and bit your lip to hold back sobs. A silent exchange of glances happened between you and Jonathan before you walked out of his office. 

[captainsimagines]

meet me in the afterglow || Halsin BG3 || Part One

Summary: She aided everyone, himself included, and he hated how useless he felt. But if he were to simply open his eyes, he would see that she too was losing her mind.

Pairing(s): Halsin x Durge Drow Tav

Trope(s): Slow Burn; Fantasy; Established Canon Scenes; Male Love Interest POV

Based on the Song(s): Afterglow by Taylor Swift

Total Word Count: 30,000 +

If you would rather read on AO3, here is the link

This is a single one-shot, split into 2 parts.

Warnings: This story deals with heavy sexual situations, strong language, canon-typical violence, self-harm, fantasy elements, emotional backstories, past memories of necrophilia, the "Dark Urge", "resist dark urge" storylines, past rape/non-con, attempted sexual assault, and minor character death. You are responsible for your own media consumption. This work is strictly 18+ only. This is purely fanfiction.

Author's Note: Look at me, venturing into a new fandom. Well, I've been apart of it since December, but this is my first BG3 fanfic! Don't ask why it's so damn long and why I didn't split it into chapters. Easier this way in terms of posting, lmao. Anyway, it's summer vacation, I've got my teaching credential and Masters degree, and we're writing fanfics again!!!!!!! If you're not typically of this fandom... Hop on this train, you will not regret it. Buy the game. I swear. Love you.

xxMoni

---

The first time Halsin heard Tav scream was during the invasion of the Last Light Inn, when Mol was snatched by a devil and Rolan dodged a blade as he reached to grab her. Tav had climbed the roof in time to see her being flown in the direction of Moonrise, and that was that. It was an angry scream, one that surprised him and Jaheira alike. Since finding Mol’s eyepatch and defeating Ketheric, Tav hadn’t made a sound resembling it. 

Good, he figured. There was no sense in acting reckless when the facts aren’t known, and a level-headed leader would serve the greater good. He had wanted to slip and scream his frustration for years now, but who would that benefit? Halsin found that if he and his companions held it in for just a while longer, then soon they could find peace, harmony, balance—he had to believe that.

For three hundred and fifty years, Halsin explored the minds, souls, and the willing bodies of countless people. He has taken and been taken, suffered and accepted, led and also been led a fool. Besides the shadow curse, there was nothing that truly haunted him to the very marrow of his bones. He was everything an Archdruid was expected to be, and that included being an expert at hiding one’s fear to level the playing field. 

But recently, he’s been haunted by an odd feeling in his stomach. Thaniel and Oliver were healing together, Ketheric Thorm had been defeated, and he and his companions were readying their supplies to take the two-night trip into Baldur’s Gate. There shouldn’t be anything else plaguing his muscles, and especially not his digestion. Not even the bear could truly keep food settled for long. He suspected that as the land healed, he felt it. He felt each vine untangle, each pebble overturn, each sick creature drain and die. He was usually familiar with plant life dying and sprouting anew, but this was something else entirely. It was the undead dying, the sickness shriveling, the living succumbing and promising their return. It was a sickness extinguished, a sickness that apparently needed to pass through him and any other person connected to nature in the surrounding area. 

He excused himself after dinner, and waited for the oddity to start.

Just as he nearly slipped into trance, the flap of his tent smacked him in the face. 

“Now that we’ve healed this land, where are you going to fuck off to?”

He grumbled, opening his eyes to meet those of a seemingly unbothered Tav. 

Halsin had a bit of a crush. A crush on the violent, self-serving narcissist drow who was going to get them all killed before they faced the real threat awaiting them in Baldur’s Gate. Granted, Halsin formed a bit of a crush on most people he encountered, but Tav was different. The feelings had snuck up on him.

Tav often spoke of utilizing the gifts the Dream Visitor had offered them, but he had never seen her actually consume an extra tadpole. Tav loved to fill Astarion’s and Gale’s heads about godhood, about revenge, but Halsin was there when she almost murdered Araj for suggesting Astarion bite her, and even accidentally wandered in on her and Gale watching the stars he had conjured. Hell, she was the first to grant Karlach that long-awaited hug. And when Shadowheart had the chance to prove herself worthy to her dark Lady, something raw flashed in Tav’s eyes. Something that ultimately persuaded Shadowheart differently. 

The only thing Tav had done recently that really pissed Halsin off was recruiting Minthara at Moonrise. What kind of person forgave someone who threatened a whole Grove? A whole civilization? His people.

But that was the thing: Tav was a person willing to forgive. Well, maybe not forgive. Forget, more like.

And he had forgiven her for the murder of Alfira because, Oak Father preserve him, he believed her confusion. Her surprise. Her… urges. Hells, he came close to killing Kahga back at the Emerald Grove. 

“Who says I’m fucking off anywhere else?”

Tav snorted, his curt response certainly something he’d been working on for a while now. He had remained civil with her, polite even. But the way she spoke to him had him questioning his abilities. He had cultivated mountains of patience over his long years, but she was just too good at breaking off pieces. No way she would be able to flatten him, but he worried himself over the prospect. 

“You’re seriously going to follow us to Baldur’s Gate?”

“I am no stranger to the city.”

Tav plopped down beside his bedroll and fiddled with the strap around his arm. He fought hard to keep so much as a twitch from his face. “It’s a shitty place. You’ll probably find one tree. Maybe two.”

“Do you want me to leave your side?”

Her expression held steady. “No. Just wondering what your plans were.”

Despite her attitude, Halsin had no doubts about whether or not Tav wanted him to remain. He never dropped hints about him leaving after the shadow-cursed lands were no more, and he completely expected to make the trip with everyone else. They helped him here, why wouldn’t he help them to the end? 

“Then you’ll have me. I will remain at your side until you have no use for me, or until my body can give no more. You need not worry about sudden disappearances or ill remarks from my end.”

She rolled his words around in her mind, the points of her ears wiggling slightly. “At least now I can see you in city clothes.”

He sat up slightly, his smirk wide. “Have you been fantasizing about what I would look like in such clothing?”

“Armor is a drag. I’ve been fantasizing what everyone would look like in silks and cotton.”

He hummed, settling back down and placing his hands behind his head. She definitely was a weird one. He couldn’t say for certain if she fancied him or not. She had inquired about past lovers, but hadn't pressed further when he mentioned bedding alone. She had joked about feeling lonely at nights and went so far as to wink at him, but she gave those same winks at Wyll. She had even fought to venture into the Shadowfell with him, but that same ferocity rose when she encountered Rolan fighting shadows alone. She was difficult to read, but he had only himself to blame. So occupied by the shadow curse, he had failed to get to know her. Or any of his companions, really. 

“I think I liked dresses before all of this,” she shared, surprising him. 

“What kind?”

She thought about it for a second, honesty in her lilac features. “The revealing kind. Where the lining dipped to my navel and my thighs were out.”

He was no stranger to such clothing. He had indulged in similar attire in his youth. “I imagine you would look beautiful in them.”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“But I think I also really liked elven armor.”

Halsin’s laugh came out as more of a grumble. “Is your drow armor unsuitable?”

“It doesn’t show off my curves.”

He couldn’t contain his smile. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. Her tent was pitched near Astarion’s, so he doubted she was looking to bunk with him tonight. This was her routine every night—check in with everyone, speak for a few minutes, maybe share a bottle of wine, and return to her own bedroll. Except this is the first time since rescuing Thaniel from the Shadowfell that she visited him.  

It was something he had thought about during their long travels. Did he say or do something that made her avoid him? Did she consider him a burden, only adding to their troubles without the promise of a cure for the damned tadpole? Volo had tried to do what he advised against, and Tav sported a pale blue eye because of it. 

But it looked good on her. Anything blue looked good on her. 

“You’re allowed to hate me, you know.”

He blinked an eye open, studying her vulnerable expression. Besides making questionable decisions and being rude to strangers they encountered, it was not enough to make him despise her. 

“I do not hate so easily.”

“You hate goblins.”

“They threatened my people. People in need.”

She hummed, “Taking in Minthara was like a slap to the face then.”

“There are other things to consider. Such as, you did not risk the grove when you first met her.”

“I killed a tiefling out of pure blindness. In my own camp.”

“And do you regret it?”

“I—I think I do.” She shook her head, as if arguing with her thoughts. “I also really wanted to kill Isobel.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have.”

He sat up and sighed. Tav rolled her shoulders, uncomfortable with his closeness. He did his best to slide to the edge of his tent, but his frame wouldn’t allow much distance. “Are you here… to fight with me?”

Tav grumbled under a breath, avoiding his eyes. “Not exactly.”

He nodded, though confusion still weighed him down. “Then tell me how to best speak on this matter.”

“I don’t understand you,” she admitted, scooting to leave his tent. 

They had something in common, then. 

“When you’ve been alive for as long as I have, you come to understand those around you just a little bit more. Speak or don’t speak, I will not draw my blade. I know it is what you crave. You have fought everyone in this camp with your teeth, almost killed Gale when he confided in you about the orb, almost staked Astarion before you allowed him to feed from you. And you held a knife to my face when you rescued me from the goblin camp. If you wanted to kill one of us, you would have done it by now. If you wanted to kill me, you would have tried.”

Tav laughed and crossed her arms. Halsin averted his eyes from her muscles. “Tried,” she drawled.

He smiled again. “You would not succeed.”

“I take that as a challenge.”

“Take it however you’d like,” he said, sighing as he rested his head back onto his bedroll. “Now, will I receive some peace and quiet tonight?”

Tav squinted her eyes, a glint of mischief peeking through her long lashes. “Annoying oaf of a druid.”

“Annoying brat of a drow.”

That made her grin, teeth and all. Then, quieter, honestly, “Maybe all that torture I endured made me forget. Maybe it made me the way I am. Better today, but…”

Gods, he almost forgot. The odd necromancer they had encountered beneath Moonrise. What she said she had done to Tav, over and over, he could not imagine. First to be kidnapped, reduced to a wailing mess, cataloged like meaningless scraps, and pinned back together only to be ripped open again? And still, Tav did not remember. Thank the Gods she didn’t, and that the necromancer’s slices were simply numb visions. But to smell your own blood on a mind flayer pod, to have a vague recollection of betrayal, to walk right back into your prison…

He kept his voice soft, and tried to make his eyes speak better words than what he could currently form. “Do you mean violent?”

Any ounce of wisdom he carried seemed to die in front of her. She made his tongue twist, his mind rattle.

“Perverted.”

He said, forcefully, “You’re not perverted.”

“That’s why I speak with you, Halsin.” Tav opened the tent flap and stepped through. Her smile dropped, and he was no longer granted the privilege of a real one. “You say all the wrong things.”

---

“I’ve thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.”

“You’ll find I’m exceptionally greedy,” Tav responded, clinking her beer with his wine. Rolan looked to the floor, fumbling as he tried desperately to flirt back. Halsin almost wanted to help the poor wizard, but that would probably do more harm than good.

“Darling, you’ve made the tiefling blush! How sweet!” Astarion observed, flicking his polished nails across his lips.

Tav shrugged a shoulder, then downed her beer in one go. “Don’t sweat it, Rolan! I have that effect on everyone!”

“Oh,” he lamented, his lips turning downward. Almost as suddenly, he corrected himself. Shoulders straightened, Rolan cleared his throat. “I thank you instead for clearing the road to Baldur’s Gate. When you can, make a visit to Sorcerous Sundries. I’ll give you a lovely discount on some scrolls.”

“Gale would certainly—”

“Gale would be appreciative indeed!” their resident wizard cheered, reaching to shake Rolan’s hand. “I plan on doing a little perusing of my own, of course. But any promise of a discount on some scrolls is certainly something I wouldn’t pass up! I say, Rolan! You and I need to speak one-on-one soon.”

Rolan stuttered over a breath. “That—Well, I’ll probably be preoccupied with my apprenticeship. But yes, that would be quite informative.”

“Gale, stop flirting with my favorite wizard. I wanted him in my bed, not yours,” Tav joked, winking at the blushing tiefling. Cal and Lia, listening at the other end of the bar, sputtered through their drinks.

Gale gasped, “Your favorite wizard? My word, how ugly of you, Tav! I thought we had something special.”

“Your—Your bed?” Rolan choked out, his smile growing. Halsin looked to Tav to tell her to cut it out, but what he saw was… authentic. Tav wasn’t joking, nor was she toying with the tiefling. She genuinely wanted to spend a night with him. Their banter had stretched from the grove to these cursed lands and Tav was nothing if not direct with her intentions. 

He and Tav shared banter… So it led Halsin back to his looming questions with no answers. Did he say or do something that made her avoid him? Was he a burden?

“Offers on the table, Rolan. I don’t ask twice,” she teased, ignoring Astarion’s gag and Gale’s responding chuckle.

“That sounds—” Rolan started, but his attention was pulled by a few of the tiefling children running up behind him. In their flurry of questions, he met Tav’s eye. “Apologies.”

Tav waved a hand and tried her best to smile at the children, who were now pulling at Rolan’s robes. Cal and Lia came to his aid, even going so far as to grab the children around their waists and run in the opposite direction. 

Rolan cleared his throat. “As much as it irks me to admit… I hope our paths cross again in Baldur’s Gate.”

Tav let her disappointment show for half a second before turning in the direction of the exit. Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel had claimed Isobel’s old room, while Wyll, Astarion, and Gale claimed the room where Art had been resting. Halsin had already mentioned he wasn’t going to rest tonight so he could help the tieflings pack, but he wondered where Tav was going to sleep. The only other room still standing was currently occupied by Rolan and his siblings, while the tiefling children were bunking with Dammon in the barn.  

Halsin quickly caught up with her, clearing his throat to gain her attention. “You were very forward with the tiefling.”

Tav shrugged, stripping her gloves from her sweaty hands. “We could die tomorrow. Might as well let my true desires show.”

“And that’s what desires you?”

She smirked. “Got something against tieflings? Or is it wizards, Halsin?”

“Not at all what I meant.” 

He followed her quietly until she led them to the lake’s edge, just a few feet away from Dannis and Bex. Tav chucked her shoes off and tore the corset from around her waist. It was a black and red corset she had looted from Minthara’s office back at the goblin camp, but her fellow drow seemed to not recognize it. Since rescuing her, Tav had made it her mission to try and get Minthara to notice. As if to say, I rescued you but I also bested you once before. Though he hardly spoke to the sharp-tongued drow, he understood her avoidance. Minthara had gained alliances in an unlikely place and vowed to fight by their side, an oath as strong as all others, and did not waste her breath on a petty argument. Especially an argument with her narcissistic Underdark kin.

“I meant to say, that I admire that in a person. I have been alive a long time and you so little, and yet you reach for what you want with ropes of experience.”

It was true. Halsin was no stranger to honey on the tongue or the caress of another. Sometimes he forgot that others have not racked up a roster like he had. Though, he wasn’t exactly keeping track. Every lover he had chosen had been sacred, willing, enthusiastic. It was nice to see others indulging, even if he did not feel the call right now. 

The bear hadn’t felt the call for a while now. Even back in the Emerald Grove, his only companion had been his hand. He didn’t know what changed. 

Tav sat down and leaned back on her hands, watching Dannis and Bex as they swayed in each other’s arms. When they had rescued Dannis from Moonrise a few nights ago, Halsin had been witness to their emotional reunion at this very lakeside. With as many people on his mental list of lovers, it would make sense that he had been in love before. But watching them reunite and cry in each other’s arms… Halsin realized he had never felt love in the way one was supposed to. Lust, admiration, respect—those feelings he was familiar with. Feelings that were reciprocated and cherished. This was different, foreign. 

Was he broken? Had the bear truly taken over that aspect of his life so much? Druids became more like their wildshape the more experienced and older they grew, and it wasn’t unheard of that some animal attributes bled into their daily lives. Or their physique. Nature had been his one calling as Archdruid, and though the realization that he had sorely missed out on the connection Dannis and Bex shared plagued his heart, he didn’t regret devoting his life to the Grove.

“I woke up on that nautiloid with absolutely no idea of who I was. I knew my name, and that was it. Along with a burning rage and desire for blood, I strangely felt free. In a way. This is me letting loose. Being the person I feel like I could have been,” Tav explained, her brow furrowing. Dannis and Bex shared a final kiss before retreating into the inn, giving both her and Halsin grateful nods. Tav sighed, “My memories, or the scraps of them at least, are tainted in red. I want new colors, Halsin.”

He sat down beside her, drawing his knees up so he could lay his arms across them. “I always imagined the color of lust as a light purple. When bodies connect in the most intimate of meanings, it is that streak of purple only the sky can mimic. A purple that only occurs in nature.”

“Poetic.”

“I’ll leave the poetry to Wyll.”

She watched the lake sway, now absent of dark creatures at its shore. He wondered if shadow-cursed creatures actually had also thrived underwater, but no one had reported such horrors. He wasn’t ignorant to think that the fish hadn’t shriveled, that the water wasn’t undrinkable, that the echoes of the Underworld hadn’t been waiting for bare feet.  

“I gave you all colors, you know.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “Karlach is pink. As much as my blood yearns for the blood of others, I do not like the color red. Karlach is pink because she makes the darkest of places lighter. She makes my days lighter.”

He wouldn’t have assigned her that color, but Tav’s reasoning made sense. Karlach had a lot of blood on her hands, but blood would fade the more one scrubbed. 

“Gale is purple, of course. That damn robe he got abducted in is scorched into my brain,” Tav laughed. “Astarion is a dark blue. When I look at him, oddly enough, I have this intense feeling that his eyes were blue before he was turned. Blue like the sky he’s been cherishing these last few months.”

Halsin would be lying if he said Gale in purple didn’t stir something within him. After acquiring new robes or armor, Halsin always volunteered to dye it. Purple was instinct for Gale, but he had always found himself dying Astarion’s clothing red. Perhaps now he would reconsider.

“Lae’zel is orange,” Halsin added, grinning when Tav clapped her hands and cheered.

“Exactly! She doesn’t touch any other fruit besides those!”

He continued, ignoring the odd jump of his stomach. “Shadowheart is the color white. Her new hairstyle has nothing to do with it. You know, I was nervous when I saw her leaving camp with a dagger tucked away. Glad to know my nerves were unfounded.”

“Black washed her out,” Tav agreed. Her smile faltered as she picked around the dirt absentmindedly. “Black, however, is Minthara’s color. She radiates such… torment. Mentally, that is. As much as she tries to mask it, I can see right through her. And I think she sees right through me. We’re both terrified, and too angry to admit it.”

Terrified. In all the time he had been traveling with his companions, Halsin didn’t stop to think about what would happen if they lost. Tav had created this image of pure leadership, where everything that needed to be solved had a simple solution. Even Lae’zel portrayed as much. He did have moments where Tav’s questionable actions led him to believe someone would die, but not that anyone would kill them. 

“You just admitted it to me.”

Tav grumbled, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them. “The Oak Father will have your balls if you utter it to anyone else.”

“Didn’t know he answered to you.” He couldn’t help the blood flushing his cheeks.

“The gods love to hear me whine.” Tav's sarcasm coated her words and eye roll alike. Then quieter, angrier, she said, “I remember screaming for some.”

His chest caved in slightly, a burst of sympathy melting along his ribs. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when he was tied to that bedpost in the Underdark. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when the shadow curse prevailed and his fellow Druids didn’t run fast enough. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when the last of his family passed and he lowered them into the ground. But ever since, the Gods have answered his prayers. His Drow patrons couldn’t keep their disputes civil and he escaped after three, confusing years. He had sprinted fast enough to avoid the dark tendrils lapping at his paws and was fortunate enough to lead Rethewin’s survivors to safety. He was able to say a final goodbye to his mother. Even now they listened when he was rescued from that horrible goblin camp.

He didn’t quite catch if the Gods had answered any of Tav’s prayers yet since she herself doesn’t remember anything that happened prior, but he had it on good authority that every battle they’ve survived since had been blessed.

“And Wyll?” he asked, his tone softer as he reverted the topic of discussion back to color assignment.

“Green,” she answered quickly. “He reminds me of a park I used to walk around. A distant memory, a broken one. But I see him sitting in that green field, surrounded by wine and grapes and a lanceboard.”

He hadn’t spoken to Wyll all that much yet. Karlach and Gale were the two he found himself conversing with most often. Wyll always spoke of Baldur’s Gate, and though Halsin enjoyed hearing about their companions’ lives beforehand, he found that he did not have kind feelings for Wyll’s father. When he tried to maneuver the conversation away, Wyll always brought it back. 

And it made sense. Just as Halsin was preoccupied with the shadow curse and his role in its creation, so was Wyll and how he would prove to his father that his transformation was for the good of his citizens. Perhaps when his head was clear and his father found acceptance, Halsin would be able to speak to Wyll freely. To speak without thinking about how the city would be better off in Wyll’s hands instead.

Halsin wanted to punch Duke Ravengard in the fucking face. 

“And me?” he asked.

“Guess.”

“I assumed green, to be honest.”

Tav shook her head. She turned to him fully, the lilac of her face bright beneath the moon. For the first time since they had met, she showed him vulnerability. He knew it was killing her to do so. “You’re gold.”

Something foreign fluttered in his chest. “Gold?”

“You shimmer when you wildshape. But also, when you’re standing in the sun, your gray hair shines gold instead. You’re so damn joyful all the time and it reminds me of the sun. You’re sunlight incarnate, Halsin.”

He had been called wise, inspirational, large, and handsome. He had been called ruthless, uncontrollable, wild, and arousing. Never in his three hundred and fifty years had he been compared to sunlight, or directly called it. 

But he was sunlight to her.

She shook her head, a light chuckle beneath her breath. Then she stood and walked back in the direction of Last Light. Slowly, waiting.

“What color am I?”

She shifted her stance. Afraid of her own question, the answer it might bring. The truth of it. Halsin did not see her as a red tone. Far from it. Even her sleek red-orange hair wasn’t enough to classify her. Though red yearned for her, she did not want to claim it. There was a fire behind that fight, a fire that licked higher the more she resisted its call. Even in the midst of battle, drenched in blood, she did not harvest its bounty. Her and Gale were always the quickest to the stream, washing away the brutality. Gale out of pure disgust. Tav out of need. 

“You and I are at odds most of the time. We are two colors that clash, yet find a way to coexist in one setting. You are silver, Tav. The same color as your sword, of the lash of your words, of that fire in your eyes.”

“A silver menace, am I?”

He shrugged, too in his own head to truly argue it. “Silver is also the color of the ripples in water.”

“Ripples are the consequence of a disturbance.”

“They are proof of influence.”

She crossed her arms for warmth. Backing away, she pointed one finger at the sky, her grin nearly obscured by shadow. “And the color of the moon.”

---

The second time Halsin heard Tav scream was in camp a few nights later. A breathless one, but no less bone-rattling. The sound reverberated into his bone marrow, sucking out half and poisoning the rest. His first thought was Mol, that he had to save her this time, that a repeat of the grove was unacceptable and he finally had a chance to make things right. This was a job for the Archdruid. No tiefling would hurt under his watch. 

His second thought was that Tav was dying, and he needed to get up so his silver menace had a fighting chance. 

“Get away from him!”

Halsin woke from his meditation and caught a glimpse of a short, gray creature scurrying into the bushes. The further it retreated, the quicker its laughter came. A sound that scraped against his spine-bones, horribly akin to a goblin’s. 

He looked over his shoulder and watched as Tav held her shaking hands in front of herself. She breathed slowly, shutting her eyes as whatever troubled her began nudging at her once confident composure. 

“Tav?” he said lightly, slowly standing to his full height. In the campfire light, she was beauty incarnate. All her fine features threatened to stop his heart, his senses. And when those senses catapulted themselves into his brain, he saw pure fright on her lovely, scarred face.  

She trembled as she stepped closer to him, gagging on her next words. “Restrain me.”

“What? What’s happened?”

“Halsin,” she croaked. She glanced around camp, fidgeting even more as Shadowheart and Astarion poked their heads out from their tents. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to give into these urges if you don’t restrain me. I can’t control it—I’m trying—but I’m going to slaughter you in your sleep and all of your thoughts about me will be true—”

“Calm, Tav. I am awake, I am unharmed.” He took a step closer. “These urges… They are the ones you mentioned when you asked if they were possible effects of the tadpole?”

“Halsin,” she whispered, terror laced within those two syllables. “You piss me off, but I don’t want to kill you.”

That made him chuckle. “I will not let you.”

As quickly as he finished that sentence he saw the glimmer of a blade behind her back. She lurched forward, aiming for his heart. He reacted too late, but not late enough to get stabbed. An arrow whipped between them and lodged in Tav’s shoulder, sending her to the cold ground. Halsin yelled, panic gripping his stomach from the sight of her blood. 

“Wyll, give me the rope,” Astarion ordered, his skin somehow paler. He threw his bow to the side and immediately began tying Tav’s feet together. Wyll held her down by the shoulders, cursing when she managed to twist her neck far enough to bite him.

“What’s happening?” Karlach demanded, running up to the group. Nervous, caring hands burned with panic instead of the usual fury.

Tav thrashed, screaming wildly as Wyll bound her hands. He did his best to lean down and whisper in her ear, his horn smacking her cheek. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know this isn’t right, I’m sorry. 

“Dear Gods,” Jaheira breathed. “Not another one.”

Halsin had witnessed Jaheira mid-battle and post-battle. He understood that the older druid put on a face, the same face he perfected when he was at the grove. To be stoic in the face of chaos, of evil, was a necessary talent. But here, Halsin saw the mask fracture as she examined Tav’s mannerisms, her moans, her darkening eyes.

“What does that mean? Speak plainly, Jaheira,” he told her. The jump in his voice surprised him.

She huffed, sliding to Tav’s left side so she could check her pulse. At the same time, Shadowheart casted a calming spell. “I have only met one other who resisted the urges. The call for murder, of blood on the tongue, of death in every orifice of the body.”

Minthara blinked, her brow scrunching. “It cannot be!”

The pure terror lacing Minthara’s exclamation—ice pricked his veins.

“A Bhaalspawn,” Jaheira confirmed. “A tadpole-infected Bhaalspawn, at that.”

“A Bhaalspawn?” Karlach choked, though Halsin swore it was on a laugh. “In our camp? If my parents could see me now! Oh, this would make for the best How was your day? story around the dinner table!”

Gale rubbed at his chest, an awkward sound coming from him before he spoke. “That means Orin knows her from before the tadpole.”

“It means Orin tortured her and planted the tadpole herself, I am sure. When she betrayed me, she spoke of another that I now know was Tav. What she did, how her screams sounded—I was not fully listening as she was making an example out of me as well,” Minthara shared, her tone deadly. It was the most Halsin had ever heard her say in one sitting.

“Why wouldn’t the Emperor say anything?” Wyll cursed, quickly snatching his hand back as Tav tried to bite him again.

“It wasn’t its secret to tell,” Lae’zel said, though there was more hatred in her answer than understanding.

Tav shot forward, headbutting Jaheira and flipping onto her stomach. Just as her teeth nearly plunged into Astarion’s forearm, the vampire smacked an annoyed hand to her forehead. “Ah, ah, ah. We ask before we bite.”

“The spell wanes. Calming her emotions is not possible,” Shadowheart said, gritting her teeth. Jaheira, paying absolutely no mind to the bruise on her forehead, took over for the cleric.

“Hit her over the head with this pan,” Karlach offered, offense painting her face after Gale smacked it from her hands. She went to retrieve it, this time holding it over her head so Gale couldn’t reach it.

“Jaheira and I will stay with her,” Shadowheart spoke, her worry etched deep in the frown lines by her lips. “We will need—”

“My sword is yours,” Lae’zel volunteered, pulling her blade out to lie across her lap. She sat with her back straight, eyes focused. A soldier on guard, disguising her concern for a friend.

Halsin and Wyll carefully flipped Tav onto her back. “Are we absolutely positive this is what afflicts her? Maybe she inhaled some spores from your pack—” he tried to reason with the older druid. 

“Urgh—To taste a druid’s blood would be a carnal delight—to dig his heart out from the depths of his ribs and feast upon the muscle. To mutilate his corpse over and over and over—”

Jaheira’s chuckle was void of humor. “Ignore the wisdom of an old crone, why don’t you?”

“Halsin, are you sure you want to listen to this?” Shadowheart asked.

Yes!—he wanted to scream—he was a healer, it was his duty, he would do it for anyone else.

But something else ate away at him as he watched Tav squirm and suffer, biting at her own cheeks when the absence of his flesh famished her. This felt personal somehow, as if everyone else was merely an obstacle on her way to him. He was her target. 

Yet, he didn’t feel threatened. If he was her target, then so be it. She was the one person his body wouldn’t let him abandon because it knew she wouldn’t abandon him.

Tav choked on her saliva as she yelled, “Your bones would be put to good use inside my—”

“I can handle it,” he announced, the nerves in his shoulders loosening. Karlach and Wyll reluctantly returned to their tents as Halsin settled down beside Jaheira. 

“Come back to us, little one,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper. “I know you are still in there.” 

Tav whimpered, registering his attempt at calming her. Helping her.

“Feel the grass beneath your cheek. The soil wetting your skin. Let the Oak Father tend to your mind. Let nature pull you from this dread. It can take it. You can will it.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

Astarion diverted his gaze, swallowing a gulp of air his body didn’t need. He blinked rapidly before stalking into the trees, Gale trailing close behind.

Tav was his best friend. Devastatingly enough, the one friend here who had not yet claimed their own autonomy. Someone who was being controlled, forced to move and act at the will of another. His spawn blood stole his choice and allowed others to steal bits of his soul. Tav’s tainted blood stole her choice as well, but forced her to steal the souls of others. 

To be at the will of something sinister, to be forced to say and do awful things because something compelled them to… Halsin’s heart clenched at the comparison. But it leaped as it finally understood why Tav and Astarion were attached at the hip. How they could possibly heal each other. 

According to Tav, Halsin said all the wrong things. Maybe Astarion was her one source of truth.

“Do not apologize to me. There is no need.”

“I am sick.”

“You are fighting,” Jaheira clarified.

Tav sobbed, whipping her head from side to side. “I’m sorry, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart waved a hand, her smile small. “I didn’t feel like sleeping, anyway.”

The hours passed slowly, painfully, until the worst of it cleared. Lae’zel woke Karlach and Wyll to inform them, and Jaheira retreated to the dimly lit fire to regain some strength. Shadowheart sat back and waited, another spell prepared. But Tav sat up with her help, then calmly sent her away. 

It was just the two of them, quiet enough that Halsin could hear the beat of her heart.

She breathed in deeply, her burnt-orange hair falling across her face. She looked so… small. Defeated. Nothing like the fighter she had presented herself to be these past few weeks. Sweat stained her night clothes, yet she dug her toes into the dirt to find a sliver of warmth. 

“They say silver is supposed to keep evil spirits away,” Tav laughed brokenly.

He nodded. “That they do. That it does.”

“And yet, I can still see myself in the mirror.”

Halsin didn’t think she was trying to insult Astarion in the same sentence, but he understood what she was trying to say. A vampire equaled an evil spirit, and thus Astarion couldn’t see himself in mirrors. What plagued Tav was evil no doubt, and yet she was forced to see herself.

“Silver also promotes healing.”

She shook her head. “That’s your job.”

After a long pause, she whispered, “No one can heal from this. He’s in my blood. I am his.”

They didn’t say anything else. 

Tav watched the weakening flames until the sun came up, and Halsin watched her.

---

“Um, excuse me? I can’t find my mum.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

Honest to the Gods, Tav could have simply smacked the poor girl and the physical lashing would have been less traumatizing. The young girl visibly recoiled, taking a small step back and almost tripping over her orange cat. Halsin reached out, but she moved further away.

Minthara snickered at Tav’s comment, though she didn’t aid in the verbal beating of the child herself.

“She had these spots all over her face and chest. She went out for some herbs and was supposed to come back already. Said she’d be four days at most. That was a tenday ago, though,” the girl mumbled, Yenna, and played with the loose thread of her sleeve.

“Sounds like your mom’s dead.”

“Tav!” Halsin scolded, something alarmingly bold rising within him. Tav made no indication she was affected by his outburst. Neither did Minthara.

“May I remind you you’re speaking to a child. In the middle of a refugee camp,” Gale said, brushing his hand through the warm air. His tone was lighter than his own, thankfully. The only other time Halsin had seen Rivington so crowded was days after the shadow curse rippled through the land and pushed the first round of refugees in.

“Which makes my observation that much more factual,” Tav stated, boredom polluting her fine face.

Astarion choked out a laugh, resting a delicate hand over his heart. “Oh, darling. I’m sure we can find you another squirrel to kick that doesn’t have opposable thumbs.” 

Tav rolled her eyes. Astarion continued, “You were so quick to shelter poor Arabella. What’s different now?”

“I would die for Arabella. I don’t give a shit about her.”

Yenna, surprisngly, chuckled. Tav snapped her gaze to the girl, raising an eyebrow. 

Halsin cut off their line of sight, stepping in front of Tav. He asked, his tone ghostly like a warning, “Do you give a shit about children?” 

Again, Tav gave nothing away as to whether his threatening aura unnerved her. Instead, she side-stepped him and reengaged the girl. “What uses do you provide?”

“Gods, you’re miraculous,” Astarion swooned.

Yenna straightened, lifting her freckled chin. “I can cook.”

“Gale cooks for us.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Ah!” Gale bent a knee, the crack obvious. “That would be I! Do you know your way around spices?”

Yenna grinned, sticking her chest out as she placed her small fists on her hips. “Mum taught me! Said I could rival the best chefs in Baldur’s Gate someday!”

“It’s settled then! I have a new apprentice.”

Minthara clicked her tongue. “One more mouth to feed.”

Gale gave Yenna a miniature version of their map and showed her where to find their camp. The girl scurried away, calling after her cat. Minthara and Astarion quickly left as well in search of some fashionable day clothes, leaving Halsin to deal with Tav’s attitude. 

The drow watched as Gale engaged in yet another bright conversation with a local, her scowl deepening. Confusion settling in.

“What color does the girl give off?” he asked her, a futile attempt to quiet both her annoyance and his anger. She stayed watching Gale and did not move when he settled right beside her, their shoulders brushing.

“Don’t know yet,” she said. 

He shook his head. Though it didn’t measure close, Halsin was slowly approaching the level of outrage he had felt when confronting Kagha. “You were too harsh.”

Tav hummed, then turned to strut down the hill to buy some fish. Completely insensitive and horribly remiss. “Best show her what to expect from me early on, no?”

She handed the fisherman some coin and waited as he bundled the fish. His stomach grumbled, but it wasn’t enough of an attempt at distracting from the matter at hand. 

“Lay aside your pride for a moment. Show kindness to children, would you?”

“That’s your job. Not mine. I have bigger matters to attend to.”

Whatever happened to the gut-wrenching apology she spewed a few nights before? What happened to the kind soul he saw save the tieflings twice over without question, the soul who defended Astarion every chance possible, the soul that almost regurgitated her breakfast while building the courage to tell Arabella her parents had died? 

“I didn’t think you so ugly.”

He said it before his mind weighed the consequences.

“Oh? Well, I know that’s not true. I have plenty of suitors. I have fucked plenty of people. No complaints.”

A mask just as fitted as Astarion’s, it seemed.

He followed close behind, sneaking a refugee some coin as she traveled the road back to their camp. He called out, but she did not turn to him. 

“Your beauty is not what I am commenting on. You are turning ugly inside, and I do not blame your blood for it. No sane soul deprives a child of food and shelter, even if it’s for one night.”

She shrugged, her hair blowing in the wind.“I am not sane. Don’t you get it, Halsin?” 

He nearly ran into her when she stopped and turned, crossing her arms in defiance. “I am weak, and I will give in to these urges soon enough.”

He snarled. “I didn’t take you as fragile and pathetic.”

Her eyes flickered with something… pained. As if he stung her. Then as quickly as it appeared, it disintegrated into the poisoned pot she stored most of her emotions in.

“Maybe I should have killed you the other night.”

“Strike me with your words all you want. I can take it.”

But it actually did strike him deep for some reason. So badly it nearly made him wince. She laughed, the sound piercing through the air and slicing him in two. 

He didn’t talk to her the whole walk back.

---

“Do you hate me?”

Halsin perked up at Yenna’s small voice. He nearly fell forward with the weight of his head as he forgot he was lounging in wild shape by the campfire. He located Tav and Yenna by the barn, Scratch and the unnamed owlbear running circles around them. 

“Hate is a strong word,” Tav mumbled, the cleaning of her boots uninterrupted as Yenna sat down next to her on the log. She kept a respectable distance, twiddling her thumbs. 

“I seeked someone kind-looking,” Yenna explained.

“I am quite beautiful.”

“I didn’t say that.” To that, Tav did halt her work. She turned to meet Yenna’s eye, the poor girl trembling as she tried to redeem herself. “Wait! I only meant that you looked kind, too.”

Tav straightened, her brow scrunching. “I’ve never been told that.”

“Don’t your friends tell you?”

“They’re not my friends.”

A blatant lie, Halsin thought.

Yenna frowned. “Oh. That’s sad.”

Clearly exasperated, Tav set down her boots. “What do you want, Yenna?”

The girl’s blue eyes widened, a small smile sneaking onto her face. “You know my name.”

“No, shit. I have functioning ears.”

“Well, if you don’t hate me, then why were you so mean to me?”

Tav shrugged, but didn’t pick up her boots. Instead, she leaned back and pulled her long hair into a bun. Yenna watched her, fascinated by the fair highlights in Tav’s hair. Yenna had mentioned to him that her mother kept her hair short out of necessity, that it was easier to steal the essentials without the threat of leaving a strand of hair behind. Now, Halsin bet she would grow it out.  

Tav, the silver ripple in the water. 

“I’m dangerous, kid.”

“There’s a bear in our camp right now.”

“Besides that.”

“And a Sharran—”

“She’s reformed.”

“And a vampire!”

Tav pointed a finger. “The kindest vampire you’ll ever meet, too.”

“How can he be kind, but you are not?” Yenna argued, squinting her bright eyes. Tav met her stare, unfaltering, and in that small moment Halsin recognized Tav’s unmistakable admiration. With Mol, that admiration spawned the moment she foolishly asked for her to steal the idol. For Arabella, it had been when Tav found her parents in the House of Healing—the knowledge that it would crush her spirit, but not her soul. Yenna’s growing confidence in a singular conversation was what was winning her over. 

Tav sighed, angling her gaze to him by the campfire. Halsin quickly feigned sleep. “I almost hurt that bear for fun.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone had to tie me up and hold me down until my mind quieted.”

Shame laced each syllable. Yenna scooted closer to her on the log. “So, you were mean because you didn’t want to hurt me with your hands?”

“I’m surprised I haven’t killed the dog or the owlbear,” Tav muttered, then jutted her chin up, “Or that cat of yours.”

They sat in silence for a good minute, Yenna watching Tav continue to wash her boots and Tav side-eyeing the girl. 

Halsin actually believed he should have been harsher with Tav when they first encountered the girl, but perhaps he failed to see right through her. Tav had aided him always, aided multiple others and merely joked about coin in return. And when Tav had burrowed into his past, with his permission of course, and saw the weight of responsibility he had put on his own shoulders… They saw in each other what others couldn’t: the inescapable need to form such a mountain of righteousness so that it casted a shadow over their countless wrongs. But it was near impossible climbing the height they had measured themselves.

For what Tav had almost done to him, why subject an innocent child to the possibility?  

“Thank you for telling me,” Yenna said, then softly poked Tav’s upper arm. A childish gesture, one that seemed to shock Tav still for a moment. 

Clearing her throat, Tav said, “Just keep your distance from me while I sleep, okay?”

“Where’s your tent?”

“Right next to Astarion’s.”

“Good. Vampires don’t die easily.”

There was a noticeable quirk in Tav’s upper lip, a movement that had Halsin’s stomach swooping and the bear audibly groaning.

“Set up your bedroll near Karlach’s tent. She’s the only one here who is physically capable of stopping me.”

“What about the Githyanki?”

Halsin thought about it for a bit, too. If Tav were to have another uncontrollable episode and she did not provide them warning like last time, who would be able to restrain and who would succumb? Halsin would like to believe his reflexes were spotless, but he had been nicked in battle one too many times already. It was Astarion who watched his back, muttering about what a disposable, yet practical shield he had proven to be. Astarion could definitely outmaneuver Tav on dexterity and flexibility alone. Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart would probably react too late. Jaheria would put up a good fight. Lae’zel and Karlach were the only two Halsin knew could survive the bloodshed.

“Well, she camps far away from us,” Tav said, pointing to the tent closest to the barn’s exit. “Not because she doesn’t like us, but because if there’s ever an attack, she’ll swing first.”

“And she’ll go down first.”

Tav winced. “I think that’s how she shows she cares. It’s the only way she’ll ever let it be known that she’d die for us.”

Oak Father preserve him, he never noticed that before. The bear whined, and Halsin turned his heavy head to try and catch a glimpse of the fighter in her tent.

“I’m not so scared of you anymore,” Yenna declared, smiling brightly. She was missing her left canine. 

Tav hummed, “I’ll make sure to treat you extra poorly in the morning.”

---

“Final question,” the blacksmith said, his voice lowering an octave. “Would you be able to turn your weapon on those closest to you?”

Tav lifted her gaze, irises darkening. “What kind of question is that?”

Halsin made to step forward, but the blacksmith clocked the movement before he fully could. A twisted smile painted his sweaty face. Tav did not balk, nor did she raise a weapon. She merely inspected him, tilting her head to the side as if the angle offered more. 

“It allows me to know just how sharp I should make your blade, how heavy I should make the handle. Should your blade drive through the meat of the one you love most, oh so easily? So easily that the spray of their blood angles directly into your waiting mouth? Should I make the handle light so that when your troubled hands tremble, you are still able to strike true?”

Astarion shook his head as if the words he was hearing were coming from the tadpole itself. He muttered a quiet what the fuck beneath his breath.

“Forgive us,” Halsin interrupted, his face drawn tight. “But we are no longer in need of your services.”

The blacksmith took an audacious step right into Tav’s personal space. Halsin acted quickly, throwing his hands out to push at his armored shoulders. The blacksmith stumbled, but his smile did not falter. 

“You have already tried to steal this family’s breath, have you not? You have imagined what their insides look like, what wonderful necklaces you can wove from each string they offer?”

Halsin growled, his eyes burning gold. “I will savor your own if you do not walk away right now.”

Tav looked up at him, her surprise sincere. As if she truly believed he wouldn’t risk his life for hers. He had told her he would back in his tent in the shadow-cursed lands, promising his ears as well for when her mind needed relief. At this very moment, he would draw his staff and return whatever vile energy the creature before them harbored back to the Oak Father, where his vengeance striked true. Anything for her, for it was the least he could do.

But before anyone could pull a blade, the blacksmith cracked his own neck in a gruesome display of brute strength. His shoulders lifted then popped. His back bent forward, and his feet turned inward. And in a single burst of red, a pale woman stood in his place. Even paler eyes accompanied her vicious aura.

“Blood-kin! You would have this mountain of a servant speak for you?” she laughed, her sultry voice penetrating his chest. It made his heart beat wildly, made the bear cower. “Oh, but I do so enjoy the taste of druid.”

Tav snarled, her fists clenching as she stopped herself from striking a fellow Bhaalspawn. “Orin.”

“Took you long enough,” she judged, wringing out the final cracks of her neck. “It seems my poking and prodding did little to disturb your mind-matter. Or, did it?” 

She winked at Halsin, then circled the two as if they were trapped in a glass box. “Do you not remember who you are? Who we were? What you have done?”

“I remember enough.”

Orin giggled, and swiped a bloody hand across Astarion’s chest. The pale elf stood his ground, but Halsin saw the way his throat bobbed.

“Tell your orc to move aside. My eyes crave the fighter you have become. Though, I much prefer you dripping with innards.” Orin smiled until her red teeth practically took up half her face. A pretty face, Halsin secretly admitted to himself. But there was no lust behind that truth. She looked up at him, taking that same hand that touched Astarion and running it down his own chest. The armor protected him from feeling such grimy fingers, but she pushed and swiveled them the longer he stood still. 

“I can easily step through you,” she threatened, standing on her tip-toes so her foul breath met his nose.

“Step through me, then.”

When the feeling of her slick tongue met his chin, Halsin froze. His stomach dropped a million miles into the Oak Father’s soil, and his nerves splintered one by one. He was back in the Underdark, chained to the most spectacular of bedposts, throwing his head back in shame as the drow matron rode him, as her claws tore across his throat—

Tav gripped Orin by the back of the neck and flung her several feet away. Orin caught herself on an unfinished blade and used it to stand again, paying no mind to the slice in her palm. Her smile held, but a few strands of blond hair broke free from her neatly-kept braid. 

“Have you fucked this one, blood-kin? Have you sucked him dry? Have you come on his thin lips? On his wonder of a cock? Have you killed him, fucked his corpse, and revived him yet?”

“You truly are the bitch of the Gate, aren’t you?” Astarion bit, picking at invisible dirt beneath his fingernails. “Let it be known that if you step through the druid, which I would love to see if I’m being honest, you would have to go through me next. And I am very hard to kill, darling.”

“A challenge! To kill the undead over and over and over again! So many possibilities.”

“Yes, how wonderful. If your bitch-self is able to do that, you would then face the githyanki. And there, you absolute swine, is where you would crumble.”

Tav stepped in front of Halsin, even daring to raise a dagger at her sister. “They are not the only ones who would aid me in your defeat, Orin. I’ve recruited Minthara, and she holds the most brilliant of grudges.”

Orin finally frowned. “Father will see us battle soon enough, Tav. That is the name you chose for yourself all those years ago, no? Oh, wait. Excuse me. The name your mother chose for you.” 

Tav's jaw tightened. 

“How she screamed and whined and begged you not to kill her and your adoptive siblings. How she writhed even as Uncle lifted you from her corpse.”

“I look forward to sinking my teeth into your fucking neck, sister.”

“And I will writhe with the pleasure of it, my dear slaughter-kin.”

Orin disappeared, and Halsin regained feeling in his legs. He reached for Tav, and for the first time since they had met, he took her hand into his own. Her fingers intertwined with his, the size difference settling something dark within him. 

“I can teach you my technique,” Astarion said, his light voice clearing the stale air. “It’s all in the turn of your jaw, see. Then place your canines delicately over the carotid—”

“Tav,” Halsin whispered, squeezing her hand.

“She’s a shapeshifter. A fucking doppleganger. Orin can infiltrate our camp and kill us all.”

Astarion moaned, his worry expertly concealed. “She won’t be able to. We know one another.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “If I repeat it multiple times, maybe I’ll believe it, too.”

“You’re scared?” Tav asked, absent of judgment entirely. Her tone was more sad, if anything.

“She’s terrifying,” Astarion confirmed with a laugh. Then, more seriously, “And she will not touch you.”

Tav shook her head, her grip on Halsin’s hand strong. “I don’t think she’s going to stop coming after us until I accept her duel.”

“Dueling for what exactly?” Lae’zel finally sheathed her sword, but her yellow eyes followed each gust of wind, each insect that flew across her vision, each movement her companions made.

Tav grimaced as she said, shame dripping off the two words, “Bhaal’s chosen.”

Lae’zel straightened. “Is that what you want?”

“You have no opinion on the matter.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

Tav pulled her hand from Halsin’s, and he immediately felt the coldness seep through his skin. The action was almost enough to deafen him from Tav’s next announcement. 

“Let’s see what Gortash has to say.”

He scoffed, though he didn’t mean for the sound to signify displeasure. “His opinion is allowed?”

“He knows about Orin. More than me, considering. I should use all the weapons in my arsenal.”

It took everything in him not to outright fight her. Instead, he nodded and immediately regretted it. “You know best, I suppose.”

Her readied insult died as she didn't expect him to fold so easily. She was left looking up at him, studying his eyes for any change. She was fighting herself, fighting something besides her need to battle his every word. 

She cleared her throat, hiding from his gentle stare as she asked, “Could you make me that tea later? The one that’s a little bit spicy.”

He bowed slightly. “Of course.”

“And you—you can share a cup with me, if you want.”

Halsin swore the gold glimmer he possessed dripped along his ribs. “Until later then.”

He watched Tav walk away with Astarion at her side, their arms locked and her head resting on his shoulder. What he would give for that level of closeness with someone—with her, even—instead of people simply using him and vanishing within the month.

“She is strong. We are strong. We will assassinate Orin and leave a trail of blood for her followers to lick clean,” Lae’zel firmly established, her presence doing nothing to quell the sudden emptiness plaguing him. 

“Is it wrong to doubt our abilities?”

Lae’zel clicked her tongue. “Am I to give the old druid wisdom?”

He chuckled, “Advice, more like.”

Ever since embarking on this mission, Halsin questioned his right to give advice at all. The Grove almost fell because he went chasing after the past, he nearly banished Minthara without hearing her plea, and he allowed Mol’s capture because he was too enthralled by a comatose Flaming Fist. Jaheira could take up the mantle of wise druid. He wasn’t worthy of it anyway.

“There is no room for doubt in this fight. We must press on, and worry about the consequences afterwards. Pray that there is an afterwards, that there are consequences.”

He and Lae’zel decided to buy some desserts for the group, wholeheartedly believing that sugar might make everything weighing their shoulders down just a little bit more light.

---

“Tell me about your time in the Underdark, please?”

Halsin never thought he’d bring the topic up ever, especially to a friend. Sometimes there are things best kept hidden away for the risk of all the original emotions carved into his skin bleeding freely again. He had never told anyone, truly. When hinting at it, he kept the story brief. The more serious aspects were always downplayed, and he purposely skipped information so that he didn’t need to reteach himself how to forget.

But as he sat on his bed at the Elfsong with Tav cross-crossed on the floor, sipping the spicy tea he had made, he felt the need to tell her a little more. He had a feeling that she would be able to handle it, and that he would be able to bear the repercussions.

So he told her. Every last detail, down to the smallest he was sure he had forgotten a hundred years ago. But this time he could not smell the drow matron’s perfume, or taste the patron’s poisonous saliva. He couldn’t feel their lingering touch, no, not when Tav held out her empty teacup and softly asked for more. 

“Perhaps that’s why you hated me in the beginning.”

A genuine laugh jumped from his chest. He savored the growing smile on her lovely face. “I have never hated you. Was I skeptical about a female drow saving me from the goblin camp when Minthara camped right upstairs? Yes.”

She smirked, then took a long sip of her filled tea. The events from earlier that day had seemed to evaporate in each sip, and it made him damn near giddy to know it was his tea doing that. 

Tav caught herself before she could lower her gaze, her eyes meeting his hazel ones. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Though it was something plenty of people had uttered before, it still gave him a sense of calmness. Of reassurance. “Once you’ve lived for as long as I have, bad memories begin to turn into something distant. Numb, almost. And with enough time, their past associations change.”

“You’ve… you’ve convinced yourself it didn’t happen?”

No. Triggers existed, but they were rare for him. Orin’s tongue had transported him to that bad place, but Tav’s touch brought him back. “More like I have convinced myself that it was not as bad as I once thought it to be.”

He survived. And though it was entirely non-consensual, he had enjoyed some days. There was shame in that, shame he will carry forever. 

“It wasn’t your fault. You deserved better, Halsin.”

His shoulders fell before he could collect himself. Tav noticed, like she always did. 

“You did what you had to in order to survive, and they met a violent end. A fitting end.”

He actually never found out what became of his captors, but it wasn’t likely they survived a week-long ambush. “I—Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

“The stress of today. Of yesterday. Of what’s to come. It’s really taking its toll.”

She nodded, looking down at her tea. “Don’t tell anybody this, but I’m terrified of what’s to come.”

The pure honesty in her voice… Halsin couldn’t breathe. 

“If you ever suspect I am Orin, ask me what Shadowheart’s favorite flower is. It’s a night orchid.”

The thought of Orin infiltrating their camp at all was enough to frighten even the bear, so much so that when Halsin attempted to bring him forward, that gold glimmer sparked and faded at his fingertips. 

“Shouldn’t the question be about you instead?���

“Shadowheart has only ever told me that. It’s one of the only things she remembers about herself. Orin would never know.”

Smart. He tried to think of something his companions had told him in secret, or something he had told them, but his mind fell blank. It wasn’t that he failed to get to know them properly, but that whenever he would lend an ear, he was simply the first of many. Which, in retrospect, was a proud thing. They were comfortable telling him first, but he did not hold their secrets for long. 

“If you ever suspect I am Orin, ask me about my mother. If my response isn't that she's doing well, you will know.” He was harboring no secrets of his own, besides the stirring of his heart for the drow sitting in front of him. “Everyone knows I am the last of my line. Orin would know it.”

“And if she takes someone else’s skin?”

“You know your companions well enough, no? It was me you were having difficulty with.”

Tav chuckled, and gulped the last of her tea. Standing, she went to grab his empty cup from his hands. “Thank you for the tea, Halsin.”

And before his mind could attach its wits to his mouth, he softly returned, “Anytime, my heart.”

Tav stilled, the cups rattling against each other as she held them close to her chest. Halsin counted the passing seconds, grappling with his common sense as his mouth formed around invisible words. 

Since joining this merry journey, his wisdom had plummeted to the depths of the Nine Hells. Stupidity flourished in his old, druid soul—

Tav scurried back to him, a dark blush coating her entire face. She planted a quick peck to his cheek, right on his tattoo. 

The gentleness of it lingered until he fell into a deep trance.

---

“Get away from me!”

Halsin startled awake, tripping over the damned sheets of his bed. He had never had blankets before. Or a mattress. Sure, when he shared beds with lovers he rested for a few hours, but he did not indulge in city culture while at the Grove. The only person who had a mattress was Nettie, and only because her back needed the support. 

Halsin wiped at his eyes to find Astarion backing away slowly, finding refuge by Tav’s bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress, Tav stirred. She was up in an instant, a dagger pulled from underneath her pillow. 

“How in the Hells did you get in here?” she hissed. Meeting his eye across the room, he understood the signal to wake the others. One by one, as Tav and Astarion attempted to calm his siblings, Halsin shook his companions awake. Lae’zel and Jaheira took to the dark corners, Wyll and Gale spread out but lay low, Shadowheart drank a potion of invisibility, and he, Karlach, and Minthara picked up the heaviest of weapons to stroll straight into the quarrel with. The other vampires stared at them with bright, glowing eyes. Bristling, nearly twitching with each excited breath they took. 

Why didn’t Astarion’s eyes glow? Had the tadpole taken that feature away as well?

Tav succeeded in persuading Leon and Aurelia in seeing the truth behind Cazador’s lies, much to Astarion’s displeasure. He wanted her to lie, to tell them that they could all ascend by killing Cazador together. Halsin’s chest seized as he witnessed the craving of power in Astarion’s demeanor, and as he caught Tav hesitating in her speech. 

One of his siblings saddled closer to Karlach, mindful of the flames, but took a sniff nonetheless. Karlach recoiled. The spawn swallowed, ignoring Karlach’s reaction and Minthara’s glare, all to catch a whiff of his own blood. The spawn’s eyes glowed brighter, their irises vibrating uncontrollably.

The red glow was hunger. 

Astarion was no longer hungry. 

“By the absent Gods, Astarion… I believe you,” Leon said. But Aurelia clutched her stomach and groaned, whispering to Leon about how they couldn’t refuse orders. That Cazador was forcing them to kidnap Astarion, and a deal between them might as well be a joke. Leon pushed his sister behind him as he braced for a fight. Devastation glowed in his eyes, and he muttered a quick apology before he pulled a dagger from his pocket. 

Astarion raised his chin, empathy shown on his face. In his tone. “You can tell Cazador that when I find him, I will tear him limb from limb. I will smile upon his rotten corpse.”

Tav received the first slash. By stepping directly in front of Astarion. The pale elf’s eyes widened as he smelled her blood, her sacrifice. The very concept of mercy seeped from his mind altogether. He cut through his siblings desperately, dodging their blades and spells. 

Shadowheart stuck a blade in the spine of the smallest of the spawn, and fell backwards as they simply disappeared. Called back to their Master. Her blade lay bloody on the rug before it was suddenly picked up by Leon himself. 

And before he could drive it into her throat, Lae’zel burst from the shadows and tackled him. Her roar cracked through Halsin's eardrums, and an equally grating one sounded as she buried her blade deep in his abdomen. Same as his sibling, Leon disappeared from the Elfsong. 

It was pure luck he and his companions outnumbered them. He had just finished shooting an arrow through the shoulder of one aiming for Jaheira’s heart when he heard it. 

A quiet, garbled gasp. 

Tav gripped the dagger’s handle with both hands, leaving it inserted in her stomach. She merely stared at Aurelia. The spawn stared back, her lips trembling and head shaking in disbelief. 

Halsin was behind her in an instant, gripping her hair and swinging her to the floor. The spawn yelped, the last of her siblings infecting their camp. She scrambled backward, whatever she saw in Halsin’s eyes frightening her enough to abandon her own bow. He lifted her and slammed her against the wall, taking pleasure in her groan of pain. 

“Cazador would never let you die here, and yet you drive a blade through my friend’s skin?” he yelled, slamming her again. 

She cried, “Astarion! Please! He ordered us here, he ordered us to kill anyone who stepped in the way! I could not refuse. I could not refuse, I could not refuse, I could not refuse—“

Again and again she repeated it, tears staining her cheeks and drenching her collar. She thrashed, her throat clenching on itself. Again, again, again, again—

“Let her go, Halsin,” Astarion begrudgingly ordered, his bloody daggers limp at his sides. “She cannot disobey.”

“What and let her kill us? Let her take you?” he screamed over his shoulder. 

Minthara stepped forward, observing Aurelia with a sneer. “No,” she drawled. She sunk the broken tip of an arrow in the spawn’s throat. “We merely send her back.”

In a snap, she abandoned her orders for the sake of forced survival, following the rest of her empty-handed siblings. Halsin immediately dashed for Tav, kneeling in front of her to inspect the wound.

“Let me,” he said, his heart pounding.

“No.”

“Tav—“

“I told him I’d protect him and I almost failed tonight. I deserve this.” Still, she did not let go of the blade. The second she pulled, she would bleed out.

Halsin forced himself to breathe normally, shock enveloping his senses. Was that why she got involved with everyone and everything, put herself first in the face of danger, so she could somehow relieve their pain and take the brunt of it? 

“You deserve… pain?” he asked carefully. He had met others who self-harmed before, but he had never treated them directly. Nettie had always taken the lead role in those cases. And perhaps he wasn’t the best person to ask for help either, because his aged brain could only suggest they stop. 

Now, he understood why Tav did it—why she believed she deserved it. And instead of simply telling her to stop, he wanted to heal her from the inside-out so no thoughts like that ever afflicted her again.

“I deserve to be broken and pulled apart all over again, Halsin. I deserve to remember that torture Orin made me suffer.”

She tried to step around him, but Lae’zel’s glare halted her. He caught her arm before she could find an alternate route. 

Her breathing quickened. He loosened his grip, but still managed to tug her closer. To grip the blade’s handle himself. “It is a blessing you do not remember any of it.”

She smiled ruefully, fatigue dimming her eyes. “What do you think my punishment should be? More stabbings?”

“None whatsoever. Now, please let me tend to your wound.”

“If she really wants to break me, all she has to do is give me my memories back,” she laughed, though it was pained. From self-hatred or from the wound, he did not know. “But in her eyes, it would be a gift.”

Without much struggle, he laid her down and wordlessly instructed Wyll to bring fresh water and clean rags. She stared as he worked around the wound first, silent but present. Though no emotion painted her face, Halsin knew he wasn’t being scrutinized. There was something deeper there. Something akin to admiration, something holy. 

When Wyll returned and gripped Tav’s hand as Halsin quickly pulled the blade out, Halsin let his mind settle. He drowned out her cries and worked tirelessly, stitching her insides with magic and muttering sweet words under his breath. He didn’t think she was listening, but he said them just the same. 

“I couldn’t let them take him,” Tav breathed, her eyelids fluttering. “I think I was just as bad as Cazador, and if he had been taken…”

“You must not compare yourself to true evils, my heart. For you are not the person in absent memories, nor the person Orin wants you to be. I have it on good authority that Astarion would agree, and would kill you himself if you even matched Cazador in cruelty. For that, there is hope in your atonement yet.”

Somehow a smile broke through her exhausted face. “You are too nice to me.”

Halsin pulled the bedsheet over her healing stomach. And because she was barely conscious, he found the confidence to say, “Trust me, I am more than what I ever was when I am with you.”

---

“There’s absolutely no way, you little shit.”

Halsin had to blink so Tav’s words were processed fully. The way she spoke to children… At this point in their journey, there was only a sliver of guilt as he admitted he found it sort of funny.

Mol puffed out her chest, fists on her hips and face absent of an eyepatch. “Surprised to see me here? Well, right back at ya! Glad to see ya made it here in one piece!”

Tav listened intently as Mol described what she’d been up to all this time, all the trinkets she acquired roaming the Lower City, her new position in Guild. 

“Get away from my pockets, child,” Jaheira sneered, but there was a hint of pride hidden in her voice. In her slight grin. Something akin to respect. 

“I don’t need your scraps, ya old weirdo! I’ve got Nine-Fingers up my sleeve, a certain devil protecting my hide, and a handsome ol’ wizard slipping me scrolls whenever he can!”

Jaheira was unruffled by her insult, which made Mol even more assured. But the second she met Halsin's stare, a muscle in her jaw jumped, giving her away.

“Tell me you did not make that deal with Raphael, Mol,” Halsin pleaded.

“None of your business, tree-hugger.”

Wyll sighed, closing his eyes. “Raphael may talk sweet, but he’ll cut you quicker than you can beg. Whatever he’s promised, know that it cannot be met without repercussions or consequences. I should know, Mol.”

Tav set a gold chalice back on the wooden crate, leaning over to check out Mol’s jewelry collection instead. “Is that how you escaped Moonrise? And got your eyesight back?”

Her monotone voice confused the small tiefling—Why would two men care more about her situation? But Halsin recognized the trick. No sense of urgency, unlike all the other times she and Mol had met, would get her talking. Wanting to expand on her deal with Raphael just so she could prove that all she’s accomplished so far measured up to the way Tav saw her. 

“What’s the big deal now? I got out, and now I’ve gotta hold up my end.”

“Which is?” Wyll pressed. 

“He gave me a damn eyeball back! The deal could have been a lot worse.”

“Mol,” Halsin grumbled. 

“Thievery is my domain, druid. I’m his little thief.”

Wyll leaned in. “That’s all that was exchanged?”

Mol's nose curled. “Where’s ya head at, ya thick warlock? Of course that’s it!”

Wyll’s shoulders dropped. Halsin had never spoken to Mizora in the time she lounged around the Elfsong. Never asked Wyll to elaborate on their daily check-ins. Never asked about the other missions she had sent him on. Whatever Wyll shared with him, the group, Halsin was grateful for. 

Now he couldn’t stop wondering what his hands would look like wrapped around Mizora’s throat.

And he couldn’t stop the worry from hitting him square in the chest as Tav said her goodbyes. Would they leave Mol to the Guild? To Raphael’s slimy grasp? She and Yenna would probably get along, and Gods knew Yenna needed another girlfriend besides Karlach. 

“Here,” Mol said, handing Tav a pouch of coins and a sealed letter. “I trust you’ll deliver this for me?”

“Stupid assumption.”

Mol rolled her eyes. “Deliver it, will ya? It’s going to your favorite tiefling wiiiiizaaaarrrrd.”

Tav mimicked her voice, flicking the young tiefling off before turning on her heel. 

They can’t leave her here, they can’t leave her here, they can’t leave her here… He can’t leave her here.

“Astele would sooner die than harm a child of the Gate,” Jaheira whispered to him. “And the child is smart enough to gain her trust in time.”

“This is no place for a child."

“No, it isn’t,” Jaheira agreed, raising an eyebrow. “But what of Geraldus? He made his choice, and it was an honorable one. I tried to stop him and got put in my place by our resident cub. What of Arabella, wandering alone and told to simply trust the Weave? We let her go, and our hope reigns. What of Mattis and Umi and Bex and Dannis? We cannot save everyone, but we can help them along their path.” 

“Is leaving Mol here helping her?”

Jaheira looked over her shoulder, eyeing Mol as she showed a child around her own age the proper hand movements to reach inside a pocket. “It is acceptance. It is trust. It is the knowledge that we are capable of stepping back when we have to. Mol has proven herself a hundred times over, and this deal with Raphael will only be a lesson. Besides, what hypocrite you are for telling the same devil you would consider his offer about the crown instead of disagreeing immediately?”

Perhaps Jaheira was right. For years, Halsin had put the needs of others on his shoulders regardless of their weight. Unoccupied now, his days felt empty.

Tav was doing the same and it seemed like only he could see the true consequence of it. Everyone else in their camp was occupied with their own predicaments, Jaheira now having to find and stop Minsc, so no one had seen Tav’s height lowering. Without the threat of the shadow curse, he was no longer blind. Though their companions cared for Tav’s wellbeing, they could not see past their own mist. He did not blame them—he was strong enough to help her, nourish her, lift her. By helping Tav, he would help himself.

“Does this change our plans with Raphael?” Wyll asked, worrying his bottom lip. 

“No,” Tav promised. She pushed the doors open and ignored the grumbling from the two guards eyeing her every move. “We kill the bastard, steal the hammer, and make damn sure Mol never finds out.”

Easier said than done.

---

The third time he heard Tav scream was when she delivered the final blow that brutalized Lorroakan’s insides. With her sword lifted high and Karlach’s boot in his neck, Tav sliced open his abdomen and pulled out his large intestine. Wet and red, Tav squeezed, seemingly savoring the squelching noise that bounced off the windows of Ramazith’s Tower. 

And when she moved aside to let Dame Aylin through, Halsin savored the sound of his spine splitting upon her blessed knee. 

They had stopped at Sorcerous Sundries right after seeing Mol, the coin purse all too tempting for Astarion. When they arrived and took immediate note of the bruises scattered across Rolan’s handsome face, Halsin knew they wouldn’t just be dropping off the coin. 

Rolan had done a good job at keeping his composure until the questions began. 

“I can take the beatings. When I mess up a spell, his beatings are a practical way to make me get it right the next time. My track record is impressive—”

“Discipline is to be given with purpose,” Lae’zel had bit, snarling. “Your bruises are scattered. Careless. Smack a soldier’s hand for fumbling their blade, not their cheekbones. Break a child’s fingers for stealing, not puncture their stomachs. Lorroakan is toying with you, tiefling. That is no good teacher.”

And when Rolan confirmed it, Tav’s face had fallen flat. Scarily detached. Lae’zel had a similar reaction, but she nodded her head as if agreeing with the unspoken decision amongst the group. 

Lorroakan would be dead before the sun set. 

Now, Rolan panted as he hurried to their side and examined what was left of his old Master. “He’s really dead. The bastard’s dead.”

Tav looted Lorroakan’s corpse and passed Gale the magical trinkets she would have no use of. 

“And I seem to be out of scrolls,” Tav commented, wiping blood from her forehead. Standing up with a groan, she did her best to give Rolan a true smile. But the fight was tough, so much so that she had spent most of her time throwing healing potions to Karlach, who insisted on being in the middle of it all. “Would the new Master of Ramazith’s Tower kindly sell me some? I’d be willing to pay double.”

Rolan’s eyes watered, but that signature arrogance seeped through as he straightened his shoulders and sketched a bow. Silver menace, Halsin thought. He and Tav were so similar.  

Rolan’s eyes lit up as he remembered, “I promised you a discount.”

Tav waved a bored hand through the air. “You promised Gale a discount.”

Rolan closed his eyes for a second before throwing himself into Tav’s arms, holding her as tightly as his sore arms allowed. Tav stiffened, her cheek squished against Rolan’s hard chest and the top of her head directly beneath his chin. She met Halsin’s eye and found only encouragement. 

She wrapped her arms around the tiefling and squeezed, her eyes closing in comfort. 

“Master Rolan… I quite like the sound of that,” Rolan joked, clearing the sentiment from his throat. “I shall move Cal and Lia in at once!”

“I’m going to need as many wizards in this upcoming fight with the Absolute. I would like my favorite wizard at my side.”

Astarion snickered beside Gale, even going as far as poking his elbow into his ribs. Gale simply waved him off. 

“You will have the full force of Ramazith’s Towers at your service.” Then, softer and sweeter, “Thank you, Tav.”

Tav practically sparkled. Halsin forced himself to look away, only to meet Karlach’s knowing gaze. 

“I’m just sorry I can’t kill him again,” Tav said. “Know that you are always welcome at our camp. That you can always ask for our help with bitchy customers or entitled explorers.”

“And you will always have a room here if you need it.”

---

Halsin found her on the roof of the Elfsong, Lakrissa having whispered the hint when he inquired about Tav’s whereabouts. With a wink and a promise of a drink later, Lakrissa confirmed what he had worried about. People were starting to notice his feelings, his desires… People were starting to see right through him. 

Tav finished tying her hair up when she looked over her shoulder and smiled. It hit him so hard he fumbled over his own feet, a blush crawling up his neck. Tav pretended not to notice, and said nothing as he moved to sit on the cushion beside hers.  

As she looked over the balcony’s edge, watching the birds fly in triangles and the leaves float through the wind, Halsin watched her. Her skin was lighter than Minthara’s, and the pale burn stretching diagonally from the top right of her forehead to her bottom left cheek definitely set them apart. He wondered if she picked up that scar from battle, from her early days as a Bhaalspawn, or from the torture she had endured and forgot at Moonrise. She had never commented on it, nor did anyone bring it up. Yet, Halsin prayed it was a simple story like his own scar, nothing fancy, and that the brutal violence that seemed to follow their heels was altogether absent. 

With her hair up, he was able to outline the scar. Unable to control the desire to run his thumb down the extent of it. But he reeled it in, and sat beside her with his hands in his lap. 

“You know… I at least have an excuse for my violence. Lorroakan was just a bastard,” Tav suddenly shared, a worn chuckle breaking through. “But then again, going off of my logic, Orin has a valid excuse, too.”

“Orin is a different breed.”

Her mouth fell into a frown. “If she would have been kidnapped and infected with a tadpole, you would be sharing your tea with her. Rolan would be thanking her. You would be confiding in her.”

Halsin did not believe that true for one second. Orin was frightening, and the added effect of a tadpole was sure to make her everyone’s worst nightmare. Still, he replied with, “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Tav grumbled, unsatisfied. What else could he say? That she got out but her sister didn’t? That she was given a new chance at life and her sister was still wreaking havoc underground? Was he supposed to feel sorry for Orin? 

“I am one God’s chosen,” Tav whispered, then turned to him with a flicker of hope in her mismatched eyes. “But do you think I can pray to another god?”

“Yes.”

“Is your Oak Father free?”

“Silvanus?” he asked, the fluttering of his heart nearly booming in his ears. He wondered if she could hear it, if her own matched his rhythm. “Look at where you sit. You are surrounded by his creations, even if they are muted in this city. The air you breathe, the ground you walk on, the flowers you smell. Silvanus asks for little in return, other than nurture nature, each other, and yourself. If you are worried about whether or not Silvanus will hear your prayers, do not be. He hears them, and does what can be done.”

“I have killed hundreds of people. I have mutilated their corpses, stolen their coin, desecrated their gravesites.”

“Forgiveness is something all gods offer.”

“But do I deserve it?”

No longer a boom, but a crack echoed through his ears. 

“Does Astarion deserve it after all the souls he brought Cazador?” he asked.

“He’s changed,” Tav declares, defensive, “And the gods never answered him.”

“Perhaps his change and his current situation is answer enough.”

Yet another thing that maddened him. Why did no God answer Astarion’s pleas? Why was he discarded, as were his siblings, and forced to endure two-hundred years of pain? Why did Astarion have to change at all to gain recognition? He was split on whether Silvanus would help an undead creature, one who couldn’t even harvest the sun's bounty. Did the Oak Father consider Astarion an undead with a soul in need of saving, or an undead with nothing but a masked scent?

Would the Oak Father consider Tav a soul worth saving after she had stolen the very souls he sprouted? Was change enough for both her and Astarion that he would practice benevolence?

Tav sucked in a deep breath. Shame suddenly etched across her face, as did an unsatisfying flush in her cheeks. Her mouth opened slightly around an invisible word. He waited, and offered an encouraging smile.

“I don’t remember kissing anyone who wasn’t dead,” she admitted, her voice wholly dejected. As if this one admission was enough to squander any acceptance from Silvanus. “My memories are vague, of course. But I do remember one man. His heart was beating. I don’t think I ever killed him.”

Halsin had to tread carefully or else the reopening of her wounds could prove dangerous. 

“Did you want to kiss your victims?”

She paused. “I think Orin wanted me to.”

“Do you see Orin in those memories?”

“I see her laughing.”

What in the Hells was their dynamic like? Though not related by blood, Orin had played the role of evil elder sister and Tav the role of evil little one. But had Orin been the most depraved of the two? The most abhorrent and wicked? Was Tav a subject of immorality, but able to control her urges more often? To be a Bhaalspawn and to not resist the urge to maim… Tav’s blood was diluted, while Orin had been pumped full.

If Orin had been kidnapped and infected, Halsin wholeheartedly believed he would have died by her dagger that night, that the Grove would have fallen, that the shadow curse would have never been lifted. 

“She may have ordered me to do that stuff, but I still did it. I killed to honor my father, but kissing them? That was to satisfy Orin. To satisfy something darker than the urge. And when we saw Rolan today… I snapped. All I could see was his unwillingness to adhere to Lorroakan's insane orders. I saw his fear. And if any of my victims had felt that way, then avenging Rolan was as much of an apology as I could ever give them.”

To live a life with the knowledge it wasn’t entirely full, that there was a separate personality all along…

Halsin cleared his throat, shuffling the slightest bit closer to her. She stayed where she was, but marked his movement. “Do you remember anything else about that man you mentioned?”

Tav thought about it for a second. Something curious flashed across her face, but he couldn’t name it. “I—I just remember a gold hand.”

Dragonborn, maybe? He didn’t voice the theory obviously. 

But what he said next surprised him enough that his mouth dried instantly. 

“Would you like to kiss me?”

Tav’s eyes widened. “I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you.”

She chuckled, embarrassment evident in how she twiddled her thumbs. Her nails clinked together, the shine of the purple metallic polish sending a shiver down his spine. Oh, how it would feel to receive fresh, consensual scars from her. 

“The Oak Father won’t call it a disgrace?”

“I am positive he won’t,” he assured her. He moved closer, careful to not loom over her. Their knees touched. “I can be your beating heart.”

“And you want this?”

This was the time to be truthful. To bathe in the confidence he had cultivated and perfected by his hundredth year. To admit to her that what he was feeling was something else entirely than what his body had told him to feel for years. “For a long time, if I’m being honest. I go where my heart leads. It would be a lie to say you haven’t surprised me. Encouraged me, astonished me. You are magnificent. A beacon of hope, even if the shimmer is burning you from the inside-out.”

“I don’t want to simply be another notch on your belt.”

“Do not ever reduce yourself as such. My heart does not stir lightly,” he tried to reason, tried to pretend that her words didn’t hurt.

“But that’s what it is, Halsin. I appreciate the gesture, but I respect your place in nature. You are a creature who cannot stay in one place for a long time, and granted I am, too. Though I see myself moving with only one person on my arm, forever. If I ever beat this curse of mine, I want the choice. I want the opportunity. And I want to be someone’s only choice, selfishly.”

“I—”

“I am not asking you to change yourself for me,” she said, her breath quickening. “I know there have been plenty of lovers and there will be plenty more. But I have stolen loves from so many people. I have stolen their opportunities. It does not feel right to indulge, and it doesn’t feel right to indulge with you.”

“Perhaps I mistook our relationship, or rather our… tension, wrongly” he explained, masking his pain.

She let out a frustration moan. “I want you, but only if you’re just mine. And I can’t have you, because that’s not my fate.”

She believed that she did not deserve him. That he was a prize? Halsin couldn’t think of himself as such, nor could he believe that she was punishing herself so. But as he remembered how she stepped right into the path of danger when Astarion’s siblings attacked, how she did not want to be patched up, it finally made sense. 

Atonement. Atonement in the form of punishment. The punishment of loneliness. 

Like Gale, who hid himself away after absorbing the darkest Weave. Having no one to speak to besides Tara, besides letters with his mother. Who tried his hardest to create distance between him and Astarion, but failed when the vampire lured him with nothing but sweet, honeyed words. Like Karlach, who tried her hardest not to sneak away at night to visit Dammon. But with the Elfsong so close to his newest forge, she could not help overstepping her self–inflicted choice. Like Wyll, who made a deal with a devil and accepted exile. Who couldn’t speak the truth and fell into the belief that maybe he wasn’t ever meant to. Who would rather his father hate him from afar than know what he had become.

“What do you believe is your fate?” he asked, perhaps a little too harshly.

“To help all of you. Save Baldur’s Gate. And then die.”

He stood, his muscles straining as he tried to relax. He gripped the balcony’s edge. She did not move from her spot, frozen as she stared and burned through the back of his head.

And like Gale, Tav had chosen to blow up any chance at long-term redemption. Like Karlach, Tav had chosen to burn when it was all over. They had all chosen wrong.

How to prove to them that they were worth everything and more, how to prove that the world was better with them in it? How to prove to Tav that he wasn’t sure he was a wild heart anymore, and that maybe, just maybe, she was the reason. 

Selfish as she was apparently, he wanted to prove that he was ten times worse.

“A single kiss then. I ask nothing more, and expect nothing else in return.”

The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow upon her scarred face. The heat was touching her, and oh how he envied it so. “Why?”

He turned, lifting his chin so that all she could see was sincerity. “Because you have been deprived of it. Because you are over a hundred years old and do not remember the caress of another. Because Bhaal has made you desensitized.”

“So, pity then?”

“Because it would be your choice.”

She glanced down at her hands, at the brick beneath her cushion. Whatever quarrel she was having with herself looked tiring. And Gods did he want her to relent. 

“Out of everyone here,” she breathed, “I don’t know why I only want to kiss you.”

His own breath came faster as she stood and walked to him. Placing a hand upon his chest, she caressed the fabric. Curiosity bloomed in her irises, and he let her roam for a minute or so. Let her have the chance at feeling another living being. She rested her palm over his heart, and muttered her count.

“Ten,” she said, closing her eyes, “Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

“Endless,” he confirmed, reaching up to take that same palm in his hand. Though he recognized the lust in her eyes, he also saw the fear. He was so much taller than her, so much older, and in her opinion, good. But she had forgotten the bloodthirst he had in the goblin camp, the hand he had wrapped around Kagha’s throat, the fact that Isobel had fallen all those years ago because of his blade. If they were comparing their misdeeds, they were equal.

“Whenever you say stop,” he said, leaning down so their lips brushed, “We stop. Okay?”

Tav did her best to nod, but Halsin recognized that dazed movement anywhere. She was floating. 

“Come back to me, little one.”

With that, the glaze in Tav’s eyes disappeared. She leaned forward, pressing further until their lips moved as one. Halsin used a single finger to lift her chin, the kiss slow. He was in no hurry to rush it, no hurry to end what should be their only kiss. This was a transaction of sorts—

Tav wrapped a desperate hand around the back of his neck, pushing her upper body against him. In turn, their kiss deepended. Nearly ravenous, but full of all that bashfulness she had expressed earlier. When was the last time he had participated in such a chaste kiss? In his youth, surely. His past lovers were scattered, none staying around for more than a month. And he was just as guilty when it came to long-term predicaments. The bear roamed, and he answered its call. 

But here, with Tav’s lips molding so beautifully into his own with innocent need, he experienced the combination of love and lust. He wanted to continue kissing her, no matter where it led. He wanted to kiss her tomorrow, no matter the bear’s torment. He wanted to kiss her always, and be all she ever wanted. 

Tav pulled him in deeper, hungry, gaining more confidence as he followed her lead. He didn’t need to teach her anything, it seemed. Whether this was instinct or because she too felt the overwhelming desire to burrow into his skin, Halsin was more than happy to be her practice doll, more than happy to explore all impulses. Good or bad. 

Gods save him, good or bad. 

“Kiss me harder, please,” Tav pleaded, the gravel in her voice causing him to harden. He made sure his hips didn’t meet hers. But she was pushing deeper, stepping forward and neatly entangling their legs together. Halsin backed up, mindful of the balcony’s edge. He sat carefully and let her push herself between his open legs, and at this angle they were practically face to face. Tav kissed him harder, slipping her tongue over his bottom lip. A question. 

He opened his mouth and finally tasted her, groaning lowly. When they arrived at the Gate, their fruit assortment expanded. Here they were able to indulge in more than just apples and oranges. Tav tasted of kiwi and the lemon she squeezed in her morning tea. She tasted of the butter buns he always caught Karlach stealing, of the cinnamon cookies Yenna had tried her hand at baking yesterday. He knew he tasted of that same tea, but Halsin had found himself indulging more in grapes and cinnamon rolls Cher Rover saved specifically for him. Separating from Tav now would be a crime to everything sweet. 

“Halsin,” Tav rasped, her slender hands coming around to cup his scarred cheeks. He kept his own at her waist. “A single kiss.”

“A single kiss,” he repeated, sharing her breath. He dove in for more, their statement ignored and the two unbothered. They could extend this single kiss for hours and technically be right.

She suddenly gasped, stiffening against him. Her face pulled tight.

“Tav?” Halsin tried, worry spiking to the point he tried standing. Tav did not move, her grip on his shoulders too strong. 

Her eyes were watery with sorrow as she opened them. “I had a vision of pushing you off the balcony.”

Halsin held his breath. She made no move to do so. 

A nervous laugh escaped him. “I could just shapeshift into a bird, my heart.”

She waited, her mouth opening and closing awkwardly. The mere absurdity of the situation drew a short laugh from her, her eyes clearing simultaneously. She slid her hands down his neck, then settled them on his chest. Pulling back so their noses brushed, Tav nudged him slightly in question. Halsin nodded, completely basked in the glow of her exploration. Tav traced his curves and grooves, his scars and age marks, starved for touch alone. And when she reached his waistband, he pulled back to ask the same of her. 

She nodded, and he moved his hands up. 

Together they learned the whispers of their fingers and just how long they could hold their breaths. Together they slid their bodies closer, moving against one another to apply the necessary pressure needed to reach that delectable edge. Halsin kept his thick thigh planted between her legs, groaning as Tav rolled her cunt against it, chasing her high at a slow pace. 

Though she was desperate to feel such bliss with a willing partner, she did not rush it. Halsin didn’t want her to either. He would stay up here for hours, learning her likes and dislikes, learning how to properly sketch the length of her body with his tongue. 

“Gently,” he coaxed, bringing a hand up to tangle at the back of her head. He pulled her face from the crook of his sweaty shoulder and held her there, burning their gazes together as she took his order into consideration. She slowed her movements but bent deeper, so much so that her weight alone forced him to swallow down the savageness of the bear. “That’s it. There you go. I want you to learn your body first before you learn mine.”

“Fuck,” Tav rasped, bringing both hands to his head to mimic his grip. Halsin bit his lip to keep from pushing his hips up. She moved faster, no doubt the glow in her stomach at a full frenzy. 

“So beautiful,” he continued, his voice now at the lowest register he’d ever heard. Everything about this felt different—her scent relaxed his very core, her weight fought and won against the weight of his responsibilities, her noises sank deep into his chest and melted along his ribs. In his three-hundred and fifty years, he had never experienced such a connection. He would like to believe that he had been attentive to past lovers, but Tav… He wasn’t even actively providing the pleasure and yet she had destroyed his concept of sex from the inside-out.

“Make yourself come,” Halsin said, tempting her even further by pulling her in for a searing kiss. Tav whined, her hips losing their rhythm—

The hatch opened before Tav reached her climax, paralyzing her against Halsin’s chest. He held her tighter, and shot daggers at their intruder over her trembling shoulder. 

Wyll stood on the ladder wide-eyed, clutching his chest as if the scene before him had prompted heartburn. His face flushed with embarrassment, and he stuttered over his apology. “I can just… go get fresh air in the street.”

As the hatch shut, Tav removed herself from Halsin’s protective grip. He could not stop his body from reaching out for her.

“Tav.”

Backing away on wobbly legs, she did her best at offering a practiced smile. “Goodnight, Halsin.”

Later, when they rescued Minsc and dealt with the aftermath, Tav avoided his eyes and overcompensated with their newest arrival. Loud jokes, prolonged questioning—it made Halsin want to hide away forever, or until his beating heart called another’s name.

---

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Tav whispered, though her moan gave her away. Her slender fingers rose along his hips, tugging at his waistband. He had left his shirt behind, embracing the chill of nature. If he was going to bed Tav in the flowerbed near the Elfsong, he would do so with as little clothing in the way. The quicker his flesh met hers, the quicker the fire in his heart would settle. Though, Tav’s panting gave it the oxygen to thrive. Her tongue licked the flames, burning him brightly, to the point he dropped to his knees with all thoughts scorched except one. 

He devoured her, swiping his tongue along her slit and soaking up all she gave. She yelped, her fingers combing through his loose hair. She had taken his braids out one-by-one hours ago, massaging his scalp and whispering sweet-nothings along the sensitive skin of his pointy ears. Now, she gripped and pulled, relishing in the vibrations his groans made against her most intimate flesh. She pulled him in deeper, slapping one hand back against the stone of the building. Their companions could surely hear them—the windows were knocked open. And the thought invaded just as quickly as she came on his eager tongue: Astarion or Shadowheart—Gale—watching from the windowsill and getting themselves off at the same time. Learning from watching Halsin feast, from watching his cock drive into the beautiful woman wailing his name. 

“Halsin,” Tav breathed, pulling him up to stand. He let her use her strength, let her be in charge, guiding him in all places. “Fuck me. Fuck me until I can’t help crying your name. Fuck me and claim me as yours, forever. Come inside me, mark me as yours.”

The bear nearly broke loose, territorial to the highest extremes.

Halsin drove into her slowly, deeply, the squeeze stealing the air in his lungs and threatening to knock him out. She felt divine, like nothing he had ever felt before. He had many lovers, but none had wrapped around him with both sex-crazed madness and lo—

Halsin sucked in a gust of air, shooting upward in his bed. The beds at the Elfsong creaked when one changed position, and he had no doubt he had awakened someone close by. The nearest bunk to his left was Minthara’s, and Astarion to his right. But neither moved to indicate they heard him or scented his obvious arousal. 

Cursing softly, he laid back down and tried to steady the beating of his heart. Tav was far away enough, bunking near Karlach tonight, that she wouldn’t suspect anything. Hear anything. And he prayed the two nearest him wouldn’t hate him for this. 

Halsin reached below the sheets and gripped his hardness, shutting his eyes as that touch alone threatened to make him audible. Slowly he dragged his hand up and down, stopping at the tip to swipe. The quicker he got this over with, the quicker the shame could come and go. 

Tav had not sought him out after their kiss and… heavy-petting session, but he had seen the heat in her eyes. A promise that she had enjoyed their time together, his touch. The memory of that silver fire had him moving his hand faster. He reached to cup his balls with the other, biting his lip as the pleasure at the base of his spine grew. He remembered how her hips moved over his, how her mouth tasted, how her arousal smelled. How he had to keep the bear caged, and that made his grip on her even tighter. But it seemed Tav liked that, liked his roughness, and wanted to deliver the same amount. 

The pleasure built and built, until it finally erupted. Halsin choked on a shout, grinding the side of his face into the pillow. Pulling until he milked himself dry. He lay there panting, eyes shut as the guilt slowly crept along his extremities. 

“Darling, I at least have the good graces to please myself in the comfort of my own tent or in the bathroom.”

Halsin froze, and his stomach rotated when Minthara’s voice answered the vampire.

“Lies, Astarion. You haven’t pleased yourself in weeks. You have the wizard to thank for that.”

Astarion choked on his retort, but said nothing to contradict it.

---

“You’re here. Orin was telling the truth.”

Tav crossed her arms as she glared at Gortash, clicking her tongue when she noticed his eyes wandering. She was wearing thin armor today, tight around the waist and non-restricting around the neck. Halsin had stared for a long while before they had left their rooms, readjusting his trousers when she purposely bent down to grab her weapon of the day. She had winked, lifted her skirts to expose her thigh, and whispered a promise of lifting it higher when they returned. 

Now, as Gortash made a meal of her, it unsettled something greedy in Halsin. He had no right to shield Tav, but there was grime in the villain’s eyes. And he was done convincing himself he would feel this affected with just any lover.

Tav ignored Gortash’s initial surprise, allowing Wyll to take the lead.

“My father, Gortash. Let him go—”

“Oh, but I wasn’t talking to you, Wyll Ravengard,” Gortash snapped, a smile still playing on his pale lips. He gave Wyll an unimpressed once-over, then turned back to Tav. “My favorite little assassin… Tell me, how has the holiday been?”

"I could've done with less cultists, you absolute lunatic."

Wyll held his breath.

“I know it was Orin who kidnapped me from Baldur’s Gate. I want to know why.”

Gortash wasn’t exactly handsome, especially not when he frowned. The action seemed to drag his stress lines further. But he held himself like a man with power, and with power came confidence. 

“By the gods, they weren’t kidding. You truly don’t remember any of it, do you?” he said, huffing a simple laugh, one that scraped the walls of Halsin’s skull. “Why, it was us who orchestrated this grand design in the first place.”

The entire audience hall seemed to freeze as they processed Gortash’s outlandish claim. 

Tav swallowed, her lilac cheeks losing all color. “What?”

He made his way down the stairs, his robes swinging with each powerful stride. Tav stood her ground, but Karlach pointed her long ax at the new Archduke. Halsin inched closer to Tav as well, but he was more mindful of the rattling Steel Watch targeting Karlach.  

Gortash dismissed the metal monstrosity. He stood close enough now that Halsin smelled the city and a hint of rosemary on him. 

“The tadpoles, the brain, opening a Hells gate, the cult, everything. And Orin went and betrayed you, wanting the stones all to herself. Betrayed us.”

“It was… It was me? All of it?”

“Our raid of Mephistopheles’ lair will be spoken about in the Hells for centuries.”

“The crown…” Tav whispered, the memory of its abduction no doubt swimming in her mind. Then guilt clouded her features—for all of it. The infestation, the deaths they caused, Gale’s obsession with Karsus’s forbidden magic. She was spiraling, blaming herself for all it—

“My pretty little mastermind,” Gortash practically purred, raising a hand to gently swipe it down her cheek. Halsin growled, a low glimmer of gold coming off of him. Gortash grinned savagely. “I have tried to keep everything in order in your absence. All the things you entrusted me with.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Karlach screamed, alerting some Flaming Fists. Again, Gortash dismissed them with a simple wave.

“How do you know him?” Karlach inquired further.

Tav turned to the tiefling. “I—”

“Don’t tell me you forgot. Orin really did a number on you, didn’t she? Always a lapdog, she was. Begging to be Bhaal’s chosen ever since she learned how to whine. But she is careless, and too distracted.”

Gods, it made so much sense. The tadpoling center under Moonrise, Orin’s vendetta, Gortash’s odd truce. His chest ached with the need to hold her, to remind her that that wasn’t who she was anymore. She had changed, brought about a change in Astarion, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale, Minthara—

Him. 

If he could take her away from all of this, meet her in the afterglow, he would sprint and never look back. She had done so much good these last few months and Gortash’s jealous speech was a threat to her already fragile sanity. 

“You… You worked with strategy. You had a purpose. You were determined. I tolerate Orin, but I liked you.”

He followed Tav’s distressed gaze to the golden glove encasing the purple netherstone. 

The gold hand.

“We worked all through the night, you and I. Perfecting this scheme. When you disappeared, I admit I worried for your safety,” Gortash said, his irises darkening. “I missed you.”

Halsin didn’t have to move—Tav reached for his hand and gripped it tight. Gortash noted their connection, but his smile only grew. A more tame twin of Orin’s, it seemed.

“What was I to you?” Tav insisted. “What were you to me?”

“This cannot be happening,” Karlach cringed, several dramatic gags accompanying her declaration.

Gortash rolled his eyes. “A travesty Orin erased so much. Perhaps I shouldn’t reminisce with your companions present.”

“Tell me what I did.”

Karlach gave an incredulous gasp of protest, but Tav remained adamant. 

“What you did… Enthusiastically, might I add. Seeing you now is overwhelming. The way your lips tasted, how your eyes would roll to the back of your head, your neck bared for me. I heard there is a spawn in your company… Do you give your neck to him? Do you scream for him like you screamed for me?” 

Tav snarled as Karlach exclaimed, “Liar!”

“Do not be a child, Karlach,” Gortash snapped. “Tav and I, two adults, were together even while you were by my side. I’m surprised you never met.”

“A secret,” Tav confirmed, though her statement came out more as a shameful question.

“It saddens me that you don’t remember anything but that. Perhaps we can come to an agreement over this Ravengard business.”

“What did you have in mind?” Wyll chimed in, seemingly unmoved by the revelation. If his relationship was something other with her, Halsin would too disregard Gortash’s claims. Tav’s past sex life was none of his business, neither was it Wyll’s, but the fact Gortash had such a lively role in it… The one living soul Tav remembered touching…

Something dark stirred in the pit of his stomach, its claws begging to rip open its cage and eviscerate his opponent. The bear had disemboweled plenty of enemies, but this one—this one Halsin wanted to tear apart with his bare hands.  

Gortash lowered his voice as he spoke next, enough of a signal that the surrounding Fists turned their heads. 

“I will hand over Duke Ravengard right now with a promise to keep him safe, if…” he trailed off, bowing his head to chuckle. “Listen to me bargaining. How unbecoming of me. I am a dealer, not a trader.”

“Speak plainly, Gortash,” Wyll pushed, the hair-raising tone causing Gortash’s brows to rise.

He turned to Tav. “If you agree to spend the night with me, Ravengard walks freely.”

“No deal.”

They were the first words Halsin had spoken since entering the audience hall. He couldn't give less of a shit for intruding on what was obviously Tav’s decision. 

“Halsin—” she hissed.

Gortash laid an elegant hand over his own chest. “How marvelous! Does he speak for you? Is no your answer, too?”

“It’s a no because I don’t want to touch you.”

“You begged for it before.”

Tav bared her teeth. “I won’t anymore.”

“Wyll? If you’re anything like your father, you’ll have some sense. Your father’s freedom, for her cunt.”

Wyll recoiled, his disgust multiplying as Gortash raised his hand yet again to brush Tav’s cheek. This time, however, Halsin shoved the man away. 

And was promptly held back by two Fists. Thrashing, Halsin fought to keep the bear within.  

“May the gods smite you, Gortash. May this land turn on you in your hour of greatest need,” Wyll threatened, taking the words right out of Halsin’s mouth.

Gortash raised a single brow, unimpressed. “Interesting company you keep nowadays. If you won’t give me what I desperately crave,” he drawled, causing a visible shiver to crawl up Tav’s spine, “then we shall explore other roads.”

“One more word from you and I will kill you.” The Fists were hesitant to grab Karlach, and the look she shot at them severed the idea completely. "And that was a trade, you dumb motherfucker!"

“Oh, but you’ll want to hear this, Karlach. I am on your side. I want nothing more than to save this city and rule side-by-side with Tav here. I am a fair man. And to show you I am a man true to my word, I shall warn you.”

“Threats? Seriously?” Karlach fumed.

“Not from me. By now you’ll have found out that Orin is a shapeshifter. And I warn you that she will strike soon. One of these nights, when you feel safest, she will deceive you.”

“And what do we owe you for this information?” Tav spit, lifting her chin.

Finally, Gortash intertwined his hands behind his back, seemingly aware that Tav was not going to take his absurd deal. Strangely respectful in that sense. 

“Kill Orin, reclaim your birthright, and make an ally of me.”

“Despicable piece of shit.” 

Gortash gestured at the Fists to release him. Halsin remained where he was, and he could have sworn relief flashed across Gortash’s face.  

“Kill Orin, bring me her stone, and I might just prolong the protection of your father, Wyll.” He turned back up the steps, his confidence stitching itself back into his body as it realized the audience was still looking at him. “Think about it, Tav. I am no liar, and my respect for you knows no bounds.”

That night, Tav drank herself to sleep and took residence in one of the booths downstairs. As annoyed as Alan was, he didn’t force her to leave. With the candles blown out, Tav remained curled-up on her side and blissfully unaware of the world around her. Responsibilities that once shackled her were drowned out, reality but a speck on the horizon. 

Halsin covered her with a blanket before retreating to the steps in the far corner. He sat at an angle where he could see her, foregoing sleep, and did not leave until the hangover roused her.

x

Part 2

[visenyaism]

Top 5 asoiaf historical characters or top 5 povs to read from ?

my favorite chapter of all time still goes to the tyrion boat school chapter in adwd but in terms of favorite POVs to read?

6. joncon- giving myself a bonus one to talk about how reading his chapters made me feel like i was dissolving like a powerpoint transition. there’s just so much grief and love and bitterness and doom packed into there it is unreal.

5. sam- gender. he is just so special i’ve never read a fantasy protag quite like samwell tarly and his quest to realize his compassion, empathy, and courage are his greatest strengths despite being discouraged by hypermasculine violent feudal society. he is the real protagonist of asoiaf to me.

4. jonsnow- i liked his pov’s in all the books, but ADWD where he is just trying as hard as possible not to be the protagonist after going though like 4 different genres (can u BELIEVE he started off as a boarding school protagonist) even though he literally has super strengthis so beloved to me. His ongoing crisis where he has to realize that despite everything everyone tries to impose on him he has only ever been just himself is so so real (just as real as him being king beyond the wall. btw) though getting immediately killed for it has to be a downer. MY son was turncloak of the month at castle black👍

3. Jaime- he’s funny. he’s cringe. he stares a lot for someone who can’t fight. he’s delusional. he can’t fit a whole knight in his head. he hasn’t emotionally matured past the age of seventeen. everything he says is insane and also heartbreaking. i love jaime POVs so much y’all don’t get it.

2. Cersei- reading cersei i for the first time last year rewired my brain and i was loud about it. Unlike cersei i was not raised by a fascist nightmare but as a nonbinary girltwin i can say that getting raised alongside a direct example of what your life would’ve been like without misogyny can be very hard, especially when you hit puberty and the “your brother is a person and you are the girl one” starts to get even louder. I was fucking alarmed how personally compelling her weird gender thoughts were given EVERYTHING else the Lannister twins have going on that is NOT personally relevant to me. Don’t know how george rr martin old cishet man that he is knew about any of that.

She’s completely delusional, and at times her mental gymnastics are so so fucking funny, but the like roiling layer of unspeakable (literally unspeakable she refuses to speak or acknowledge it) pain and fear underneath is what got me really. Watching her scheme out of arrogance and mortal terror really just to gain respect and bodily autonomy (though in the Tywin way where freedom from abuse and the “right” to abuse others are the same thing) and then just losing everything incredibly fucking hard was really compelling. i hope you win.

1. Melisandre- wait i said another chapter was my favorite of all time in this post? no i didn’t not when melisandre i is in the room. i have talked about this one extensively and probably will do so again. Finding out that r’hllor is literally her enslaved and her entire black and white apocalyptic worldview is her attempt to feel safe within that truth because she is still just a scared little girl at heart who needs what she’s saying to be true because if it’s not none of her suffering was worth it was the revelation of all time. That and the revelation that she actually does have a human attachment to Davos to the point that she’s watching over his son to spare him the grief. We WILL get melisandre ii in this lifetime and it will break my heart all over again because she is going to outlive stannis and have to survive the worldview shattering.

[breakableprincess]

do you ever start talking with someone who has a certain kink and can feel yourself get worse extremely fast? anyways now I've got this fantasy that won't get out of my head

WARNING: hard kinks, including: Detrans/Misgendering (trans woman), Rape/Non-con, Transfem Superiority, (Trans Inclusive) Misogyny, Sadomasochism. DONT LIKE, DONT READ.

Being a really bitchy and entitled young trans woman who got to transition early and now passes with no problems and has a voice that everyone loves, sharing a locker space with an older trans woman who took hrt much later in life and whose voice still betrays her often

This older woman would always share looks at the other girls in the locker room when she thought she wasn't watched, and being like I was I'd always think badly of her for it, but also I couldn't help but notice she would watch me much more intensely than anyone else

One day when no one else was around and she had been staring even more than usual I would get fed up with it and confront her

"I know what you're doing!!! Stop it!!!" "Huh, what? What do you want?" "You've been staring at the other girls all this time and especially at me!!! Do you think you're slick? Do you think you're being a great person??? It's because of people like you that I dont-"

At this point she takes a step towards me, confronting me

"People like me huh?? Do you want to elaborate on that, princess?"

Her voice coarse but sweet yet condescending all at the same time, I know I am getting threatened and, not wanting to lose the battle without even trying to fight back, I bark back without thinking:

"You- you- you're acting just like some sort of man with tits!"

Ah fuck. As soon as I say that I raise my hands to my mouth in shock. I can't believe I said something so hurtful, no matter how creepy she'd been towards me and the other girls

She looks flabbergasted but takes another step towards me, locking me between herself and the wall behind me

"Oh hoho? Is that what you really think of me, huh?"

She says, grabbing me by my shirt before slamming me violently to the wall behind me

"I-i-i'm so sorry!!! I really didn't mean to i-"

"Oh no sweetheart, I don't think you fully understand your position here. You have to shut the fuck up."

Her frame much larger than mine, towering over me, making me feel small and useless

"You think you've got it all figured out don't you? You think you can escape the hate of the world just by blending in and acting like a precious little girl, don't you??? Well don't think you can escape me. I know what you are, what you truly are."

She shoves me to the ground in one swift motion

"You are a pathetic,"

She kicks me

"disgusting,"

She bends down to grab me again and puts me on all fours

"freak!"

She lowers my skirt

"Someone who would throw away all the love for your community,"

And my panties

"just so you get to feel like a member of society at large!"

She grabs a nice feel of my ass

"And since you want to act like some sort of cissy girl,"

She removes her pants and I can feel her cock near my entrance

"I'll show you what 'men with tits' do to transphobic cissies like you."

I take a deep breath, resigned to what's about to happen. Maybe like this I will learn respect one day...

[fanfictiongreenirises]

What are some themes in Jiang Cheng fan works that you especially enjoy?

I’m super sorry for how long it’s taken me to reply to you but you caught me during Eid week which was insanely chaotic 🤣 this got kinda long so i'm popping it under the cut :D

Violent and self sacrificial love: you cannot have JC without his all encompassing love, and it’s one of the things that makes him such an interesting character. There are few things that make JC act irrationally, and his loved ones are a very major one!! It’s such a fun thing to play with - I love characters that love with their whole self and stories that focus on the consequences of that!!!

Responsibility, duty, tradition: okay this is like many different things rolled into one rather niche dot point so bear with me. I LOVE that JC is a character who takes his responsibilities seriously!! He is dutiful and he does his best to put the sect before all else, and you have no idea how hard it is to find that in fantasy that I’m used to (Western YA and NA fantasy lmao). I really love fics that have that theme of sacrificing for duty and eventually reaping the benefits of that (the sect being so loyal to JC in return, the sect flourishing, the love that JL has for JC), but also fics that look at JC upholding YMJ traditions when he’s one of the few who remember them, or having to adjust traditions/make new ones because of that reason. And as I’m typing this out I’m realising there’s… probably a reason… for me enjoying seeing cultural traditions needing to be adjusted because you don’t have much family or the same resources around and things are very different from how your parents would’ve celebrated those same traditions, and needing to make those who are around your family now… Anyway, it’s just insanely cathartic to see certain cultural values and themes across so many fanworks. I've thought about this particular element to the point where I realised the other month that there’s a whole world outside of Western fantasy novels that likely do have these themes that are so fucking hard to find in Western novels, so I’m trying out other Chinese novels, i dipped into Japanese books, and I got my cousin to recommend me Bangla fantasy novels because I realised I’ve never considered how fantasy themes would be in my own culture 😔✊ (it's funny timing bc my dad arrived literally a couple hrs ago with the books, and my reading ability is decent for someone who's never needed to read Bangla but I'm gonna have to sit down with either google translate or a dictionary bc I'm so used to my parents translating harder words or getting us to read books for younger kids,, i'm like which words here are made-up fantasy words and which are real 💀😭)

Grief: grief has quite literally shaped this guy, and it’s so cool to see different fics have different takes on how it’s affected him as a person. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a fandom where grief has been such a huge theme and it’s very fun to see the fandom leaning into it. (I also need to given honorary shoutouts to disillusionment, guilt, loneliness, and repression!! I think a lot of these are especially interesting in combo with how much JC values responsibility and duty, and fics that study them are so chefs kiss.)

Turning Into His Mother: I’m so obsessed with this theme. I think it’s mostly because YZY is so mum coded for me and there are aspects of my own mother that I see in her so strongly that any time fic gives her and JC’s relationship the depth it deserves, I’m standing there chomping on wood. I especially love it when JC’s journey has elements of “I can’t be like my mother bc everyone says that’s bad” -> “I should act like my father, because he’s the only example I have of a sect leader” -> “am I difficult to love like my mother was?” -> “the best way to protect those I love is through the things my mother taught me” -> “the only parent whose love I genuinely felt was my mother’s so when I’m displaying love to a child, I should use the most successful method I know” -> “I am like my mother; maybe that’s a good thing”. It’s rare that I get to sink my teeth into a character who had such a complex relationship with his mother, so any fics with this theme automatically make me go insane. (Something here as well about JC written in fics as a woman scorned, JC with ruined woman vibes who’d been promised by WWX that he’d always be by his side and now isn’t and without any good reason that JC is aware of, something about fics that project feminine rage onto him in a way that feels freeing and safe because he’s a male character so it’s like you can almost examine it without having to examine sexism and gender roles…)

Aroace and queer themes: aro!JC!! ace!JC!! Never before have I been into a character I can project onto so fully, but also see other people projecting onto?? This fandom has so many gorgeous aroace!JC fanworks, and we get so much variety from ppls experiences!! there’s something extremely fulfilling about fics with a main character who doesn’t feel conventional romantic/sexual love, and is still very successful and has a full life with loved ones and is satisfied with life. There's also this tiny niche of fics involving JC in queerplatonic relationships, and any time I read those I would literally have to lie there for an hour contemplating my life. I think the other fun thing about this is that there's a pretty big chunk of the fandom that characterises JC as the kind of acesexual who thinks all his allo friends are absolute weirdos for how they're behaving, and it's such a funny and refreshing (and extremely relatable) take.

Whump: last but definitely not least, JC being whumped within an inch of his life 😌 I love this fandom deciding that the most efficient way to get JC to show emotions is to shove some knives in him and get him all bloodied up. The one gore/torture fic that genuinely icked me out to the point where I had to stop reading for a moment was a delightful post canon JC fic that I revisit every few months because it just scratches that whump itch so well 👏

I’m sure the moment I post this I’ll be hit by like fifty other things I forgot to put in here, but for now I’m blanking. thank youu for giving me an excuse to think about JC 🫶🫶🫶

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Sixteen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 16 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] Part Sixteen [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You excuse your maid, Miss Adir, once she’s finished helping you get ready for tonight. This is the first official wedding party.

Yes, some people have arrived for the wedding festivities. Yes, the tournament and the hunt were for the wedding. But they are not formal social events, not in the way tonight will be. Tonight is the first night you’ll be publicly announced, publicly introduced, along with Dale, as a betrothed couple—one who will be wed in less than a month’s time. There will be dancing, and feasting, and socializing, as there will continue to be for the next few weeks.

You’re grateful this first event is likely the smallest and that it's here, on this Northridge estate you are starting to think of home, as at least familiar, but your nerves are still holding you tight in their grip. And this is only the beginning as tomorrow you leave for the city for the next series of balls and galas until it’s time to come back here for the wedding itself. The weight and anticipation is making the air feel thick, prickling along your skin. 

You don’t even know why it's making you such a wreck.

You’ve known practically your whole life you were going to get married—you wanted it back when it seemed like perhaps you’d not make it, when you were too sick to leave your bed for days. Even once you got better, once you started going to a real school—the idea was an exciting one. Then, when it had been harder for your parents to find you a match than expected, you grew worried once more that you would not get to have your own family. You were relieved and filled with trepidation when the match with Northridge was settled. Meeting Dale had only increased your conflicting feelings, but it had also solidified everything in your mind. He had been easy enough to read, to prepare for, to see the rest of your life with. You had felt strangely settled with that final piece in place, for good and for bad.

Then Dale changed and so did everything else. You found yourself back on that ship in a storm, ups and downs. Trying to weather waves you couldn’t predict.

Or maybe it's simply that you had focused only on being married—not getting married, with all the socializing and spotlight you’re not used to and don’t like.

Nothing to do about that now. Northridge is too steeped in tradition to have a simple marital feast on its own, Grandmother and Grandfather too invested in seeing their heir, their grandson—the only son of the son taken from them so violently—to have this affair be anything less than everything. Northridge has kept to itself these last few years in aprticular, their children scattered and so all too happy for an excuse to gather everyone together and celebrate.

You stand up from the chair before your dressing table where Miss Adir had pinned the last of your braids, unrolled the last of your curls, fixed the decorative comb in your hair just right. You run your hands over your skirts once standing, making sure nothing’s been crushed, no layers caught on each other. Your busk is pressing a bit against your sternum so you reach into your pockets and tug on your chemise to better adjust the padding in that area. 

The white of your dress makes you a bit nervous for stains, but the patterns of dark blue and black that are part of the design help to mitigate that worry. Wearing such an obvious display of Northridge colors—only Northridge colors—is odd. They will be your colors soon, the light blue-gray and green of your family colors no longer the colors others will associate with you, with Portsmith. Only the white is the same between your new family and your old.

You remember seeing your oldest sister come home for summer solstice, a year after her marriage, in bright red and orange. It had felt wrong, it had made her feel like a stranger already—more of a stranger than she already was. Since her husband was from Khanit, she spent half the meal speaking in his language—speaking so fast you could barely catch a word or two despite your lessons. 

That feeling had lessened over the time spent with her again, as she once more became familiar. Callalily had remembered to bring you books from her travels, had introduced you to new foods in the city, had helped convince Mother to let you try riding despite your still weak muscles. And yet… 

You grasp the doorknob and walk through the doorway, trying to push such thoughts aside. You would not become someone new just because you are being married. Callalily likely didn’t either, you were just too young to understand the difference a year could make even without visible growth, even to an adult–missed all the other factors that had led to the change. 

Of course, she didn’t marry a demon. 

Maybe that’s where your renewed bout of anxiety was truly coming from.You hope that with the tournament out of the way, the opportunity for him to display certain inhuman strength or other characteristics is low—especially since he seems better contained at diner these days. Now the challenge will come from all the socializing that is to come. Will his memory of Dale’s ability to comport himself in social situations hold true? Will he remember everyone he should? 

With so many people to talk with and interact with, the chances of him to say the wrong thing, for people to notice something as wrong with him, for someone to notice anything is incorrect, increases dramatically. What if someone far more versed in demons and the Depths and possession is able to simply look at Dale and know?

And you’re not particularly skilled at conversation–too much time alone when you were young. You’d been counting on the original Dale to dominate these conversations so you wouldn’t have to participate overmuch. Now, you need to navigate them with the demon possessing him. 

You curl your fingers into your hand so your nails can dig in because you’ve just remembered your walking to the grand hall and you don’t know what expression is on your face, but you’re pretty sure, given the concern that passed over Miss Adir when she glanced at you, that it must not be a good one.

Breathing in deep, you try to calm down. You need to focus on right now, on what comes next—not all the wedding galas. Only this one. You can handle one ball, here in Northridge, can’t you? You can walk down the stairs even with all those eyes on you, you can dance with Dale and eat dinner and make polite conversation for one night. In just a few hours, you’ll be back in your quiet, dark, bed for the night—and you don’t even have to stay up tonight reading because you finished reading that book from Dale’s private study that the Steward had snuck you.

It had been surprisingly informative regarding herbal and plant remedies, beyond the demonic, and had a clear theme: very few things that could hurt a demon would not also poison a human. In fact, often stronger doses of poison for humans was what the book claimed to actually be effective against the demonic—both in their form or those possessed or those imbuing themselves with demonic energies and influences. Demonic influence often gave one strong abilities to resist such tactics—which is why they were sought out in the first place. And even substances which could hurt demons and not humans usually either had to be in very high concentrations, mixed in exacting quantities, or be given to one under the influence over a long period of time—none of which is Grandfather able to do at this time.

You can only hope he doesn’t stumble upon something genuine and that perhaps if you and Dale continue to be well despite whatever he does use, he might give up on this idea. Of course, the best way for him to lose faith in this theory would be for Dale to act as close to his original self as possible whenever Grandfather is around and that is out of your hands.

You’re jolted from your thoughts as a footman ushers you into a waiting room near the top of the grand staircase where other Northridge family members wait along with a few people you don’t recognize. 

One of Dale’s cousins beckons you over and you wait for your own turn to be announced with them. However, as one of the main guests of honor, your turn is last so alone or in pairs, they leave—not having pressed you too hard for conversation which you’re grateful for.

There are few enough people still waiting, that you decide to stand up and linger closer to the door, ensuring that once again your skirts are sitting well. 

“My lady?”

You straighten with a stifled noise of surprise to see Dale in the doorway of the waiting room. “Lord Dale,” you reply, hoping your voice only seems breathy to your own ears.

He takes his cane and slides it into a holder on his belt before offering you his arm. “It’s nearly our turn, if you are ready?”

“Yes,” you reply. Then you take stock of his outfit. He’s in matching Northridge colors, his pants and shirt are white to match your own, with a deep blue waistcoat and black overcoat, a matching black design on his waistcoat. It’s clear that they are making their statement tonight as the future Lord and Lady of Northridge as well as Northridge’s victory in the tournament.

“I’m pleased that we were able to coordinate well,” Dale says with a grin. “Grandmother hadn’t been sure we would, but I knew this dress of yours would go wonderfully with my suit.”

You had received a message regarding how to dress tonight, but you thought it had come from Grandmother, not Dale. “You remembered this dress?”

“Of course,” Dale replies as you walk over to the doorway, just out of sight, to wait for your cue. “You wore this lovely dress on the day we were introduced.”

“Oh, yes. I’d nearly forgotten,” you say, because you had. Dale had come in off a ship, a plain but well made travel suit in black is what he had been wearing. He had seemed to study you then, at that first meeting, you in his family colors. He had looked… satisfied enough by the end of his appraisal. 

This Dale looked upon you with far more warmth in his eyes.

“You look splendid as well,” you blurt out, just now realizing that he’d complimented your dress, remembered it even, and yet you’d not done the same for him.

He preens at your words, smile growing as he pulls on his labels with his free hand. “Thank you, my Lady.” When his eyes meet yours once more, they are crinkled at the edges.

“…heir apparent, Lord Dale Tiberius of Northridge,” came a booming voice, interrupting your thoughts and letting you pull your eyes away from Dale’s. How long had you been caught this time? “And his betrothed, Lady…” You and Dale begin to walk as the herald says your name and your focus is drawn to making sure you don’t trip down this grand staircase—it’s never happened before, not outside of the school, but it’s something you only need to witness once before the fear is engraved upon your memory. Poor Melissa had broken her nose.

Dale keeps one hand on the railing and the other entwined with your own as he steadily guides the two of you down the stairs. You keep your skirts up enough to be confident in your footing, grateful that Dale is steering the pace—you always have to spend more than half your attention on not going too quickly and then overcompensating and going too slowly.

After the first step, you keep your head level as you look out over the packed grand hall. You hope your expression is appropriately schooled and doesn’t show any of your dismay at the large crowd. At least it is evening enough that the candle light flickers, aiding you in blurring the others present so that you might pretend there are fewer present. As you reach the floor, you walk over to greet Grandmother and Grandfather by the dais for supper.

However, they are not yet upon it as there is only one way to properly begin a betrothal ball: with a dance. Grandmother, with her voice skilled at projection, speaks of the match made between the pair of you and you are grateful that while speaking, you can simply look at her and not everyone else here.

“Our esteemed guests,” Grandmother winds down her speech and you can hear the musicians up in the higher ring of balcony which encircles this room begin to play softly, “please join me in inviting our lovely couple to start tonight’s festivities as those we are here to celebrate.”

Polite applause fills the room as Dale turns to you to murmur, “Shall we?” Of course you will, but something about the look in his eye is comforting, as if he would listen if you said no for some odd reason. It makes it that much easier to nod though and he leads you out to the dancefloor.

It’s a familiar song and a waltz you know, but everything about the situation feels new. Dale’s arm slides around your waist while his hand grasps yours. You always expect his arm to be warm against your back, but it isn’t. While not cold either, you mostly notice how solid and confident his hold is as he leads you through the first steps of the dance to the right. Fleeting concerns regarding his balance and his inability to use his cane while dancing flit through your mind, even as you keep each other steady.

Instead, your concerns turn in a new direction when his blue eyes with their deep pupils lock with your own. You’ve forgotten how much a formal dance of this kind requires eye contact with your partner. Dale’s eyes in particular hold such danger to you, so easy are they to fall into, that you’d not thought of how that might impact dancing with him. 

As he turns you, you feel a momentary panic rise in you, the crowd around you a blur, before his gaze draws you back in like metal to a lodestone. His hand returns to your back as yours does to his own, your hands above your heads as you spin, eyes still training on each others’. 

As you separate and come back together, you can’t help but think about what makes this dance different from the only other formal waltz you had with Dale. It's the way this Dale leads, you think, that is the most different. Dale had been an accomplished dancer, had prided himself on his ability and the dance had been fine, but as with most other things with him, it had come with expectation. As he danced with you, his gaze had been assessing, waiting, and evaluating you. He was a skilled dancer and he expected his future wife to be as well. Once he seemed satisfied with your skill, the focus had been on showing, impressing the others with his ability. 

This Dale too is a proficient dancer but he seems to have more enjoyment in dancing itself, rather merely in the spectacle. He moves more naturally, there is less rigidity in his lead, less performance to it. Even something as simple as managing your height difference better makes every step and movement flow that much smoother. And without the added pressure of his expectation for you, it is easier for you to get swept up in the movement. You’ve always danced better when you’re able to stop thinking so hard.

The music picks up speed and so do you two. Lost in the moment it takes another separation for you to realize other couples, including Grandmother and Grandfather, have joined you on the dancefloor. You feel an additional bit of tension release in your shoulders now that you two are no longer the center of attention, now that others are here as well. You know you’ll still finish the dance by yourselves, but your self-consciousness eases for the moment.

The next spin pulls the pair of you even closer than before, the solid line of Dale’s body against yours in a way that sends a jolt of anticipation up your spine. While his hands weren’t warm before, they are now and every place the two of you touch seems to only grow more obvious, press on your senses, on your awareness more. As the dance slows in the middle, you can’t help but appreciate the subtle scent of wood and something spicy—perhaps cinnamon—that envelops Dale. The absurd urge to rest your head against him, to press even closer, enters your mind and refuses to leave.

You’re grateful when the dance picks up again, the air against your face as you spin helping you clear the haze your closeness had inspired even as his eyes call you to drown in them once more. Even that seems safer than your other thoughts and so you let him keep you captive with his gaze while you perform the last moves of the dance.

When you finally come to a stop, another polite round of applause fills the room before Grandmother starts to speak again. “While typically, I would have to ask my gracious grandson to relinquish his betrothed so that she might share a dance with the worthy knight who won the tournament, Lord Dale has decided to be selfish this evening.” Chuckles sound throughout the room, including from Dale himself while heat fills your cheeks. “In an effort to keep his fiance in his arms, he has valiantly won the tournament. And so, I invite you to once more lead us in a dance.”

“My thanks, Lady Deidre,” Dale replies, projecting his voice throughout the room as his Grandmother did. To the room at large, he says, “I do hope you’ll forgive my impudence and join us as you see fit.”

The atmosphere of the room, despite the wine not flowing for very long, is warm and cheerful as you begin the far faster dance, intended to mirror the athleticism of the tournament. This time, your concentration is primarily on the steps themselves, on keeping pace with Dale, on your breathing, and less on Dale himself—there’s simply not enough of your focus to manage it. Other couples are quicker to join you this time, although on a wide spin you notice Grandfather and Grandmother have elected to sit this particular newer, quick step dance out. Indeed, the others you catch glimpses of are younger in general, although there is one older couple in particular—contemporaries of Dale’s grandparents from the fief next to Northridge—who more than keep up.

By the time this dance finishes, the music continues without interruption and you find yourself breathing heavily. A glance up at Dale and you find yourselves in agreement as he leads you off the floor and towards the dais. 

“I am starving,” Dale murmurs in your ear, his other hand covering your own on his arm. “How long until some food is brought out do you think?” While you are able to catch your breath, your heart continues to race nearly as fast as it did while dancing as Dale keeps you so close. You tell yourself it is merely because of the crowd, and the same reason for putting his head so close to your own to speak, but that doesn’t help you calm yourself for whatever reason. 

“I believe Grandmother said Chef is going to test some recipes tonight for the wedding feast,” Dale continues as you weave through guests, nodding and smiling to those who catch his eye. As you get closer to the high table, you see that while food is not out yet, drinks certainly are. Nearly everyone you pass has wine. You decline the page offering you a glass, wanting some water after the dancing before you have anything else to drink. “ I hope some of it is venison. I particularly enjoy how Chef prepares it.”

Dale doesn’t have a free hand at the moment, given his free hand is over your own, and makes no move to change that. Unfortunately, that also means he hasn’t remembered to start using his cane again. Just as you’ve nearly reached Grandmother and Grandfather, someone jostles Dale and it's enough to disrupt his balance. His words stop abruptly as he starts to fall. You brace yourself, trying to help steady him as he nearly falls backwards, but end up hitting into the edge of his grandparents’ table all the same. 

Grandfather comes over to help but in the confusion manages to lose hold of his completely full wine glass. You don’t know what instinct possesses you—likely it's merely the fact that it’s Grandfather’s—but you manage to tilt Dale in such a way that the spilled liquid ends up splashing over you and missing him entirely. The next minute is filled with more confusion as more people try to help, as a variety of handkerchiefs are handed over to you and you both are ushered into seats.

“At least it was only white wine,” you say with the best smile you can muster, wiping off your neck and collarbone with Dale’s handkerchief. 

Grandmother agrees, while Grandfather watches you carefully before turning to order a page to bring a more substantial cloth for you to dry with. Something about that extra attention makes you realize that while the drink might have looked like wine, it didn’t feel like it. In fact, it feels far more like water, but mildly scented in some faint, but familiar way. You can’t quite put your finger on it though and you’ve no idea why Grandfather would lie about what he’d been drinking.

Or, given the glass had been full, not drinking. Had he spilled his drink on you on purpose? Even given his suspicions that doesn’t make any sense. 

Between your swirling thoughts, all the additional attention, and Dale’s own sincere apology to you for kicking off this chain of mishaps, it’s not until a small hand towel is pressed into your hand and you return Dale’s damp handkerchief to him that you figure it out.

Since Grandfather is on the other side of the table, caught up in teasing from Grandmother about being clumsy after so little to drink, he’s unable to see what you do as Dale folds his handkerchief absentmindedly before looking down with a frown. He lets the handkerchief fall to the ground when he sees the way his fingertips and palm have reddened as if mildly burned where he had been holding it.

You’ve no idea where Grandfather managed to get blessed water from Mount Tresihorn, but he must have. You’ve heard all altars had a bottle of such water, the most prized for its purity and power, but for Grandfather to have been able to get it worries you—as well as him willingly wasting so much. How much more does he have? Will this convince him that it won’t work on you? What about Dale? Will this convince him his theory is wrong or only drive him to consider new methods?

Dale reaches for the towel you set down and wipes his hands off. You can’t help the relief that fills you when his hands come away with no burns. It must only be direct contact with the water that causes the reaction. As your eyes linger on his hands, you feel like you are being watched so your eyes dart up to where Grandfather is only to find him still turned away from you.

Your eyes swing up to find Dale’s fixed on you, his body as rigid as it had been in the tent. You can’t read them and you’re strung too tight to do anything more than offer him a weak smile before busying yourself with pouring some water. You hope this isn’t a sign of how stressful the next few weeks are going to be. You’re not sure you can handle this much excitement.

[Part Seventeen]

[danganronpa96]

Oh, this is very interesting. I assume you mean like from the DR3 anime, so (rubs hands together)

DR69:

Luigi - going into a room with the lights on (as no. 2, isn’t it your duty to be in the dark? Also this could stir up some interesting situations in the dark)

Mario - running or jumping (can’t yahoo his way out of this one)

Peter - talking (yep not a peep outta funny family moments guy, no cutaway gags no nothing, what will tiktoks use for footage now)

Brian - reading or writing (no books, no laptops, no pens. He won’t be needing them)

Miku - speaking in English (as an idol, it’s her goal to spread her voice to everyone around the world, so what if it was limited? She can still speak Japanese, and Chinese, but only a select few will understand her. Sure, it’s fine for those who can translate, but what if she was in a dire situation with someone who couldn’t…?)

Teto - Hatsune Miku dying (since she loves her so much, she’ll do anything to protect her, even if that goes for protecting her own life too)

Nagito - telling the truth (kinda like his despair disease, seems he can only lie or keep quiet… How can someone who hardly has any trust here gain any now?)

Sans - telling a joke/pun (at first this was gonna be a joke answer, but… it would be tough for him to remain serious in situations where he’d rather not be)

Parappa - crying (he really has to keep believing now, or else he’ll be clawing not to let all those emotions spill out)

Fluttershy - touching another animal participant that isn’t herself (therefore she cannot tend to any of them if the time comes)

Ashley - being more than a room apart from another person (ultimately forcing her to stick around people rather than isolate herself)

Ayano - not killing anyone in 20 days (this would really challenge her “yandere” persona, and reluctance to kill here)

2D - listening to music (this goes for music out of speakers, hearing someone sing, and even humming a tune. Man loves music so what if no song machine /album ref)

Mr. Krabs - giving or accepting a bargain (not just with money, but favours, requests, and payback all count too)

Dedede - fighting with another participant (whether physically or verbally)

The Conductor - witnessing any act of violence (since he is usually is very disregarding of other’s safety, especially during filming his own movies, perhaps now he has a chance to redeem himself with preventing danger)

DR96:

Hayasaka - giving the poison antidote he was provided to someone else (he can save someone else who triggered their action, at the cost of his own life…. (I smile deviously))

Kurumada - flirting with Hayasaka /JJJ ok but actually using his physical strength to protect someone (this goes for violent acts such as punching, or manual labour such as catching heavy objects from falling)

Mai - making eye contact with anyone (she’s such an outgoing, bubbly gal… so what if she could never meet someone eye to eye ever again? Never being able to look at the ones she loves properly… oh my)

Walter - telling a lie (cue a Walter White version of the Pinnochio scene from Shrek 3)

Jesse - swearing (Jesse don’t say “bitch” challenge impossible 5 dead 20 injured)

Saiki - using his telepathy to communicate (either open your mouth or say nothing, Saiki, your choice)

Kaidou - daydreaming (this includes roleplaying as the Jet Black wings and wearing his bandages and blazer over his shoulders, no more fantasies grow up boy /jjj)

Retsuko - raising her voice (this goes for her heavy metal screaming as well, she can’t stand up for herself anymore seeing as she mostly did it on her own in private)

Natsuki - being called “cute” (I think this would be simple but effective, cue her attempting to never share her forbidden action, and doing all she can to never be called such a thing, even going so far to be as rude as possible even if she doesn’t want to be)

Yuri - everyone does not die in 30 days (if she really wants everyone to die, she’ll do all that she can to make sure it happens before it’s too late for her. Whether she utilises their forbidden actions to do the trick or not is up for thought…)

Hiroshi - touching white objects (such as plates, paper, his own scarf… how practical can one practical boy be now?)

Brian - witnessing spiritual or supernatural activity (this could be talk of religion, going to the Shrine, reading books about such things, and anything to do with Mr. Devil…)

Bojack - participating in the consumption of alcohol (rip this guy IMMEDIATELY)

Latte - verbally conversing with a student (she can be around them, and use body language, but speaking is a no-no, so much for being a professor huh-)

L - performing any of his usual quirks (includes sitting with his knees up, eating sweets, holding things with his index finger and thumb etc., L be normal challenge)

Ena - changing emotional states (meaning they can’t go into their sad, drunk, depressed etc. states. Oh boy get ready for a challenge folks)

[radmalenia]

you come off as someone coping with their inability to accept themselves. you treat this website liked its a diary. like no one on earth will see the vile shit you spew. but thats wrong. you know its wrong. you know you are hurting people. you cant get over that sarcastic, nervous grinning, shit eating, shaky anger that can been mistaken for a dopamine hit if you a truly depressed enough. you get off to harassing people, you need it to stop thinking about how bad things got. about that person who hurt you. about how you were raised. you blame everyone but yourself.

why do you make your entire personality about how you failed at transitioning? that sounds really exhausting. maybe if you talked to someone about all these conflicting feelings you have, you wouldnt feel compelled to harass transgender people online all the time. its genuinely sickening to watch someone call an entire 7% of all humans, from a vastly diverse range of back grounds, all of those people; rapists and pedophiles.

you will hit a wall one day. you wont be able to sustain this hate. on that day, i hope you dont hurt yourself. i hope maybe at least after youve done your damage, maybe at least then youll be able to live happily. god. thats all i want. why cant we all just leave each other alone. be happy.

i had to ruin my fucking morning, reading the vile shit you spread. i had to type all this bullshit that you absolutely wont read. i had to do this shit because YOU, an adult, cant keep their shit together around trannys. if you wont take any of the peace and love shit ive said, at least take this;

fuck off. find a new hobby. this isnt cute. you are going to hurt someone. you are going to tip an already fragile person into killing themselves. and thats best case scenario

Not reading that schizo rant, honey. All I need to get from this is that my advocation for women and children to be safe from misogyny and gender ideology has triggered another childish, verbally violent gender ideologist.

Whatever is going on with you is not my problem. Promoting a harmful delusion and then losing your mind when people won't just roll over and let you take that fantasy and trample all over everyone else with it...seems that results in mental instability for you! And to make it worse it's something that you have entirely brought upon yourself.

Go to fucking therapy for your projections, lies, delusions, vitriol, misogyny; whatever it is you're spewing here it probably falls under several of those categories. You always have the capability to stop being such a loser if you actually try!

[mt07131]

book recommendation tag game!!

rules: recommend as many books as you like. please include genre and some basic information on it (either your words or a copy+paste synopsis). feel free to include cover art, a personal review, trigger warnings, and anything else! just don’t spoil the book!

tagged by @dekarios and hmmmm if anyone sees this and wants to do it, consider yourself tagged by me <3

Gideon The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (Sci-Fi)

The Emperor of the Nine Houses has invited the necromantic heirs of each house to participate in a test to join him in immortality. Every necromancer needs a cavalier, however, and the only way Gideon Nav will earn her freedom from the Ninth House is to pick up a sword.

I want to say more about GtN SO BAD but I can’t because spoilers. This book quite literally fundamentally changed me, I think about it at least once a week. This was the book that got me back into reading more consistently so take that as you will.

A Good Girl’s Guide To Murder by Holly Jackson (True Crime)

Five years ago, Andie Bell was murdered by her boyfriend Sal Singh, and everyone knows it. At least, everyone thinks they know it. When Pippa Fitz-Amobi decides to investigate the case as part of her senior project, she begins to unravel dark secrets that will change the case- and her life- forever.

Another one of of my absolute favorite books and favorite series that I will always recommend. I really love how AGGGTM dives into the collective obsession with true crime and how it actually affects people who are involved.

Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao (Sci-Fi)

Being a Chrysalis pilot in Huaxia is a boy’s dream and a girl’s death sentence. But when Wu Zetian kills the pilot responsible for her sister’s death through the Chrysalis’ mental link, she is labeled an Iron Widow and paired up with the strongest yet most controversial male pilot to tame her. She will not give up her power so easily though.

I was excited for this book and it more than exceeded my expectations. I love Zetian as a character, and the worldbuilding is excellent. I won’t lie when I say I’m foaming at the mouth for Heavenly Tyrant.

Six Of Crows by Leigh Bardugo (Fantasy)

Kaz Brekker has the chance to pull off the heist of a lifetime that will make him rich beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, but he can’t do it alone. He must gather a crew of Ketterdam’s most talented to succeed- as long as they don’t kill each other first.

The crows!!!! I love them!!!! I liked the grisha trilogy set in the same world, but I loved the crows duology SO much more. All of the characters are fantastic but Kaz and Inej will always have my heart.

We Are Watching Eliza Bright by A.E. Osworth (Thriller)

Eliza Bright is living her dream as a coder at Fancy Dog Games. When a workplace harassment incident goes unresolved, Eliza takes her story to a journalist to bring light to her situation. Unfortunately, this also makes Eliza a target for the violent collective of male video game players, who threaten her life not only online, but in real life.

I am not normally one to read straight up thrillers, but this one was disturbing yet fascinating enough that I read it all in one day. While it is a fictionalized dramatization of Gamergate, what Eliza faces can feel all too real to someone who knows how game fans can be.

Warcross by Marie Lu (Sci-Fi)

Teenage hacker Emika Chen, desperate for cash, takes a chance and hacks into the international Warcross Championships, accidentally glitching herself into the action and becoming a sensation. When Warcross’ creator offers her an official place in this year’s championship to uncover a security issue, she uncovers a sinister plot that could bring Warcross as the world knows it to its knees.

I’ve read quite a few of Marie Lu’s books, but the Warcross duology was SO GOOD. Another book with stunning worldbuilding that also doesn’t feel so far off from our current technology, I’d highly recommend to anyone who loves sci-fi.

[brujitaadinbo]

I come with every intention of writing and spoilers: this requires a lot of text but, sorry… it's an interesting read.

I've seen a lot of people complain about SW and their way of doing things; I've seen people complain about The Mandalorian and say; At what point did it become children's content?

Well, as I tell you, since season 1 this content has always turned out to be family content.

Now the people who say this; It is because it is alienated that SW does not vary; when practically the SW material is pure fantasy and there is material for everyone, of all colors and flavors. The Mandalorian cannot be pigeonholed solely into violence; friend, then you have not understood anything about this universe.

See Star Wars and everything Geroge, Filoni and Jon have been working on with a whole creative team, etc, etc. is to enter that world to which they took you "the never ending story", "the labyrinth", "Dragon Heart", "Merlin" and I can continue… magical worlds, where hope resides everywhere, where love It is an important point because despite not being able to see it, it becomes part of this environment and expresses itself in mysterious ways (yes, like strength). That is why pigeonholing SW solely in violence is taking away a vital part of its narrative, it is as if the conflicts in its different aspects were not shown; or wanting to remove something very substantial that although species from other worlds are shown; They have something that unites them with everything. "The feelings, the emotions, the humanity that exists in these aspects"

Friend, believe me, when you only get stuck in violence and don't want to look at something else; The problem is you and maybe SW is not the content you need. And hey; I'm not saying that you have to accept everything, but definitely criticizing just to criticize, hating just to hate is ridiculous and pathetic. Taking SW or the Mandalorian as entertainment after a difficult day is not bad at all. But now you want to take this as a personal vent, project yourself, harass and be an infernal hater, sorry but that's disgusting.

And believe me; That violence that you ask for so much is desensitizing you, it makes you someone who loses the notion of how you can harm others and there are people like me; who lives in violent countries, where your life is at stake every 5 minutes, that the only thing we want is to stop experiencing this violence and live fantasy and hope. So stop messing around, okay.

At the end of the day your requests are like: "You want a good development for Din Djarin, but you don't want him to associate with anyone, you want to pigeonhole him into a life in the countryside with a secondary character, You want him to continue in a dangerous profession that "no It leaves nothing good for him or his green boy, you complain about everything and it doesn't seem like anything to you.” Please; It's very obvious that you didn't watch the series and don't understand Din's development. stop fucking around.

A few days ago I was watching episode 3 and I'm going to say this; Anakin is a great character, he is a villain through and through, but all this grew like a snowball. They lost Anakin and he was already lost, Palpatine knew how to play his pieces. In the entire world of SW it is difficult to pigeonhole the characters because; The decisions are the ones that weigh the most. All SW characters have an Anakin within them, they all carry a complex and a mourning of their being; a good being or a bad being. Doing what is right or wrong is a struggle of ethics and morals.

Anakin was an enslaved child and grew up with this complex, remaining a slave due to his attachments until his death. Their actions do not have to be justified, but they do need to be understood and exposed. At the end of the day in this universe Who has not stained their hands with mud or blood to fight for something? Who hasn't had to ignore innocent people to preserve an idea or a fight? Who hasn't had to give in to the bad orders of others to save their people?

When I see people judging Bo Katan, for example; for being a terrorist in her past or for her wrong actions and them using this as a reason for Din not to be around her; I say to you.. How low and dirty do they have to be to use a person's past, in this case a character, and judge them and not allow them to redeem themselves?

Si Din let Bo Katan redeem himself this season 3 Who do you think you are to not allow it?

It hurts me a lot to see Anakin get lost and to see that here they showed us what love is. but they also show us "it's the right person at the wrong time"

Padme could fight hard but her own worries and Anakin's attitudes were driving them apart.

When Anakin is tempted to turn to the dark side to gain power and knowledge, he gives in to his attachment to Padme, his fear, and gives in to the temptation. And for example in the mandalorian from season 1 We can see how temptation tried to envelop Din Djarin so that he would leave the creed.

Many people believe that this scene with Omera was "romantic" which it was not so; This series was representative of that TEMPTATION that Din could have fallen into. It's a symbolic scene of how Din was able to abandon the creed, stop being a Mandalorian, settle down and live in a remote place. EVEN when he mentions to Omera that his main goal was to honor Mandalorian culture, which saved him from the droids. SHE tries to take off his helmet if he allows it, invasively, as a temptation. THE CLEAR THING was that he NEVER fell into temptation.

Din clearly tells him "I don't belong here."

Because many say “I wanted a quiet life with her.” I say; Since he did not agree to stay and preferred the creed and remain Mandalorian, develop his character, surround himself with other people, adopt Grogu and recover his planet together with Bo Katan, I tell you HE preferred a Mandalorian life and his lifestyle and culture may be anything but "a quiet lifestyle."

Now when they say "Bo katan is a liar, a villain" it's because they didn't understand any point I mentioned. All SW characters have had to make difficult decisions, Bo Katan has been more oriented towards being an Anti-hero. And I don't justify her but it is understood and her points of view are expressed, about why she acted that way.

Since season 2 he could have killed or betrayed Din and taken his saber, in season 3 he had all the time and opportunities to do so. AND IT NEVER HAPPENS…

And it is more than clear that she had a very peculiar interest in him, that she protected him in some way.

Always saving him, even in chapter Plazir 15, she saves him from the separatist droids just when he shows rejection towards politicians. A clear nod to the fact that she does not fall for opulence or power, she simply wants to right her wrongs and bring glory to Mandalore, so that her people have their home.

Saying that Bo Katan "didn't redeem himself because he didn't do anything" Sorry, but living with a tormented conscience, with memory and constant regret. This season 3 Brendan Wayne himself says it in a podcast where he is a guest: "Din wanted to get Bo Katan out of that depression of that cloudy cloud of thoughts and knock her out with his own feelings, it was like he was talking to my wife"

I uploaded that interview and you can find it on my wall, I don't lie like SCREENRANT, they love to lie.

I don't want to go into more detail but I'm going to close this post with this.

Let's assume Din and Bo don't want anything romantic, okay. then at least allow them to be comrades in arms; It doesn't take anything away from them, on the contrary it gives them both a lot. Both Din with his own qualities can support Bo and vice versa. So why separate them if in the end, they are just friends?

And if it turns out that there are feelings and love between the two IT ALSO doesn't take anything away from them and yes, it contributes to them.

Star Wars is a galactic opera and I repeat; Taking away love just because you are a bitter person is taking away one of its main foundations.

The Mandalorians would be another very peculiar, interesting and unique perspective on love, if they let this union flow. Because it wouldn't be the typical cliché

We would see Din and Bo fighting together, sharing moments, weapons, tactics, in the middle of a battle, a show of affection, a hug, something very human, holding hands, fighting together, sharing plans, exchanging ideas and even A Keldabe kiss..

I and many see potential, at least in this shipment there is a lot of material to refute this couple; and I'm completely in the group that wants to keep them together.

This is the way.

[megnificent-reads]

A Court of Wings and Ruin - Christ alive/5 ☆

Warning - this review is 1.2k words, and 98% negative. If you love SJM and the ACOTAR series, love that for you /gen. However, for your own mental health, I genuinely would not recommend you read this. For everyone else, and those who hate-read, Let's begin!

~~~

Okay, so I actually rated this 2 stars on Goodreads because I didn’t hate it the whole time but, I’m mad about it so it gets a special rating. ♡

I honestly lament when I was excited to read this book. Being what I refer to as a Lucien Lover (nuanced), I enjoyed a good bit of the beginning of this book. That’s not to say I wholeheartedly enjoyed every word of the first 100 pages of this book. 

So we start with Feyre in the throes of rage, becoming a master manipulator. Now, before I put just a minute or two of thought into it, I loved it. I love a girl tearing shit apart and using intellegence as a form of strength. However… 

Anybody think she was doing a little too much…?

Like, okay, Tamlin fucked up. Big time. I will admit justice is needed! Love when women take back power! But not only dismantling his entire country but turning everyone against him for things that he actually did not do? Crazy! He sucks! But people still live in that country. We still need order! His life is ruined now and I don’t necessarily think all that was necessary. 

Tamlin sidebar: “my father and my father’s father did the Tithe, so I’m going to do it.” Didn’t you acknowledge two books ago that your father sucks absolute ass? What fucking sense does that make? How in the first book was he the Perfect Moral Man that now can’t see the very evident immorality in the shit you’re doing. Anywhoozers. 

So, Feyre has her cool girl moments and returns to the Night Court. In book one, I was bored out of my mind until we arrived in Rhys-land. (Good one). This time, it was like the moment we arrived here the magic was lost. I was no longer excited to read. And honestly, I think the big issue was actually our beloved bat-boy, Rhysand.

I don’t know her personally, so this is not an attack on her character, but I’m starting to feel like SJM writes Rhysand based off of her fantasy version of what a man is like. Dominating, but soft and loving. Perfectly moral. Capable of evil, deplorable things, but too loving of people and their dreams to be that way. I’m going to be referring to it as PMS (Perfect Man Syndrome). 

Many of her men (sorry, males) are unfortunate PMS victims, but Rhysand is by far the worst. I wish I had underlined it when I was reading so I could cite it, but there’s just something about his actions. He is PMSing so hard that he doesn’t develop at all. He was old enough to be grown during the faerie-UK version of the Amercian Civil War where of course he was anti-slavery the entire time despite being raised by people who appeared to be violent racists. Good for our educated king. He also, of course, runs a sanctuary for abused women. 

Of course, I’m not saying that being anti-slavery and supporting abused women is bad. I love it. But like… be real with me here. I know that this is fictional. It’s not real. We can be happy here. But can I have some dimension, please? This man is the personality version of Flat Stanley. We had two conflicts between them since they got together and both were resolved by Rhys nearly getting on his knees and saying everything is his fault and he’s so sorry. The first conflict was just her thinking she stepped out of her Womenly Line and him not even knowing there was an issue. 

He’s just so. Fucking. Boring. 

Moving on. ♡.

Let’s talk about what makes me so goddamn angry about this book. I’ve seen complaints about SJM where other people are saying that other people call her books feminist literature. I personally have never heard anybody say that, but if I did, I don’t know if I would be able to control the rant that would ensue.  

I’m willing to have a civilized conversation, but I don’t remember Feyre actually doing anything. Yes, SJM puts her women in positions of power. Do they use said power? Maybe once or twice. 

Amren is an ex-god with powers above any character we’ve met so far. We see it used I think once. The rest of the time is spent talking about her power and her holding down the fort at Velaris while everyone else is off to war. 

Morrigan - also very powerful (described only). I remember her power being “truth” and never elaborating on that. She is a known soldier, that doesn’t fight. 

During the two huge battles, Feyre, Nesta, and Morrigan are on the ground while Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel are in the air fighting. After the first battle, Feyre is seen tending to her beloved mate’s wounds, Nesta is fetching water for Cassian, and Morrigan is getting mad at Nesta for wanting to fuck Cassian. So strong of all of them. 

Azriel is there doing… nothing. Which he has a habit of doing. Speaking of habits, SJM will create characters that I like because I’m excited to see how they will grow and develop. 

She then proceeds to do nothing with them.

I know more books are coming, as they will with SJM until the end of time, but it’s starting to drag. I love Elain. Well, I love what Elain could be. She’s a seemingly fragile, docile character. With her Seer powers, I was excited to see her notice the world around her sucks and develop into somone capable of holding their own. Instead, she uses her powers to relay some cryptic messages that no one heeds or even tries to, then she “snaps out of it” and can’t really do anything else. 

Azriel has a tragic backstory and seemingly a big story to tell. God, I wish I could ever fucking hear it. 

This is getting exceptionally long, but I remembered I had a list of things I wanted from ACOWAR and didn’t receive, so I’ll pick one more thing off. 

The Ouroboros. Out of all symbols, the Ouroboros is my favorite. Cycles and inevitability and all that. We spend a good chunk of this book leading up to Feyre retrieving this. It drives everyone mad. Only the strongest can look in it and survive. I was so excited to see what she saw! What the battle with herself would be like! How does she overcome it?

I guess we’ll never know.

She ended up seeing… herself? I guess she wasn’t previously aware of her flaws and then simply accepted them. Would love to have seen it!

And to finally end this review, I think the Ouroboros is a good symbol of every issue I have with this book. There’s so much build up and excitement that ultimately leads nearly no explanation. It’s like there’s ideas and concepts but then no idea how to execute them.

I won’t be reading ACOFAS or ACOSF or anything else. I already didn’t want to, then I found out about the pregnancy thing and. Yeah. I think I’m good off that.

[messyhairedhazeleyeddude]

Meet The Author ; JJ

| Info about me.. |

Name’s JJ.

My pronouns are He/Him.

18.

My humor is sarcasm/irony.

I don’t personally post much, just trying to build my writing reputation for now. But, maybe I will get out of my shell at some point.

Interests : Writing, Drawing, Painting, Tattooing, Guitar, Reading, and Skating every once in a while. Holy fuck, that’s a lot of ing’s.

Fandoms I’ll be writing about : Jujutsu Kaisen, Creepypasta, Chainsaw Man, South Park, Homestuck, and whatever else that I forgot to mention. Quite a bit.

| Requests Rules.. |

Currently as of now, I’m not accepting many requests because I’m so busy with my own ideas for my page. So, I’m sorry if I can’t or don’t get to your ideas.

But, I will look at asks through the Tumblr ‘Ask’ option so please go ahead and go for that. I’ll be happy to see some of your suggestions.

I will write things such as SFW and NSFW headcanons, stories, and scenarios on characters with a reader or another character that I feel I can execute correctly.

If you are looking to request, please see below to what I’m willing to do and not do.

✑ The characters I’m open to writing are : Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Megumi Fushiguro, Yuuji Itadori, Nobara Kugisaki, Yuuta Okkotsu, Choso, Sukuna, Denji, Power, Aki Hayakawa, Makima, Kobeni Higashiyama, Hirofumi Yoshida, Tobias Rogers (Ticci Toby), Jackson Nyras (Eyeless Jack), Jane Arkansaw (Jane The Killer), Timothy Wright (Masky), Brian Thomas (Hoodie), Stan Marsh (Toolshed), Kyle Broflovski (Human Kite), Kenny McCormick (Mysterion), Craig Tucker (Super Craig), Tweek Tweak (Wonder Tweak), Dave Strider, Rose Lalonde, John Egbert, Jade Harley, Jake English, Dirk Strider, Roxy Lalonde, every troll. (please don’t make me list them all..)

✑ I WILL NOT write anything that has to do with : pedophilia, vore, feet, characters that I have a personal dislike to, and any fetishes I deem uncomfortable or unsuitable.

✑ I am okay with doing : BDSM, non-con, and certain violent topics that include knives, murder, and other extreme narratives. This applies to most of the serial killers and is completely fictional. Please don’t cry to me about doing this. Some people cope with these sorts of kinks and it’s NOT to imply that they truly want something like this to happen. People just like crazy fantasies sometimes and that is OKAY.

✑ I apologize if I don’t get to your requests fast enough. Writing takes days to perfect. I’ve tried to rush it plenty of times, it will still be a long wait. Please be patient and know that I have a life outside of this hobby. Thank you for reading!

I don’t tolerate or condone anybody who is homophobic, transphobic, racist, or sexist. You are not welcome here and I would suggest to leave. This is a safe space and I welcome everyone. You are accepted.

Everyone that I write about is aged up and at the age of eighteen or up. I specify this every time and I’ll continue to do so. There will be nobody underage that I will write about and anyone that wants to do so needs to get the fuck out. Other than that, that’s my introduction to my page and I’ll continue to update this when I make a master list and others. Now that you understand my work and all of that is out of the way, go on and read your asses off.

[thoughtlessarse]

Ignorance is not a compelling argument. We’ve all heard the theories for the past eight years: people still supporting Donald Trump are somehow victims of the partisan media and Evangelical alternate reality that they’ve been raised in and are still captives of. They’re continually surrounded  by fake news and false stories, and so they aren’t bad people they just aren’t seeing what we are seeing and we need to be more understanding. This just isn’t acceptable anymore. There simply isn’t a sufficient excuse for being an adult so sheltered from facts and so truth-deprived that you can’t see Trump’s complete sociopathy and you can’t discern the existential threat he and his party are to this nation. These people aren’t being asked to dig beneath some complex, brilliantly crafted ruse perpetrated by Conservative media and religious conglomerates working in concert. If you can simply read Trump’s own social media feed and not be fully disgusted to the point of vomiting, you either aren’t a reasonable human being or you are willingly choosing to engage in wild intellectual and theological gymnastics in order to avoid a reality that makes you uncomfortable, and to intentionally avoid some really vile stuff that no one is even attempting to conceal anymore. I’m fully convinced that nearly everyone still supporting Donald Trump knows he is a reprehensible human being and guilty of high crimes against this nation—but they simply can’t admit to themselves or anyone else they made a mistake and so they are doubling down again and again. They’re not stupid, they’re just willing to let America die on the altar of their pride, which may be far worse. […] If FoxNews creates your reality, you’re going to be hateful toward lots of people. You’re going to be afraid of Muslims, LGBTQ people, immigrants, people of color, refugees—and on and on and on. And if you’ve been on the planet for a few decades, you should have developed the critical thinking not to allow a network that brokers in fantasy and fiction to be your baseline for truth. That’s a you problem. If The Religious Right defines for you what it means to be a Christian, your Christianity is going to look nothing like the actual teachings of Christ. It’s going to be an angry, violent thing devoid of compassion and gentleness. That isn’t your preacher’s fault and it isn’t Franklin Graham’s fault and it isn’t the Devil’s fault. As a thinking Christian who supposedly reads the words of Jesus and reflects on them regularly—you should see through this sham in a hot minute and soundly reject it.

read complete article

Fear makes people believe stupid things. It's why religion has held on so long, and it's what Trump keeps pumping into the minds of his cult followers.

Also, these so-called Christians haven't read the words of Jesus in a long time, if ever. They prefer to dwell of words written long before Jesus was born, though they probably haven't read them either.

[vergess]

this is a personal af question that you do not need to answer publicly or at all esp. bc its for fanficish writing purposes but anyway so like how DO you, personally at least, deal with episodes of psychosis? because google tells me that the go to needs to be antipsychotics but 1. the context is a character who does not have regular access to them anyway 2. every one i have looked at has GOD AWFUL PERMANENT SIDE EFFECTS that seem to be almost guaranteed to happen? and my doctor oc would not subject that to anybody. the usual psychosis symptoms i write in my current rps are post-ictal and postpartum psychosis specifically because getting information about that from people who actually HAVE THE CONDITIONS is easy, and there seem to be other methods of dealing with them without antipsychotics (plus, you know, magic dnd for one, and pokemon psychic bs for the other) but finding information on how people with other forms of psychosis (in this case, schizotypal ftr) deal with it from their own perspective is almost impossible? it's ALL ableist bullshit from doctors which is why i am hesitant to trust the idea of "antipsychotics are the only way" :/ even reddit is not helpful here lol and i want to get this right? i know it's just tumblr rp/ao3 fanfic/discord rp that nobody important will read but me and my friends are trying to NOT be ableist shitbags on purpose you know?

Boy I really just don't answer tough asks over the winter months, huh.

I started keeping a closer eye on how media that I otherwise recommend depicts psychosis since getting this ask, and I'm disappointed to announce that over the last two months only two (2) pieces of media have been Normal About Psychosis.

So, the first thing to remember when writing a Psycho is: WE ARE WHOLE ASS ADULTS WITH ADULT BRAINS OKAY, we're not small children lost in a fantasy. We're not violent monsters out for blood. We are people who sometimes see, hear, etc things that aren't really there.

Writing a psychotic character competently isn't about curing them, or even about reducing their symptoms. It's about showing how they cope with those symptoms while carrying on with their daily lives.

I'm currently on the lowest possible dose of antipsychotic right now, and I will say two things about that. 1) the meds make reality checks and other coping skills MUCH more effective. 2) Even at a low dose, abstract and creative thinking are hindered. I don't feel hindered; but I have a 24 year long writing portfolio that says I sure as shit am hindered.

Whether a character will benefit from going on meds is going to be a balancing act. But since you aren't actually looking for meds advice, lets talk about those Other Coping Skills.

Broadly, I would split my skills into three categories: stuff for hallucinations, stuff for delusions, and stuff for dissociation.

So, first off, reality checking is my #1 go to for hallucinations.

You pick this skill up pretty quickly as a kid; everyone does. The difference being that where a non-psychotic person eventually gets to stop relying on others to tell them what is real, we get to keep on asking forever.

It's actually super exhausting to be in a crowded space because most of the nonverbal cues you come to rely on (eg, no one else flinched so that noise probably wasn't real) become INSTANTLY useless. Every noise, movement etc may of may not be real, and your only option is to either gauge other people's lack of reaction, or ask someone you trust for a reality check.

Sounds like an easy way for an abusive shit to control your entire life with no effort? It is!!

THAT'S WHY PSYCHOTIC PEOPLE ARE WAY MORE LIKELY TO BE ABUSED THAN THE GENERAL POPULATION.

Once you know if something is real or not, you can decide to ignore it. Like ignoring anything obtrusive, this is easier if you are in a good mood, physically comfortable, etc. An absurd amount of "coping with psychosis" is just constantly monitoring yourself and others to make sure you are reacting to the right things at the right volume.

Ignoring something that your brain insists is real and a threat is very tiring, so there's also a lot of sleeping.

Delusions are significantly harder to manage than hallucinations, IMO. Not just because, as a multiply marginalized person there are myriad ways that an ambiguous "them" is actually trying to ruin my life for real. Being on terror watchlists due to racism REALLY makes it IMPOSSIBLE to manage my paranoid delusions because some of the more insane shit is just real.

But there are other delusions that are easier to handle. Mostly, this comes down to self monitoring again. I can take an extra second to ask myself, "hang on, statistically speaking, how likely is it that this total stranger ACTUALLY wants to kill me?" The answer, of course, is "violent crime has been trending down for years, and everyone in this area thinks I'm white as long as I don't go outside during the summer, so I'm safe."

It's all about finding the information that helps keep you calm.

Because the absolute certainty that this is a murderer and you are walking into the slaughter will not go away. You just... take it on faith that this time will turn out as safely as the last 399 times.

It's just a shitload of observation, mimicry, and forcing myself to do things that feel dangerous by reminding myself that they aren't.

That shit sounds simple, but it's a CONSTANT fight; it never really gets easier, you just get used to it.

Which brings me back around to my meds again: I think I prefer it this way. My writing sucks, and I keep crying when I read it because it's wrong, it sounds like a field amputation. But god, I went to a cafe during the morning rush a few days ago, and the overload of noise and data only left me bedridden for ONE day. ONE!!! Not a WEEK!

Maybe losing my only art is okay in light of how much less bad things are.

Anyway, I can't remember the name of the 2014 short story about the One Person With Psychosis being wrongfully shunned by her colony because she doesn't feel affective empathy, in spite of her constant and perfectly reasoned moral code ensuring she is, if anything, the least dangerous person in town. I wish I could remember it!! It's a good example!!!

I haven't read it yet, but people I love and trust seem to generally agree that the psychosis in Harrow the Ninth is well written, too, so maybe check that out IDK