#Harper Horde

[pkmntrainer-osiris]

The group has taken the train to the Battle Center.

Midha Naaji and Lucien Harper are available for asks!

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

burning pt. 2 | b. blake

part one | masterlist

summary: season three — a daunting decision is to be made. multiple cups of grounder celebration juice, an arrogant bellamy blake, and a desire to prove oneself cause an inevitable outcome.

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

warnings (including all parts): alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: THIS IS PART TWO OF FROM THE FLAMES!!

word count: 2.6k

No.

Way.

There was absolutely no way I was going to join a horde of drunken warriors dancing around a ten-foot-tall bonfire.

At least, that was what I had told Raven ten minutes ago.

Given the current position in which I was standing (which was just outside the crowd of dancers by a barrel containing a brew that I told myself was just really strong moonshine) and the alcohol oozing through my veins like sweet, molten honey, I think it’s safe to say that I had contradicted myself.

How many drinks had I had now? Two, three? Somewhere around there.

I wasn’t drunk, I swear. Although, I was certainly working my way towards being so. Raven had gently coerced—threatened—me into joining the raunchy dance circle. I had at first refused, but when she began to suggest telling Bellamy my ‘little secret’ if I didn’t do it myself, I reluctantly, very reluctantly, agreed.

So, that was that. I was going to dance. With Grounders. Around a bonfire. In front of Bellamy.

Hence, the drinks.

The only times I had ever danced were during parties back on the Ark, but those were so tame and regulated. This was vastly different. There were no rules, no sophistication, and certainly no guards keeping tabs on how close a girl danced with a boy. The latter was clear as day, taking the form of a couple dancing together a few feet in front of me.

A woman with dark, slicked-back braids and deep bronze skin pushed herself against her partner, a tall man with lengthy facial hair and spike-cuffed fists that must’ve been the size of my head. One of his hands was on her back, the other on her hip, ruching up her long skirt so that it exposed her thighs as she glided her chest up his torso. They grinded and swayed and flowed together in time with the pulsating beat.

Dread grappled me. I had to do that? How the hell do you dance like that in jeans and a tank top?

Through the ever-migrating crowd, I spotted Raven standing with Monty and Harper on the opposite side of the square. Of course, she had already been watching me the whole time. The fear on my face was unmistakable, yet she only sent an impatient nod of her head that said, “Get on with it already.”

If anything, you could always rely on Raven for her persistence.

“Christ, help me.” I plunged my cup into the barrel, fervently bringing its contents back to my lips and down my throat.

“Didn’t take you for a religious one,” came a deep voice from behind me.

I swivelled around, my cup still craned to my lips, and found the incentive for my drinking habits standing before me.

Bellamy.

Gracelessly, I choked as a much too-large mouthful of liquid streamed down my throat. My innards recoiled in on themselves. “Bellamy,” I said, attempting to compose myself. “Hi.” Unfortunately, the abhorrent aftertaste still lurked on my tongue, causing my expression to sour into one of disgust. “God—makes moonshine seem like apple juice.”

Apparently, he found this amusing. A hum of a chuckle bobbed in his throat. “Looks like you’re enjoying the party then.”

A few variations of how I wanted to reply: “I wasn’t until you started talking to me,” “Not really, but if you take me into a back alley right now, I might,” and, just a plain and simple, “I need you.”

What I really said: “Oh, yeah, I’m having a great time. You meet this guy?” I patted the barrel behind me. “Really supportive. We’re becoming good friends.”

He nodded, eyeing me with a quizzical smirk. “I can see that. Maybe you should branch out a bit. Have you met the one called Water yet?”

“You’re funny.”

“Alcohol tends to have that effect on me,” he said, and I laughed. His freckled cheeks rounded into apples and his teeth made a rare appearance; he looked away as if to hide his smile, as if Bellamy Blake couldn’t possibly be anything but serious and brooding. He’s kept my secret; I’ll keep his.

We both observed the crowd and the fire as a new song began to play, standing comfortably, wordlessly, side by side. Maybe ‘wordlessly’ was a bit of a stretch—there was a magnitude of words filling my mind, especially when he began unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off to expose his contoured arms to the fire’s fervour.

His arms…

“How many drinks have you had?”

I blinked. “What?”

He stared at me with a mischievous glint in his eye, draping his jacket on an unlit makeshift barbeque. “I said, what do you think of all this?”

The veil of lust-ridden (let’s call it what it was) fog lifted from my mind, and my brows creased deeply as I attempted to piece together what he was talking about. It took me a few belated seconds before I realized he had been referring to the Grounders and Sky People uniting as one people. I could hardly contain an idiotic smile from breaching my lips—my opinion was important to him.

“It’s—well,” I stammered, “it’s different.” It’s different? If only he knew how badly I wanted to club myself with a brick at that moment. Despite my obvious mental stagnation, he expressed nothing but patience, waiting with a visible longing for my input. So, I tried again, slowly working around the alcohol and shrewd blockages in my brain. “Honestly? It scares me. Their first impression of us was that we were cold-blooded killers and ours of them was the exact same. Ever since we hit the ground, we’ve been at each other’s throats; we’ve all committed so many acts of war.

“I’m scared of how fragile this peace is, how one tiny mistake could lead to the annihilation of our kind or theirs, or even both.” Bellamy watched me with silent contemplation. I continued, “And I’m scared if this peace does break, you’ll be on the front-lines because I know you’ll refuse to be anywhere else. And I know you and I tend to… disagree more often than not, but if you were to die—” I looked down, bashfully scrutinising the toes of my boots “—I think I’d be lost.”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. I immediately wished to snatch the words my loosened tongue had released and shove them back down my throat. His silence was writhing excruciatingly through the air, surrounding us like a constricting serpent.

Say something, Bellamy. Say anything.

“I think I’d feel the same,” he finally spoke, and the relief I felt was instant. I looked up at him. His pupils were bowls of sweet melted chocolate as he cocked his head to the side. “What would I do without my favourite sparring partner?”

My heart soared.

My favourite sparring partner.

Favourite.

So much for not smiling like an absolute idiot. I could only pray the fire’s orange light masked the jeopardising tinge of my cheeks, though there was nothing I could do about my blatant staring. Maybe it would have been embarrassing if I were the only one, but Bellamy had the same problem.

Someone seemed to hit ‘pause’on time.

The blood in my veins moved like a tranquil river; my heart expanded and subdued with each slow beat. The voices and bodies around us blurred into one big mass of nothing. All that seemed to be moving was the music drifting down towards us from the tower and Bellamy’s face, which was leaning closer in microscopic intervals, almost unnoticeably. But I noticed.

And then the bonfire roared with a loud crack.

Voices mingled. Bodies shuffled. Time restarted.

Bellamy cleared his throat and looked away, just as I began inspecting the cup in my hand. What was in that stuff? It was supposed to give me the confidence to dance in front of him; he ruined—a term I’ll use loosely—my plans by greeting me directly, so now I was just tipsy for no good reason.

At least now I didn’t have to join a wanton circle of dancing grounders.

Wait.

Was Bellamy going to kiss me?

“Didn’t think I’d see a grounder mating ritual tonight,” muttered Bellamy as he watched the scene with crossed, disapproving arms. The light spirit he had been in before had obviously been overthrown by his usual brooding nature. Funny that—that his mood only soured after hemade it seem like he was going to…

You know.

I turned towards the crowd, away from him (and his damning muscular arms that bulged impossibly over his chest). “You don’t approve?” I asked flatly. His sudden detachment had pissed me right off. “Everyone,” I addressed the partygoers in a hushed tone only Bellamy could hear, “stop dancing right now. Bellamy Blake doesn’t approve of fun.”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered.

“Then go dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

For the second time that night, I contradicted myself. “Well, I do.”

Now that regained his attention. I could see him staring at me in my peripheral vision.

“Right,” he scoffed. “You’re gonna dance.”

Ouch.

His words struck a chord deep inside me, causing my expression to wilt into something defensive. My arms folded promptly over my chest and I turned to stare him down. “Is it so unimaginable?”

“I just can’t picture you dancing,” he spoke with an arrogant grin, as if his viewpoint originated from the truth and mattered above all else.

It was moments like this one that pushed me to judge whether I should indulge in my attraction to Bellamy. Maybe it was the booze talking, but I really just wanted to slap him across the face. If not literally, then maybe figuratively, by proving him wrong.

I’d had this problem ever since I met him: he would tell me to do one thing, and I’d do the complete opposite; it felt like an unspoken rule at this point. Which led me to my next decision.

My arms dropped to my sides. “Good thing you won’t have to in a minute,” I snapped.

I began making for the bonfire and dancers, each of my curt steps fuelled by spite and a chemically altered brain. I just can’t picture you dancing. Yeah, right. I’d give him something to picture, the smug asshole.

“Hey.” A large hand caught my wrist, pulling me back half a step so I that had to stop.

I shot a fiery warning over my shoulder. Bellamy’s eyes reflected regret and a touch of submission; he knew it had been the wrong move and immediately let go of my arm, withdrawing half a step himself in placation.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he spoke cautiously like I was a spooked animal about to attack. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, you did upset me.”

“Princess, I—"

I whirled around on my toes and we came face-to-face (well, face-to-collarbone). The swiftness of my actions must’ve caught him off-guard because he cut himself short mid-sentence and the bulge of his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat.

The scorching intensity of my gaze was pointed directly up at him now, just daring him to speak another word. He didn’t. His mouth had set into a hard, impenetrable line that represented his oath of silence. It was a smart choice, but, god, he had gotten me so riled up that whether he was smart no longer mattered.

I just couldn’t help myself.

The gap between us shortened as I took a smooth step forward, keeping us connected by the eyes. A challenge in the form of a scornful smile broke across my lips. “No leaning in this time, huh?” I spoke.

Bellamy’s eyes twitched into squints, his jaw clenching in unison. It was strange how he took offence to being called out on something he had done—a common trait in those affected by frequently un-called-out arrogance, no doubt. I’d have to start helping him out with that.

A bomb was ticking beneath his skin and I knew firsthand how short the fuse was. Subconsciously, I think I wanted to blow it. Subconsciously, I think I enjoyed it: the arguing, the tension, the heat. I enjoyed how we knew exactly what set each other off and how intimate knowing such information about one another was. I enjoyed getting in his face and him getting in mine.

I enjoyed the moments when it would become blatantly obvious that the tension between us never originated from a place of hate or malice, but from somewhere deeper, fleshier.

Or was I so impaired that it was really just me?

Thoughts calculated behind his hooded gaze—of hate, of malice, of flesh, I wasn’t sure. And just when I thought he wasn’t going to reply at all, his neck hollowed with a deep inhale, and he leaned down to my height. My heart dropped to an unspeakable place. His breath was hot on the tip of my ear, “Did you want me to lean in?”

I stared at his shoulder, trying to conceal the shiver trickling down my neck and over my breasts and much, much further below. He lingered in place for a half-second longer before returning to full height. Can you guess the shape his lips made as he scanned my perplexed expression? It’s not difficult.

I was going to slap him. Not out of dislike: but because how dare he make me want him so badly? And in front of so many people? And without even knowing that I actually did want him and it wasn’t just the alcohol that was making us both sexually frustrated?

I swear to god I was going to slap him. My hand flexed, but before I could act, the universe made evident that it was on Bellamy’s side.

The sudden bellow of horns signalled a change of song. Our attention was dragged away from one another, turning to the celebratory howls and shouts echoing between those surrounding the bonfire. The flames had exploded to new heights as someone fed more wood to the base. It burned so brightly, so dangerously that if I didn’t know any better, I’d have mistaken it for a god.

The horns vibrated in the air, repeating over and over as more instruments were introduced to create something dark and haunting. Slowly, I began to smile. I knew what I was going to do now, and it certainly wasn’t slapping the smirk off of Bellamy Blake’s face.

“Sorry, Blake,” I voiced over the music. We were looking at each other now; somehow in those ten seconds we were distracted I must’ve sucked him dry of pride and consumed it myself, because I now wore the smirk, and he wore the confusion. One last time, I downed a gulp of my drink and said, “Places to be.”

And then I was gone, heading straight for the crowd of orange-skinned dancers, slick, sweating bodies, and pulsating horns. I’d hoped that last drink would kick in fast, especially if Bellamy’s eyes were to be as vigilant as ever.

part three {to be written}

[alicelufenia]

Testing new ways to recruit Minthara in Patch 6 - Part 1 (KO at the grove battle)

First of what may become a series of attempts to find new ways to recruit Minthara on the good playthrough.

Now according to the patch notes:

It's unclear what they mean by "number of valid methods". So far the ONLY valid methods to recruit Minthara are siding with the Goblins (ie the best method) or to knock her out while temporarily hostile. I go on all about it in this post.

So to start I wanted to see if the number of cases where she becomes temporarily hostile have been expanded. And the first method I wanted to test is possibly the coolest way to knock her out; by fighting her and the goblin horde at the grove! I don't need to show any screenshots of that, suffice to say, she was marked fully hostile by the game, and her knocked out status was NOT temporary (ie., said this entity would disappear permanently after a long rest)

So I played the rest out as you normally would; long resting to go to the tiefling party, then heading to the mountain pass, past the undead patrol, into the shadow-cursed lands, summoned Kar'niss, turned on him at the Harpers, yada yada Last Light Inn yada yada Isobel and Marcus.

So I arrive at Moonrise, and while expecting nothing, who do I see?

THERE SHE IS! And wearing her camp clothing cause I stole her armor again lmao (and she didn't wear the blazer of benevolence I reverse-looted into her inventory, cause she'd rather be in her PJs in front of her boss than anything from Volo. Honestly understandable.)

The cutscene plays out normally, but after going down into the prison, freeing her mind and fighting her interrogators

She just... breaks. No dialogue, not interactable, doesn't follow me, nothing. Killing the other guards outside doesn't do anything.

At first I was ready to call this whole attempt bugged (which don't get me wrong, this IS a bug)

But I thought, what if I have her play along (I never did that in my own playthrough) So I reload, and trick the guards instead.

SUCCESS! She's a follower npc now!

We deceive our way out of Moonrise, send her back to camp

Also, incredibly funny that both Astarion and Karlach approve, when Astarion is the only one who voices major objections, and earlier Karlach had this to say at camp before we headed into the prison

I guess seeing her tortured and grateful for being freed warmed Karlach's heart to her. Awww :3

Ladies and gentlemen, we got her

It's not completely without bugs. Karlach and Wyll both didn't have anything to say about Minthara's recruitment, but that might have been because I hadn't exhausted their reactive dialogue beforehand, as they both had things to say about prior events. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Astarion and Gale (y'know the regular durge squad) all had their normal reactions.

Also Halsin isn't there cause he's currently at Last Light hanging out with Art. I hadn't even found Thaniel yet. Although I don't anticipate any interactions with those two, as the ultimatum dialogue is still inaccessible, and even if it was, involves an absolutely convoluted way to get both Halsin and Minthara that will almost never happen anyway.

Final Verdict: Recruiting Minthara by KOing her while defending the grove - WORKS!

[ollypopwrites]

From Depths Unknown; Part 1

Rolan x F!Tav (AFAB, she/her) *Tav is a Storm Sorcerer, but no actual reference to her appearance.

Rating: M

Tags & Warnings: [18+ MDNI] Language, Canon-typical violence, drinking, sexual content (very brief, very not detailed BUT slight dom/sub dynamics), slow burn, slightly enemies to lovers but not quite, background Bloodweave, the use of ‘idiot’ as a term of endearment.

Series Summary:

The entire first half of Rolan’s life was spent feeling helpless and angry. Even after escaping his childhood home, Elturel and then the Grove, fate seems to be intent on reminding him of how small he really is.

Tav is the gallant hero, always swooping in to save him and it is infuriating. To add insult to injury, despite himself, he actually likes her.

Notes: hooooo boy. This got crazy. It was supposed to be vignettes leading to some smut and now we have a whole multi-part fic exploring both Rolan’s character as an outsider of the tadpole crew but still closely acquainted and the weight of responsibility on Tav during the entire narrative of the game. Smut will happen, promise, but first — some light whump and heavy yearning.

Read below or on Ao3

“Did you lose something, darling?”

Tav had upended her pack, a huge pile of random junk, valuable magic artifacts, potions and rations by the fire. She was

Frantically digging through it, sorting through jewelry and shoving it aside.

“You haven’t seen my necklace laying around have you? The one with the pearl pendant?”

“I haven’t stolen it if that’s what you’re really asking,” he replied.

“Sounds like something someone would say if they did steal it.”

“Ha-Ha,” Astarion snarked. “Last I saw it was when I fed from you last night,” he sighed, “such a lovely chain wrapped around an even lovelier neck.”

“It was a gift from… someone special. I can’t find it.”

“When did you last remember having it?”

“I wear it everyday,” she groaned frustratedly. “I noticed it was gone when I got dressed after my bath upstairs.”

“And before that?”

“We fought off that horde by the lake,” Tav frowned and then gasped. “Shit. It must have broken during the fight.”

In her mind’s eye she could imagine when it may have happened. She had been positioned directly in front of the portal in which Halsin had gone into the Shadowfell. Gale and her kept directly in front of it to hold off stragglers, while Karlach and Shadowheart flanked in front of them. A flock of undead Ravens had descended upon her and Gale, clawing a scratching and she had lost her balance careening into the water. Some undead Harper’s had made an effort to keep her from climbing back up on the stone outcrop.

She had made it back to her position, but only barely. Tav still felt herself tense and worn down after what was the longest five minutes of her life. The dead just kept rising, new apparitions of horror springing up when they finally had the upper hand.

“I’ll be back.”

Tav stood and left the camp they had set up near the docks below the Last Light Inn. Her feet took her to the same edge of the lake where even now there were remnants of their battle littering the ground. She checked up on the stone outcrop where the portal had been, dancing lights guiding her eyes as she scanned for a glint of metal from the lights.

Nothing. She danced the lights closer to the water but it was impossible to see through. Tav dug for the last dredges of her magic to cast detect magic, she felt something below. Not too far but hard to pinpoint exactly where with her magic so spent.

Tav examined the water. It was just as dark as the rest of this place, and who knew what lingered below its surface. With a sigh, she took off her shoes and stripped down to her small clothes. She dipped her foot in, the water was as cold as it was when she was pulled in earlier that day.

Then she leapt in. Darkness surrounded her, the muffle of the water creating a sense of pure nothingness around her. In a way, it was peaceful, and quiet, but she had to find her way to the bottom and find that necklace. It was not too deep, but she had to fully submerge herself to reach the floor and when she did she tried not to think about what she was grabbing as she blindly felt around.

With only the vague sense of detect magic to guide her, she grabbed blindly. She felt the metal of armor, maybe a rock or a long rusted weapon, but nothing that felt like a thin necklace chain. She had to thrust herself up to the surface to gasp a breath of air.

Just as she went to dive under again she heard a shout, “what the bloody hells are you doing?”

Her head whipped around to the stone she had jumped from. Tall and lithe, standing rigidly straight with fists balled at his side and eyes glowing slightly in the dark. It was Rolan.

“Are you insane?”

“I lost something!” She said back. “Just a minute!”

His call of, “wait!” Was cut off as she dunked under again. Her hands frantically searching, focusing on the detect magic spell that would fizzle out any moment now. She let it lead her, let it show her the pulsing of the magic it was picking up from the bottom of the lake. There was no way of knowing if it was her pearl, but she had to try.

Her hands dug into the muck of the bottom of the lake, pulling some up and bringing it back to the surface. She could barely see, but there in her hand the pearl sat amongst rot and mud. She choked on a gasp, her eyes stinging either from tears or the grime that no doubt was in the water. The chain was long gone, but the pendant was there.

The gold of the delicate clawed setting that held the Pearl of Power was dirty and dented, but the pearl itself seemed to be in good shape.

“I found it!” She called.

“For the love of — get out of the water!” Rolan yelled.

Carefully she tread towards the stone again, reaching it and dropping the pendant onto the stone so she could pull herself out. Just as she lifted herself up, something caught on her foot, and then tugged. She hit her chin on the stone, teeth clacking together and then she slipped into the water again, skin scraping against rock and her vision going dark as the depths.

Rolan’s hand delved deep into the water, clutching at whatever piece of Tav he could get a grasp of and pulled. Her hand emerged, his hand tightly around her wrist as he grunted with the struggle to lift her above the water's edge. When her face emerged she gasped for breath.

“Something’s pulling me,” she yelled.

Rolan had little time to think, and just kept pulling as Tav’s free hand grasped at the rock and started to get herself onto it. As she did, the rest of her torso was revealed, then legs where he saw a long dead, gnarled and rotten hand grasping her calf. He let go of her with one hand to cast magic missile, the angry red jets of magic landing each hit until the hand let go of her.

Tav crawled onto the rock, coughing up water, and catching her breath. She stayed on hands and knees, her hand coming out to grab the trinket she had dived in for.

Rolan turned on her in a rage. “What in the hells is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” she breathed, “thanks to you. Appreciate it.”

“Weren’t you telling me not to go wandering off into the curse just yesterday?” He seethed.

“I told you not to go alone,” she clarified, “but I guess your point still stands.”

“Thank you,” he said sarcastically. “I watched you and your friends hold off an undead army just here earlier, another truly noble venture I’m sure — “

“We were trying to help lift the curse—“ she stood.

But Rolan’s ire was truly raised and he trampled over her words without acknowledging them. “You cannot truly be this stupid,” he spat, “you know what lurks in this land, what could possibly be so important you need to jump into the accursed lake?” Despite himself he found himself saying, “another hero’s errand, no doubt, the long lost heirloom of a poor, pathetic creature that will simper and whine your praises.”

Tav looked like she might hit him. Instead she grabbed her discarded clothes and started to walk away.

“You’re welcome,” he called after her.

“I already said thank you,” she turned to snarl at him, a spark of lightning curling off of her in her anger. “Would you like me to stay so you can yell at me more or can I go? Will that make you feel better? Will it bring Cal and Lia back?”

Rolan was charging forward before he could stop himself. “They are only gone because you can’t keep your nose out of other people’s business.”

Tav’s angry expression faltered, something he couldn’t quite parse flashed over her face. “Rolan -“ she started and then sighed, shoulders slinking into a hunch.

For the first time he noticed that she looked tired. The kind of tiredness that not even a good night's rest would fix. Bone -deep, mental and physical exhaustion written in the bags under her eyes, the downturn of her mouth. His stomach dropped, his jaw clenched and a new anger flared in him.

Prick, idiot bastard is what you are, Rolan, the thoughts set off in his mind, taking the flashing of rage with them. Can’t save the only family you have, and you kick the one person who can while they’re down. Useless. Idiot.

“Tav? Darling, are you alright?”

Both of them turned to find Astarion, accompanied by Gale who had a suspecting frown on his face. “By the stars, Tav, you’re soaked,” the other wizard said, coming forward, removing the cloaked cape he had and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“And quite underdressed,” Astarion quirked an eyebrow, “not taking advantage were you, little wizard?”

Rolan had hardly thought about her state of undress. Had purely been driven by whatever it was that made him run up when he saw her dunking into the lake. The worst case scenario had crossed his mind, she had fallen to the curse and it was pulling her under. It very nearly did.

Now he was very aware of it. Embarrassment and pure concentration to not look at her legs which were still bare kept him from saying anything in response.

“Rolan helped me, I fell into the lake.”

“You jumped into it,” he found himself saying.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Gale scolded.

“My pearl!” She held it up. “Chain must have broken earlier.”

Gale hummed thoughtfully, eyes slinking towards Rolan, then to Tav. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I believe another bath is in order.”

“Probably best,” Tav sighed, pulling some grime out of her hair. “Goodnight, Rolan.”

Rolan said nothing in return as Gale walked with her back to the shore, his eyes flicked up to the elf waiting for them. Astarion and him never spoke much, he was around and had a smart remark to provide at someone’s expense but they had rarely ever spoken.

There was something unsettling about the elf as he peered at Rolan while he waited for his companions to make their way. A stillness of his body that was unnatural, a look in his eyes that was half warning and half challenge. A predator, guarding its territory that almost immediately softened once Tav and Gale were next to him and they began their walk back to the inn.

Rolan rubbed his hands over his face, and made his way back to the inn. He needed a drink.

Tav had smiled sheepishly at Jaheira after requesting another tub of water. Gale and Astarion had slipped away after whisking her away from Rolan, and now that she was alone she found herself truly feeling exhausted. She bathed and went back to camp, found a chain from the endless piles of jewelry she had hoarded to sell for camp funds and slipped her pearl pendant back on.

The weight of it on her chest was comfortable, a sense of normalcy in a place that was far beyond her everyday life.

Tav played with the pendant as she laid in her bedroll, despite the tiredness her mind was reeling.

Rolan had been so angry with her. When they had rid the path of the goblins and held their little party she had comforted herself in knowing that the two of them parted on friendly terms. Her encouragement of his siblings to stay and help their kin had paid off, and she had spent a good chunk of the night talking with them.

The last time she saw him he was full of laughter, showing off his prowess which landed him a position as an apprentice with a well-renowned wizard.

Her mind played over their interactions. His drunken fury after Cal and Lia were taken, his resigned anger after they saved him from the cursed wraiths near moonrise - he was always so angry with her.

Perhaps he had a right to be. They had rid the path of the goblin threat and sent them straight into a horror beyond imagining. All her talk of doing the right thing, helping who you could and ‘playing hero’ as he put it was for nothing.

Laying in the dark with her eyes wide open became too much and she got up from the bedroll. She could grab some wine from their wares and head inside, not wanting to take anymore of the Last Light’s limited supplies.

“And where are you off to?” Shadowheart asked. They technically did not need a watch shift due to the Harper’s having their own but it was routine now.

“Need a drink,” Tav said. “I’ll be back.”

“No more dips in the cursed lake, if you please,” Shadowheart called after her.

Tav waved her off and headed inside. The Last Light was always somewhat active. Everyone’s sense of night and day was off kilter, at least one shift of Harper’s and the Fists were milling about at any given time. Healers were needed at all hours for returning scouting parties, and the bar with its meager offerings always had someone behind it.

She sat close enough to keep an eye on the children behind the bar, and look out at the space. There was still damage from the attempted kidnapping of Isobel, winged horror guts and blood stained the walls. Tav uncorked the wine in her hand and took a swig.

“You’re cut off for the night!” Umi said, head barely coming above the line of the bar with his hand pointing upward.

“I’ve had one glass, you little brat!”

Tav’s eyes slid towards the tiefling at the bar, robes still a little wet from fishing her out of the lake, and wearing his typical grumpy frown. At least he did not seem belligerent and the irritation in his voice held no bite for the child. Not like it had for her earlier.

“Give him a glass of mine,” Tav held out her own bottle. “He earned it.”

Rolan’s head snapped up and she immediately regretted speaking. It was meant to be a last ditch effort for a truce, but the way his face curled into snarl made her want to shrivel up and die.

“I don’t need any more charity from you,” he snapped.

Her heart dropped, her face got hot and she took a deep breath. Turning on her barstool, she leaned her back against the bar. She never could win with him. She wanted to apologize, she had been out of line by bringing up his siblings before. He had started it, but she was not too proud to own up to her own part in it.

It was clear he wanted nothing to do with her, so she turned her back to save him having to even look at her. She took a long swig of the wine, it was cheap and bitter, but it was what they had.

The scrape of wood made her look over. Rolan had sat in a stool on her side of the bar, not right next to her, an empty seat between them. He faced the bar, not looking at her as he held a tin cup out towards her. Tav leaned over to share some of her wine.

He was quiet, and that was better than yelling. And watching the activity in the inn was better than staring up from her bedroll all night. It would have to do.

“No chaperones with you this time?”

“They went off to… “ Tav trailed off, she didn’t know what Gale and Astarion were doing. Just that they slipped away as they had been doing more often lately. “Well, it’s not our business what they went off to do.”

Another stretch of silence. Tav played with her necklace in between sips from the bottle. They had to make their way to moonrise again tomorrow, finally entering the belly of the beast to figure out if they could free any prisoners and find a heading towards finishing all of this.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Hm?” She turned to Rolan.

His eyes flicked up from where he was watching her toy with her necklace. “The pearl.”

“Oh,” she said dumbly. “It’s a pearl of power.” She looked down at it, “an heirloom. Passed down from my father.” Her thoughts trailed off again, “when I thought I’d lost it…” she shook her head.

There was no world in which she imagined he wanted to know about her or her family. This was a truce, and he was being more gracious than she expected. She thought she may as well keep it as neutral as possible to prevent an argument.

Rolan was quiet again. For a long time neither of them spoke, at one point she heard the clack of tin on the wood and found he had put his cup out again. She poured him some more wine, and she felt at least relieved he was not unwilling to sit with her. Albeit quietly and only with her offering him wine, but it was something.

They sat quietly until the bottle was done. Tav felt her eyelids getting heavier and heavier. She thought she may finally be able to sleep if she laid down. Her heart still felt full of the weight of guilt, her body weak as if it knew only more horror awaited her the next day. But she didn’t get to rest more than one night, the chain of events of her life recently had made that very clear.

There was a lot she had to make up for, and a storm to weather before she could find harbor.

“If Cal and Lia are alive in Moonrise, I’ll bring them back,” she said, not having the courage to look at him. “I promise.”

She felt him staring at her but she still couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. Guilt weighed too heavily on her, the weight of the journey ahead looming over her in the face of yet another promise she was not sure she could keep.

Bidding him goodnight, which was met by silence, she walked away from the bar.

Tav had left with a small group to head to Moonrise, leaving behind the Archdruid who was dead set upon helping out around the inn. This encouraged others to pitch in, Dammon was lending strength to fixing up the broken railings and doors at the inn. Rolan made himself useful, he had magic to spare and nothing else to do.

He employed two mage hands to help lift a beam of wood to repair one of the holes that had been created by winged horrors dropping through during the attack. Isobel chanted out on the balcony, while he and Guex worked. Tav had been in the room when it happened, he thought to himself, always in the right place at the right time.

Except by the lake. Even now he had no idea what possessed her to strip out of armor to get inside waters full of bodies in a place which undead walked so freely. In his mind’s eye he could see her bare legs, and though at the time he had not thought about her state of undress now he found himself trying to piece together any snippets in his subconscious of what the rest of her had looked like.

“Rolan,” Guex called. “Bit higher, mate.”

“Sorry.” He said, the mage hands lifting the wood up.

His mind kept drifting to her. The way she played with the pearl she had so desperately been trying to find. Her laughter as it carried over the sounds of the crowd from her camp. More annoyingly the glimpse of her legs he had gotten just a couple nights ago. She was pretty, objectively, he had noticed immediately, but he wasn’t a naive boy so easily distracted by a pretty face.

The storm behind her eyes as she had gone toe to toe with him at the lake seemed to haunt him. what she said had hurt, yes, but he was a little distracted by the vision of her soaking wet and looking at him with so much feeling.

“Rolan, if you need a break just say so,” Guex said.

“No,” he growled, shaking his head, “no, I’m fine.”

He was a wizard. He could control his own mind. He focused on the weave, the sensation of it taking shape into the mage hands before him. Rolan made it a point to close the door on any further thought of her while he went about his business.

Until the second day with no word from any of the party that had ventured into Moonrise. He had even gone as far to venture into their camp, where the remaining four of her companions were sitting around the fire.

“Rolan,” Wyll greeted him warmly. “How are you?”

The Blade of the Frontier was an invaluable asset during their time on the road into the grove. Rolan liked him, although he preferred him when he wasn’t doing his folk hero act.

“I’d rather not say,” he said. “I didn’t come here to dampen your mood.”

“Have the Harpers seen any sign of our companions returning?” Halsin asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. Your tadpoles, they can transmit to each other can’t they?”

“There’s quite a distance between here and Moonrise,” the half-elf Shadowheart said. “I’m not sure our tadpoles can connect to each other so far.”

“Unlikely,” the Githyanki grumbled. “Attempting to do so is an unnecessary risk.”

“How?” Rolan asked.

“The ghaik tadpole could reach anyone, and give away our location.” She explained, haughty as if he was an imbecile for not realizing it.

“If anyone can get your siblings out of Moonrise, it’s Tav,” Wyll said, making eye contact with him.

“If they’re even alive.”

“Take your self-pity elsewhere,” Lae’zel replied. “You chose to save the offspring.”

“Should I have let them get taken?”

“No.”

A strange pause happened, Lae’zel expressionlessly staring directly at him .

“I think,” Shadowheart said, “what Lae’zel means is you made the right choice. Your brother and sister would have done the same.”

The only confirmation was a single nod from Lae’zel. “Your offspring are weak. Untrained. In order to maintain the continuation of your species you must protect them.”

“That’s her version of a compliment,” Wyll clapped him on the shoulder.

“Chk.”

Shadowheart laughed softly, and Wyll stifled a smile. “Join us,” he offered, “we have plenty of room by the fire.”

On the third day, Rolan was at the bar. Not drinking, well, not drinking as much. He liked to sit around with Umi and Ide, it felt sometimes like watching them play a game of pretend. Acting like grown up barkeeps, as if they’d been running the Last Light for more years than they’d even been alive. Everyone was willing to play along, and Rolan found himself playing the part of the grumpy regular.

“Hey arsehole!”

Rolan’s hackles went up at the sound of Lia’s taunt. Prepared to be annoyed at his sister — until he realized that it was Lia. A rush of relief spread through him so thoroughly that it made him shudder as he looked over.

“Oh, thank the gods.”

Lia was beaming, and behind her Cal had a goofy grin. They were there, in front of him. Alive and whole as far as he could tell, no trick of the curse making them strange and hollow. Just as quickly as relief came over him, anger flared. Nights and nights of constant worry not even dulled by multiple bottles of wine.

“Is that all you have to say, to me? Did you enjoy yourselves while I battled that wretched darkness? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, we got captured by murderous lunatics.” Lia was just as ready to fight.

“I thought you were dead, you ass,” Rolan seethed. “Both of you!”

“We’re all safe, Rolan,” Cal finally said, trying to keep the peace as always. “That’s what matters.”

“Good thing you’re back!” Ide shouted from behind the bar. “He’s been drinking about it for a week straight!”

“I was just…”

Worried sick, grappling with the thought that I nearly lost the only family I had, rendered helpless and faced with my own failings.

“Overwhelmed.” He settled on. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Lia folded first. “We should have been here.”

And how would they have done that? It wasn’t their fault they were captured.

“No - no,” Rolan winced. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have shouted. I’m sorry.”

Lia came up to hug him then. They were never very affectionate physically. Even when he had moved into their home he had shared a bed with Cal, Lia always teased them for the way they had to struggle for space as Cal grew stocky and Rolan grew ever more lanky.

But this was a comfort, to hold his little sister in his arms. Safe, and whole. Not even his pride could overpower the gratitude he felt to have them back, and as Cal’s bulky arms wrapped around them both in a steel tight hug he had to laugh.

“We thought the curse got you,” Cal said. “When Tav told us you were alive —“ his brother’s voice cracked and the rest of the sentence died.

Tav. He opened his eyes, half expecting to find her and her crew watching on as she seemed to be in every major upheaval of his life lately. But the only new faces were some deep gnomes, and a few other tieflings from their caravan from Elturel.

“Where is she?”

“Who?” Lia asked, rubbing Cal’s back as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Tav.”

“They needed to save face in Moonrise. Her and her friends had a big fight with the warden as a distraction while we got out.” Lia replied. “Apparently they’re posing as cultists.” His sister’s eyes narrowed, “why?”

“I — “ he started. “I owe her an apology. And thanks.” He cleared his throat, “but that can wait. I have a room upstairs and there’s baths, you two reek.”

“You’re such an arsehole.” Lia grinned.

“I’m starved,” Cal groaned, the only evidence that he was crying were some trails in the muck that coated his face. “They have food here?”

“We do!” Umi called. “But it'll cost you!”

The light of the inn was in sight. It had been a rough couple of days, but they had found their next heading. Tav was ready to debrief Jaheira, take a bath and sleep.

“The inn will be bursting now,” Gale said, “with the deep gnomes and the tieflings.”

“I hope they all made it okay,” Karlach said. “They’ve been through enough.”

“More than enough,” Tav agreed. “We will check in on them. Add that to the list.”

“Noted,” Gale tapped his temple.

As they passed through the barrier of light around the inn a weight lifted off of them. Traveling through the cursed lands was always exhausting, it was a suffocating darkness that covered the land and something always felt like it was lurking nearby.

After discussing with Jaheira and the rest of the camp, Tav took some time to check in with the rescued deep gnomes and tieflings. Barcus had bounded up to her before she could even take a mental count of who was present, dragging her over to Wulbren Bongle.

The leader of the Ironhands brushed both her and Barcus off, as if the former hadn’t just broken him out of a prison and the latter hadn’t begged so earnestly for her to do so. If she was not so tired she may have made a comment about it, but Barcus looked mortified and Tav didn’t have the energy.

As she moved on, she nodded to Lakrissa who was glued to Alfira’s side at the bar. There was no sign of Bex and Dannis, but she could only imagine their reunion was something they wanted to have in private. She saw the back of Cal’s head at the bar, heard Lia’s loud laugh and approached to find Rolan with them, leaning over the bar.

The two she had saved seemed better than she had found them. Clean, smiling and animated. Rolan’s shoulders were still an even line, but they seemed to have dropped a few inches, no longer settled up to his ears in tension.

“It’s you!” Lia grinned.

“I’m glad you lot made it back alright,” Tav smiled. “He’s been a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah,” Cal grinned. “But he’s our pain in the ass. Thanks for dealing with him while we were gone, we’ve got it from here.”

Tav just nodded. Rolan was staring at her, but she could not decipher his look. She awkwardly shifted and then said, “well, I was just checking in. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait,” Cal turned. “Thank you - for saving me. And the two idiots. I never thought I’d see them again.”

“It was nothing,” she shrugged.

“That black eye you're sporting says otherwise,” Lia said seriously. “I saw those hits you took. It wasn’t ‘nothing’. I’m not the best at showing it, but I love Rolan and Cal to death. They’re family - thanks for bringing us back together.”

Tav felt suddenly uncomfortable with the praise. Rolan had suggested before he thought she got off on playing the hero. His siblings' thanks felt like it would only prove his point further.

She just smiled, “I’m just glad you three are together again.” Clearing her throat, “I ought to check on my camp.”

Rolan stood suddenly as she turned, “Tav.” She waited, half expecting another comment about her heroics. “I’ve lashed out at you. Drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. And thank you.”

With a nod she took off for a bath. She checked in on camp, hearing any intel and updates she needed from those left behind. Everyone quickly began discussing strategies and next steps, they needed to find their way to this Balthazar and find Ketheric Thorm’s weakness. There was also the matter of finding Art Cullagh’s lute, seeing if they could find any hint that Arabella’s parents were alive and figure out how to finally put this curse to rest.

Even after a victory there was still so much left to do.

She slipped away to sit on the outcrop of stone by the lake again. Everyone at camp meant the world to her, but every once in a while she needed her space. It was dark and creepy, but if she closed her eyes she could hone in on the lap of the water against the rock. A soothing sound.

“Not thinking of taking a swim, are you?”

Tav jumped, and turned. Rolan stood not far off, a bottle in his hands and to her surprise a small smile on his face.

“Gods, you scared me,” she placed a hand over her heart. “I wasn’t expecting —“ she cut herself off. She wasn’t expecting anyone, let alone him and smiling no less.

“I’ve got a bottle of Arabellan dry, if you’re up for it.” He walked up and sat down next to her, showing her the bottle.

Tav considered him for a moment. “Is it poisoned?”

“Very funny.” He said sarcastically. “I would not waste poison in a wine such as this.”

“And where did you find it?” She looked at the bottle.

“I stole it from the cellar, the last bottle,” he said, popping the cork. “I brought cups, but I know pulling straight from the bottle is more your style.”

“I’ll try a cup,” she hummed.

He poured them each a cup, and held his up to clink against hers before the first sip. Rolan hummed in pleasure. “Gods, that’s so good.”

“It is,” Tav agreed. The flavor bloomed on her tongue, smooth and without the bite of the cheap stuff she had been drinking of late. “What’s the occasion?”

“An apology. A proper one,” He muttered. “You went out of your way to help us, it’s only right you get something in return.”

“You don’t have to —“

“You were right,” he said before she could finish. “I wasn’t really angry with you. I was angry with myself. Angry at the gods awful hands we’ve been dealt on this journey.”

“It’s alright if you were a little angry with me,” she admitted sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have used Cal and Lia against you.”

“That was rather wretched of you.”

“It was,” she agreed. “But I think I more than made up for it.” She was teasing, testing the waters in this new peace they had found.

“I thanked you once already,” he said haughty tone overdone and just as playful, “don’t be greedy.”

Something about the tone, about the smile on his face and the words themselves spurred her imagination into overdrive. Him above her, wrenching an orgasm from her only for her to ask for more. Don’t be greedy, she imagined him saying it again, condescending and admonishing. A truly mortifying high pitched giggle escaped her. She took a gulp of wine, her body hot and shocked at the instantaneous reaction.

She was very glad he did not have a tadpole.

A silence stretched between them that made her itch, he did not seem to mind but she felt like she would start to fidget if she didn’t say something. Luckily, he spoke while she floundered for something to say.

“I never asked, are you alright?”

She did have a black eye and possibly a concussion. She had left camp before Shadowheart could offer some healing. “Bumps and bruises,” she said casually. “Occupational hazards, nothing to worry about.”

“Hm,” he huffed. “That’s what you get for being a meddlesome hero. But I shan’t say more, you’ve done too much for me lately.”

“Karlach, Astarion and Gale were there too, you know,” she said.

“Yes, well, I won’t be sharing my favorite wine with them,” he said stiffly.

“Oh, and what makes me so special?”

He took a drink of wine, looking into his cup. “You are — “ he started, “particularly infuriating.”

“I’m special because I’m infuriating?”

He grimaced. “Yes.”

“You don’t make a bit of sense,” Tav laughed in disbelief.

“I make perfect sense,” he said haughtily. “You’re the one jumping into cursed lakes. Or risking your life for someone who has never been particularly nice to you.” He drank the last of his cup, pouring another as he added, “top up?”

She offered her cup for him to fill. “I told you why I jumped in the lake. A precious family heirloom was at the bottom.”

“And the gallant rescuing?”

Tav frowned, taking a drink. “I don’t know. I just… if I can help, I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

Rolan didn’t seem to find that worth responding to. The silence stretched on again. He cleared his throat and held out his hand. For a moment she thought he was asking her to hold it, and she felt a strange tingle throughout her body. On his pointer finger was a ring, old and a bit scratched up, but with some kind of inscription in a language she couldn’t read on the flat surface.

“This was Cal and Lia’s grandfather’s ring.” He said looking at it. “Their mother gave it to me when I came to stay with them for good. It’s not enchanted, nor is it worth much but it — it’s proof. We’re a family, bound by something stronger than blood.”

That sunk in slowly for Tav as she pieced it together. She had questions: if Cal and Lia were not his biological siblings what happened to his parents? How long ago had he been one of their own? These felt invasive, and they had been getting along so she chose not to voice them; happy to have been trusted with a small tidbit of his past.

Delicately her fingers came out to run over the inscription. As she did her fingers brushed over his, and perhaps it was the wine, but she grabbed his hand to bring it closer to her face. The writing was maybe infernal, with some sort of emblem.

“What does it say?”

Rolan didn’t respond.

Tav looked at him, finding him very intensely focused on her. She dropped his hand, “sorry, I shouldn’t —“

“It’s fine,” he replied tersely.

An awkward silence filled the gap and she kicked herself internally.

Rolan cleared his throat. “It’s his title and rank, he was a Hellrider.” He pointed it out on the ring and she ran her eyes over it. “The Hellriders protected their lodges with wards, and could only be accessed with ward tokens. This was his.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Elturel?”

“Yes.”

“We had nothing there, even before it fell,” he said.

Tav nodded her head. “So, Baldur’s Gate was always in the plan?”

“An apprenticeship, regardless of where it was, that’s what I was after.”

“Gale says Lorroakan is a well-renowned wizard,” she left out the part where her friend called him a ���cad.’ They were talking and getting along and she didn’t want to ruin it. “You must be excited.”

“When I get to the gates I'll be excited,” he sighed. “The journey so far has been one disaster after another.”

“We’ll get you there, Rolan.”

He looked at her for a long while. “Another promise, little hero?”

“I know how much you love when I’m gallant,” she smiled.

“That’s the problem with you,” he pointed at her with a smile playing on his lips. “I believe you. I believe you will get me there.”

Tav wasn’t sure what to say. Her face warm and her smile wide as she felt the need to look away from him. She drank the rest of her wine.

“So,” he said, “what’s the promise this time, Tav?”

“Rolan,” she began, “I promise that when we get to Baldur’s Gate, I’ll buy you a new bottle of Arabellan Dry. since you so generously shared yours with me even though I saved your ass from the Shadow Curse. It was rude of me to come to your rescue, and you’re being just so gracious about it.”

He laughed a rich deep sound that made her heart flutter, and the rest of the night her only goal was to get him to laugh again.

Part 2 will be out very soon! Thank you for reading 💜

[lakemojave]

Tonight at 6pm Pacific: The Direct Actors, A Baldur's Gate 3 "Adventure" pt. 19!!!

WE'RE BACK!!! Today we begin the 3rd season of our RP series and the 3rd act of the game! We've all had a hard time trekking through the Shadow-Cursed Lands and received some harrowing revelations, but we'll soon find out if the gang can pull themselves together! Come see @radiofreederry as The Green Knight, Elf paladin, @mayflowers429 and Nana as Leviathan, Dark Urge monk, @caputvulpinum as Micah Harper, Tiefling wizard, and myself as Delilah "Mama D" Harper, Halfling bard!

Character art by @bijillion, recap under the cut!

THE STORY SO FAR: On the way to a union rally, Delilah "Mama D" Harper and her grandson Micah were abducted and taken aboard an ilithid nautiloid, which they escaped with mysterious dancer Leviathan and the self-proclaimed "Champion of Ilmater and Paladin of Good" known only as the Green Knight. Each infected by a mind flayer tadpole, but so far immune from transforming into mind flayers themselves, The Direct Actors, as the party have come to be known, have arrived in Rivington, the gate to Baldur's Gate, and find themselves in the middle of a town with some big problems of its own...

LAST TIME: After defeating Ketheric Thorm and claiming his Netherstone, the Direct Actors prepared to depart the Shadow-Cursed Lands. As the rest of the party discussed their circumstances and the aftermath of the battle, the Green Knight scouted ahead for the road to Baldur's Gate, spending a lot of time alone in the shadows, dwelling in his grief. After dispatching an ambush of Githyanki sent by Vlaakith, the Direct Actors at last left the Shadow-Cursed Lands, just as the curse broke and the sun once again began to shine.

The party made camp just outside the town of Rivington as night fell along the Chionthar. As the Direct Actors settled in for the night, Micah was met by none other than the god Ilmater, who apologized to Micah for not being there for him in the suffering he had faced in his youth, and promised to be with him forevermore as penance, proclaiming that the position of his Chosen would be Micah's so long as he desired. Afterwards, Micah and the Green Knight talked, with the two reconciling after their previous fight and the Green Knight gifting Micah a new set of clothes he has acquired in town even as he waxed miserable about the nature of his immortality. Levi and Mama D, meanwhile, had a chat about both Lord Gortash, another Netherstone holder, and Mama D's emotional state.

As the party settled in to sleep, they were attacked by a horde of Gith, and followed them through a portal into the astral realm contained in the Astral Prism, where it was revealed that their Dream Visitor was in fact a mind flayer known as the Emperor, who held the Githyanki Prince Orpheus hostage, using his abilities to shield the Direct Actors from ceremorphosis. Everyone but Mama D had already figured this out. The party saved the Emperor, though the Green Knight vowed to return to free Orpheus and slay the mind flayer. Afterwards, as sleep took hold of the party, the Green Knight did... something that wiped his true name from their memories. Only Micah realized something had happened, and made it clear to the Green Knight that he was furious.

What did the Green Knight do? Will he and Micah ever be able to reconcile again? Will any more of Leviathan's memories return? Who is the sadistic shapeshifter known as Orin? What dangers lurk in the gateway town of Rivington? Find out in another exciting instalment of Baldur's Gate 3, starring the Direct Actors!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The handful will shout louder. A few fair men on the other side will argue and reason against the war with speech and pen, and at first will have a hearing and be applauded; but it will not last long; those others will outshout them, and presently the anti-war audiences will thin out and lose popularity. Before long you will see this curious thing: the speakers stoned from the platform, and free speech strangled by hordes of furious men who in their secret hearts are still at one with those stoned speakers—as earlier—but do not dare to say so. And now the whole nation—pulpit and all—will take up the war-cry, and shout itself hoarse, and mob any honest man who ventures to open his mouth; and presently such mouths will cease to open. Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception.

—Mark Twain, The Mysterious Stranger, Harper's Magazine (1916)

[Robert Scott Horton]

[tatterings]

Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 9, "A Flourish of New Growth"

AO3 LINK HERE

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: Explicit (THE SMUT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR)

Tags/warnings: 18+, SEX, making out, emotional talk, frotting, top astarion, bottom halsin

Word count: 11,000

Header art by @solmesia. Proof/beta read & edited by @solmesia and @bloodlessbhaalbabe. Thanks to you both <3

“Oh Silvanus help me,” Halsin groaned as he shifted his hips. His blunt nails dug into Astarion’s hips.

A cry for his god. That would not do, not for this. The vampire almost sneered.

“Ah, ah, my darling,” Astarion tutted, his voice breathy and an octave lower than normal. He slowed his pumps just enough to pull what sounded like a sob from the larger elf’s lips.

Fic under the cut <3

“Protect my way back to you, my heart,” Halsin had said, his words’ gravitas not lost on the pale elf.

Astarion could comprehend that sensitive, druidic magic held the fragile portal open. He understood Halsin’s hesitance, his uncertainty if he could pass through, given that vampires were accursed creatures for which the gods have abandoned. What could Astarion offer the Oak Father as sacrifice, as supplication, to convince Silvanus to allow him to accompany the druid?

Astarion reeled, both from the vision of Halsin disappearing into the portal, and from the emotional hangover from being in the presence of the man who had peeled scabs from his scars and kissed them closed again. He swayed slightly in place, his eyes focusing not on the portal, but beyond it, as he stood amidst the ruckus of battle. Astarion felt sick to his stomach; that rotten bile he had felt when Halsin had rushed into battle yesterday returned. He realized now, parsing through his racing thoughts, that it was heartache. Over Halsin.

A fire bolt had struck the portal as Astarion stood frozen in place. He felt the bitterness rise to his throat as the portal flickered, threatening to close, its near-translucent light shimmering, flickering dangerously before it stabilized. His lips pulled taut to a thin line.

In a show of catlike agility, Astarion simultaneously turned on his heel from the portal and dropped to one knee and nocked an arrow in his short bow. He faced the hordes of shadow-touched monsters, and took aim at the sorcerer who had cast the firebolt. He let loose the explosive arrow and struck his mark. The creature’s robes burst into flame as it fell back several yards. Astarion sneered, fangs glinting as he watched the creature writhe in the agony it deserved for its boldness to attack the portal and Halsin’s way back to him. His partner’s way back to him.

Partner. What a strange concept; although he and Halsin had only just discussed the idea last night. The security afforded by the term had brought levity to his heart and mind he hadn’t felt in 200 years. Pure resilience had won his hard-fought survival during that time, and had been crafted by blocking up his feelings behind a wall. Each sexual, physical conquest had added another brick, and each session of torture had applied more mortar.

Astarion descended from the rock outcropping in shadow, slipping behind a cursed Harper and slitting its throat. Before the wretched creature could fall, Astarion had already moved on, slipping his dagger between the ribs of a cursed Githyanki a few yards away.He moved as an inaudible plague through the waves of enemies. His vampiric bloodlust was the embodiment of agility, of perfect stealth, of divine brutality; he was an apex predator with skills honed far beyond what nature had deigned to create.

His freedom had been won by fickle fate; not by feelings, not by begging for his freedom, pleading for any mercy from Cazador. And yet Astarion had considered, while wrapped in Halsin’s arms the last night, that the fragility of allowing himself to feel could offer a different sort of freedom. As he and Halsin had nestled their bodies in the bedroll, he had accepted the other elf’s offer of partnership. He had felt pixies flap their wings in his stomach at the idea of trusting another being with his safety.

The clothing of the slain Gith was a sufficient rag onto which he wiped the creature’s cursed blood from his blade. How odd, that he and Halsin were so tied by blood, here in these lands; Halsin’s offer of his lifeblood as nourishment had been genuine, out of concern that Astarion would starve in this place.

The druid was correct about the corrupted blood of shadow-cursed fiends. So, each night when Astarion went to feed, he fought to not also feed his own skepticism. His distrust of someone who seemed so genuine. But the druid made his dead heart feel as though it fluttered. No one prior had looked out for Astarion, said a kind thing to him. Halsin was the only one; the only one to have a bleeding, noble heart full of endless kindness. Far more benevolent and helpful than any god could ever be.

Another wave of shadow creatures appeared from the darkness; thick, thorny vines lashed out at the party, and snarls erupted from beasts half-rotted and half-burned by the ravages of the curse. More Githyanki who’d been dragged into the blackness appeared, lobbing attacks at the portal; and likely attacking his party members as well. But the vampire’s bloodlust was for those attacking the portal, and not for his friends who could stand their own ground.

Each time an arrow or spell struck the portal, Astarion felt his throat close. He had no faith in the gods to offer help; even Selûne, who arguably could have defended the portal by herself. Loathe though he was to admit it, and as much as it pushed the bile from his throat and into the back of his mouth, Astarion placed his faith in Halsin - his partner. And Halsin had placed his own faith in Astarion.

The vampire felt a fog fall over his eyes as he shot an arrow across the battlefield to fell a creature attempting to climb the rocks. He nocked another to aim and shoot at a charging, curse-ravaged dog. It lodged in the hound’s open maw and felled the creature mid-gallop. His blows were automatic, instinctual, and smooth. He was a dancer whose choreography had been honed to perfection through the symphony of fading mortal pulses. Astarion was jolted from his blood haze as the portal widened with a crackling buzz.

“It’s done!” shouted the druid Halsin, his broad shape appearing from the light. His shadow concealed most of the small body he held in his arms. The portal shrank and closed behind him with a fizz.

Astarion seemed to be made of mist as he weaved between the few foes remaining on the battlefield; he launched himself from the ground to the top of the rocks, landing on his feet with his feline grace. The rest of the party felled the remaining shadow creatures before coming to Halsin’s side.

The large druid lowered himself to a kneel, gently placing Thaniel’s small body on the cold stone. “I have him…but something is wrong,” Halsin said to Astarion, who loomed above them both. Halsin’s voice had wavered with concern. His sun-kissed face was smeared with scarlet; his hot blood dripped from a gash on his chin. Claws had been pulled across his exposed shoulders and through the armor on his chest, leaving cuts both deep and ragged, as though he had shaken a creature loose from his shoulders. On his broad cheeks and forearms, purple bruises blossomed. The druid had not healed himself while inside the Shadowfell.

His hands shook over Thaniel’s body as the boy lay limp on the stone, but only a crackle of green magic fell from his hands. Even Astarion sensed that the sort of magic afflicting Thaniel couldn’t be resolved through the efforts of a healer.

Halsin bent further to lift the fragile boy into his arms. “Thank you, all of you,” he said, his breath labored and short. “Help me bring him back to camp; something is dreadfully wrong. Some part of him is missing. He is…hollow.”

Astarion felt the bile finally rise into his mouth.

*****************

Though Halsin could have easily carried Thaniel’s limp body back to camp alone, his companions - his friends - had insisted on helping. Wyll and Lae’zel had taken the lead, torches in one hand and weapons in the other, ensuring their trek was safe. With what little magical power Shadowheart had left, she had cast minor healing spells on both Thaniel and Halsin to stop the bleeding from their deepest wounds. Karlach had held damp cloths in her hands, steam rising from the rags. She had dabbed them on Thaniel’s frigid hands and feet while they walked, trying to raise the boy’s low body temperature. Gale had held a moonlantern towards the rear, accompanied by Astarion, to ward off ambushes from behind.

The druid had walked silently with the group, the only noise having been the sizzle of steam from Karlach’s rags, the jangling of their armor, and the crunch of the pathway beneath their feet. Each adventurer had been exhausted, body and soul, and eager to return to their bedrolls. Had the arch druid truly known how fiercely the darkness would fight back, he would have called upon Jaheira and the Harpers for aid.

When the group had returned to camp, Halsin could assess Thaniel’s condition - there was nothing any of them could do to help him this night. They could search for an answer in the morning. Lae’zel had not waited long after Halsin’s explanation to trudge to her bedroll. Gale had left soon after staking the moonlantern in the soil by Halsin’s tent. Shadowheart, once she had confirmed that Halsin did not need her help, had also retired to bed; the druid had heard her flop onto the ground, armor and all, in a dull clunk. Despite his insistence, Karlach had stuck to the Halsin’s side as he examined Thaniel. After being reassured that she could not offer any aid in her current battle-worn state, the Tiefling had accepted Halsin’s order to go to sleep. Before Wyll had stumbled to bed, he had set up a small tent for Thaniel right beside Halsin’s, under the direction of Astarion - “A little to the left, darling, give them some breathing room”. Scratch had settled inside the tent, curling beside Thaniel’s cool body and resting his head on the boy’s chest.

Astarion had left Halsin’s side last. He offered no comment as the druid examined Thaniel; he sat in silence beside Halsin, cleaning out the underside of his sharp fingernails with his dagger. The arch druid appreciated his company, but guilt racked him when he observed the grime and blood crusted spatters on Astarion’s face.

“Please Astarion, go and rest. Do not stay here for my sake,” Halsin said, placing a hand on the vampire’s thigh. “I will hold vigil for a while longer, then you are welcome to visit with me. Although I cannot offer my blood,” Halsin met Astarion’s eyes with a meek smile, “I shed much of it in the Shadowfell.” The vampire only shrugged in response and nodded at his words, before he slipped away to his own tent with a soft, “As you wish.”

Halsin had since left Thaniel under the watchful eye of Scratch, whose tail flopped gently when Halsin had patted his head before leaving. He sat alone in his tent, fluffing the pillows into a pile to prepare for his trance.

But the crunch of gravel and the sound of someone gently clearing their throat caught his attention. “Knock knock, darling,” chirped a soft voice in a faux-whisper. Astarion lifted the tent flap, his curls brushing along the top as he entered. The vampire had taken the time to clean himself and change into his comfortable camp clothes. In his arms he held a small burgundy velveteen pouch, pulled closed with a golden string.

Halsin’s arms and legs felt as though they were weighed down with bricks. He ached from physical and emotional exertion and his injuries. He wished nothing more than to lie down, but as Astarion entered his tent, he felt as though he had downed a gallon of the most energizing tea. The sight of his partner pulled a wide smile to Halsin’s face and a warmth to his chest. He shifted to lean against the pillows and patted on the bedroll beside him.

“My heart, I am overjoyed you joined me tonight. Despite the lack of blood for you this evening,” Halsin said sincerely as Astarion settled beside him. He was always enamored by the vampire’s graceful composure when he was not caught off-guard; and as equally enamored by his awkward, less-planned out nature when he was not wearing his aloof mask.

“Oh come now, surely you don’t think I like you for just your blood?” Astarion asked, with a playful smirk, his quip an obvious joke to divert attention. “I do quite enjoy your body heat, too.” The vampire leaned against Halsin’s shoulder for emphasis and squeezed his pectoral muscle. Halsin jerked in response; Astarion’s slender fingers had accidentally pressed on one of his wounds. His brows furrowed in pain, but no anger formed inside him; it was a simple mistake. And yet, at Halsin’s severe expression, the vampire seemed to shrink beside him. His slender fingers dug into the bedroll. Halsin’s chest now hurt for more than one reason - his partner’s hypervigilance.

“Ah, I will survive Astarion,” Halsin said softly, placing his palm on top of Astarion’s hand, “I just ache all over; a minor inconvenience. Nothing to worry about.” Astarion’s shoulders seemed to relax. The vampire’s gaze darted to the pouch he had placed in his lap.

“So what did you bring, my heart?” Halsin said, his voice taking on an effervescent cadence, “I suppose it’s not honey to drizzle on my neck this evening?” He said with a chuckle, squeezing Astarion’s hand lightly.

A smile crept onto Astarion’s face and he shook his head at the lighthearted jest. His gorgeous curls bounced around his ears, which flushed slightly at Halsin’s teasing. The light from the lantern inside his tent cast a golden halo around Astarion’s white curls, making him seem ethereal, even more unnaturally beautiful. Halsin’s thumb rubbed against his delicate hand, and the druid’s heart skipped a beat when Astarion squeezed back.

“Well, let’s be honest with ourselves, Halsin,” Astarion started, his voice sharp, but ringing with humor. “You’re an exceptional healer, but I believe you have the humility to admit you’re in a rather pitiful state at the moment.” His teasing sent another chuckle to Halsin’s lips. He found Astarion’s sass endearing nearly every time, and frustrating only occasionally.

The vampire continued, pulling his hand from Halsin’s grasp to gesticulate as he spoke. “And, with Shadowheart equally exhausted, I thought I would be kind enough to offer my skills before an infection sets up in…all of that,” the vampire drawled, waving his hand at the wounds on Halsin’s chest and shoulder.

Halsin shrugged, then winced at the movement as it pulled on his wounds. “I did not want to consume the precious few healing potions we have left,” Halsin said with a defeated sigh, “Especially for wounds which I should have easily avoided.” The druid chuckled slightly and tilted his head to Astarion. “I hoped they’d serve as a reminder to take some lessons in agility from you once I healed.”

Astarion’s face flushed slightly, his lips pursing together in a smirk, then curving downward into an exaggerated scowl. “Here you are again being a self-sacrificial, stubborn old bear,” he said, landing a gentle, affectionate swat on Halsin’s biceps. “With all the rot about this place, it’s foolish to leave your cuts open to fester. But fortunately for you, I won’t let you do anything too foolish. I’m quite skilled with a needle and thread. I can suture the worst of your wounds shut for now.” His shoulders rose almost to his ears; the vampire was clearly more frustrated than his jokes let on.

Halsin’s head fell slightly, eyes dropping to the tent floor. He had already loosened his hair from his ponytail; his thick auburn locks fell into his face. “Again, you demonstrate your wisdom, my heart,” he said with a sigh. The druid tilted his head to look into Astarion’s eyes. “Kagha once accused me of being a sheep in bear’s clothing,” Halsin admitted with a bitter laugh. “And perhaps she is right. Perhaps my wild shape should be a sheep. Or perhaps a wild ass.” The druid smiled at Astarion, who let out a genuine laugh. It was soft, melodic, like a wind chime in a spring breeze.

“I would choose the latter of those two,” Astarion said with a wry grin, “Donkeys are nasty little creatures; they don’t ask before they bite.” The vampire leaned in to tuck loose hairs behind Halsin’s ear. “And you’re as stubborn a wild ass.” He got quiet for a moment, his ruby eyes studying Halsin’s face. “I wish you’d develop a harder heart. Shall I go seek Dammon to see what he could forge for you?”

It was Halsin’s turn to laugh, and his chuckle burst from his lips. The vampire continued as Halsin’s laughter died down. “I jest, of course, but you do need some mending, Halsin,” Astarion said, his jovial tone becoming intensely somber. “Now, do you want to stall more or may I stab you now?” The vampire grinned, patting his sack of needle and thread.

Halsin chuckled again, nodding his head. His ear still tingled where Astarion had brushed it when he tucked his hair back. “I place myself in your skilled hands,” Halsin replied with confidence. Astarion was far kinder than he let on, and the druid’s fondness for the vampire seemed to grow each day. Astarion was perhaps rough around the edges, but his heart was pure diamond, despite his insistence that his soul and heart were black as coal.

The druid unfastened the buttons on his vest, wincing as he slid the material from his shoulders. He glanced at the wounds on his chest - three of them oozed blood despite the battle being over hours ago. They would likely leave marks too, joining Halsin’s other scars that told the story of his life. But these would be special to him; they would bear evidence of both his success in retrieving Thaniel, and be markers of Astarion’s caring touch. Halsin took a deep breath and shifted to a cross-legged position, facing his partner.

The vampire averted his eyes back to the pouch of embroidery materials and busied his hands with preparing his tools. Astarion held the needle over the lantern flame, sterilizing the instrument. It grew red-hot before Astarion shook it to cool it. He slipped a thread of embroidery floss through the eye.

The vampire studied Halsin under half-lidded eyes, an unspoken question between them. Halsin nodded in response and patted his lap. The slender elf shifted to nestle in the hole between Halsin’s crossed legs. They sat, chests touching; Halsin’s hot-to-the-touch, fully-haired chest to Astarion’s clothed, cooler one. The vampire settled his knees at each side of Halsin’s ribcage.

Halsin did not shift nor speak; he did not want to break the vampire’s concentration. Astarion’s eyebrows were knit together in concentration, his lower lip pressed firmly underneath his fangs. The druid focused on his breathing; he knew tensing up would only increase the pain. His focus was steady, and as the needle punctured his skin for the first time, he reacted only with a slow exhale of his breath.

Astarion’s cool fingers nimbly pulled the thread taught, crossing to the other side of the wound to place the needle once more. Again, Halsin tried to focus on his breath, but the beautiful man in his lap, whose face contorted into a grimace as he treated Halsin’s wounds, was a wonderful distraction. Astarion finished his stitches on the first wound and dug for scissors in his pouch to cut and tie it off. Halsin peered down at the vampire perched in his lap.

“Thank you, for your kindness, Astarion,” Halsin said, smiling into Astarion’s curls as he pecked a kiss onto the vampire’s head. Astarion seemed to lean into his kiss, like a cat leaning in for a scratch of its chin. The druid could cover the pale elf’s body in kisses and it still would not be enough.

Astarion’s head shot up, one brow raised upwards. “Well, don’t get used to it, Halsin,” he said, his lips in a pout. “I learn from the lessons of others - look what kindness has gotten you.” He pierced Halsin’s sun-kissed skin with the needle to start sutures on the second deep wound. Halsin grunted at the pain; he hadn’t been prepared.

The druid closed his eyes, steadying it once more. “Astarion, I…want to say that I am deeply sorry,” Halsin said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. The pale elf paused, needle in hand, to meet Halsin’s eyes. “I will never again endanger you like I did at the portal. I care far too much for you to have you risk your own life along with mine.” The druid made out the concern in Astarion’s eyes; it wasn’t evident in any tears, but in the way the ruby eyes softened and rounded. The vampire’s shoulders lowered from his ears, and his hand fell slightly, needle still in his fingers; it was clear that he was not used to hearing apologies.

Halsin continued, bringing one of his hands to rub the tense muscles at the base of Astarion’s skull. “Thankfully, I have a brilliant partner whose sense of self-preservation is leagues stronger than my own,” the druid said with a chuckle, causing Astarion to jostle in his lap slightly. He placed his other large hand on the small of Astarion’s back. “And perhaps he could help me become more moderate in my foolishness?”

Halsin’s stomach flipped at the hint of a smile that began to form on Astarion’s plump pink lips. The druid couldn’t resist pulling gently at the smaller elf’s earlobe with his finger and thumb, before he bent forward to place a kiss on it.

“Oh my dear Halsin, you forgot to mention one thing,” Astarion said, holding up a finger. Halsin tilted his head in confusion as he pulled away. “I’m your brilliant, beautiful partner. Who fortunately knows his way around a needle and thread in the interim until his oaf of a druid learns to not let himself get carried away.” Astarion’s smile became genuine, tiny crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “But I still have some more work to do, so hold still.”

Halsin laughed heartily at Astarion’s words, and finally settled down, leaning back against the pillows again. The druid felt the affection in his heart grow hot, spreading through his body and down to his groin. Despite that their touch wasn’t sexual, Halsin felt himself swell at the thought of his future with this clever, beautiful man. He tried to shift nonchalantly, delicately, so that Astarion would not feel the erection beneath him.

“So, Astarion, where did you learn your embroidery skills?” Halsin asked, a deflection to distract from his attempts to rid himself of his hardness. Astarion’s hands paused above Halsin’s flesh and he exhaled in a sigh. His cool breath on the wound brought chill bumps to Halsin’s skin. The smaller elf’s body stiffened in his lap; the druid felt ashamed of once again finding a sensitive topic of conversation.

“To make a 200-year-long story mercifully short,” Astarion said, his lilt flowing in the blithe manner he adopted when he begrudgingly discussed the past, “Cazador was a penny-pinching bastard; we were rarely, if ever, given new clothing. I’ve mended my wardrobe more times than I can count. What I couldn’t mend, I had to steal.” His expression was severe; the contrast of the deep shadows and the light of the lantern stressed the creases on his face.

Halsin listened soberly to Astarion’s voice, wincing as the needle pierced his flesh and the thread pulled through. The slight swish of the thread, the crackle of the lantern’s wick, and his own occasional grunts were the only sounds heard in the seclusion of Halsin’s tent. He cradled the back of Astarion’s neck, but held his hands still; Halsin knew this was a time to provide shelter for the vampire, as strong and stoic as the stones of the Grove.

Astarion continued, bending closer to examine Halsin’s chest; his head blocked the direct light from the lamp. The vampire’s cool breath ruffled the curly hair on Halsin’s chest. “The tailoring skills were as helpful for mending rips and tears as they were for cuts and scrapes, which occurred occasionally when our…guests were less than willing to come with us. We would pickpocket thread and needle for both purposes.”

Astarion quieted again, tying off the last of his stitches. Halsin fought the growl forming in his gut as he ruminated on how the sadistic bastard would send his spawns on missions without the most basic necessities. The vampire lord did far worse than that far more regularly, as far as the druid could guess. Astarion’s mannerisms spoke volumes of Cazador’s cruelties, and it made Halsin’s heart ache as much as his body currently did.

Astarion’s lips pursed as he leaned back to observe his handiwork. Halsin’s hand darted out behind him, wrapping around the smaller elf to brace his lower back. As his calloused hands brushed against Astarion’s finely-mended shirt, he felt the vampire shiver slightly. His ruby eyes darted across Halsin’s shoulders and chest. The druid had found himself lost in those eyes dozens of times or more. Halsin followed his gaze.

As he studied the sutures, which started on his collarbone and ended nearly at his nipple, Halsin became increasingly impressed. Despite a red crust forming along the edges of the wounds, thick blood still oozed around the stitching of the deepest wound. Overall though, the thread pattern was tidy and careful, yet also functional. Indicative of immense care put into their creation. Halsin felt heat rush to his face and, much to his embarrassment, his groin again.

“I will give ample credit where it is due, Astarion. Your stitches are both more functional and prettier than any I could have managed myself,” he said with a wry grin. “Relying too much on the Oak Father’s blessed magic instead of practical skills has its repercussions, it seems. Thank you, my heart, for spending the evening with me, and for your skill with needle and thread.”

Halsin beamed at the vampire, his white smile shining brightly against his tanned skin in the lantern light. Astarion peered up at him through half-lidded eyes, his eyelashes fluttering on unusually flushed cheeks. The vampire seemed proud of himself, but had apparently decided not to gloat. His delicate hands had already set down the needle and thread, and hovered slightly above Halsin’s torso, brushing against the thick chest hair.

The druid met his eyes, his stomach fluttering with affection for the other man. Words alone were not enough of a show of appreciation. One large hand pressed against Astarion’s lower back to hold the smaller elf against his torso; the other tangled in Astarion’s curls. Halsin placed tender kisses along his brow. “I care for you so much, Astarion,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the pale elf’s ear.

Halsin exhaled slightly as he felt Astarion’s tented pants poke into his own erection. Then he felt resistance from Astarion shifting slightly. The druid banished the thoughts. He released his grip on the small elf; both hands still supported his back. The shadow cursed lands were typically chilly; but at this moment, Halsin felt as though he were in a sauna.

“You’re very sweet Halsin, thank you,” Astarion said, ears nearly as red as his eyes. “But, I’m not quite finished, if you’ll humor an idea.” The elf leaned back into Halsin’s hands, shifting his hips as though Halsin’s hands were pressing a pressure point. The druid rubbed the point with tenderness, delighting in the fluttering of Astarion’s pale eyelashes as he helped the vampire release the knot.

Astarion seemed to lose himself for a moment before he blinked quickly and returned to the moment. “How familiar are you with, erm,” Astarion started, pulling one hand from Halsin’s chest to tap his chin with a slender finger, “the properties of vampire saliva?”

Halsin’s hazel eyes went round, one thick brow arching upward. “I must say I am unfamiliar with it. Although, I did notice that the bite wounds from your feedings seem to heal quickly,” the druid admitted.

Astarion tilted his head back, studying Halsin through his eyelashes. “Of course you noticed, you’re an erudite man. In essence, the saliva has clotting properties to help seal the wound once we’ve gotten our fill.” The pale elf’s hand dropped back to Halsin’s chest as the vampire’s plush lips pulled into a taut line. “Or, they can help our own wounds heal faster. Cazador…never provided healing salves or potions. If we could not steal them, we were left to lick our wounds like dogs.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

The druid felt his fingers curl into Astarion’s back muscles; he intentionally loosened his jaw, else he would risk breaking a tooth with how hard he clenched his teeth together. He inhaled deeply. “I’m so sorry, Astarion,” he said, trailing his fingers up and down the smaller elf’s back. He felt chill bumps rise even through Astarion’s shirt, as well as what felt like ridges of scars. Halsin felt his pupils dilate and a growl form in his throat. If that bastard whipped him, I will rip out his throat myself, he thought.

“The past is the past,” Astarion said flippantly, waving his hand between their bodies. “I only brought it up to offer the same to you. There is one cut in particular that could benefit from my attention.” He dropped his finger to point at the longest laceration. It still oozed slightly.

Halsin exhaled, releasing his anger at Cazador along with his breath. “That would be most appreciated, my heart,” Halsin said, wise enough to know it would be unwise to ask for more details.

“Well then, lie back darling. It’ll be easiest that way,” Astarion said with a coquettish smile, exaggerating the risque potential in the situation. He gently pushed against Halsin’s broad pectoral muscles; the druid reclined against the pillows behind him.

*****************

If Astarion’s heart could beat, it would have thumped from his chest. Instead, he felt pressure there nearly as firm as the ache in his groin, which he had successfully ignored while closing Halsin’s wounds. How odd it was, to feel himself grow hard during a non-sexual act; he thought at the time it was the innuendo implied by piercing Halsin’s flesh. But as he saw the result of Halsin’s wounds cleaned and closed by his own hand, Astarion realized he had become aroused by simply caring for the man. After Halsin had returned through the portal, Astarion’s gut had twisted at the sight of Halsin’s flesh; his life blood had wept from the ragged wounds.

He had immediately felt a gnawing urge to help Halsin, and had cursed himself for carrying no spare healing potions. Astarion understood how it felt to be compelled by another; Cazador’s orders made his body obey as if they were his own desires. But as the vampire had gently tended to Halsin, he felt just as compelled to protect this man, to touch him, to feel the druid’s body against his own. But this urge was a choice; a desire.

It was an intoxicant that both rattled Astarion’s nerves and sent heat to his groin. Astarion settled his hands on either side of the druid’s torso, unable to resist sliding his fingernails along the ridges of his ribcage. It slightly unnerved him to see his own fingers tremble as they explored Halsin’s body. The vampire lowered his mouth to the start of the gash, along the large elf’s collarbone. Halsin’s large chest twitched at the sudden cold of his tongue.

Halsin’s torso arched upward as Astarion dragged his tongue along the claw wound. He lapped down from his shoulder to his collarbone; the stitches were rough against Astarion’s tongue. They were far more precise and careful than those he had ever done for Dalyria; and certainly those he had stabbed into Petras. On Halsin, his sutures were delicate patterns, beautiful even amongst the angry, red skin surrounding the threads. The wounds had dried almost instantaneously behind where his tongue had been. The druid’s body shivered from how the chilly saliva dampened his chest hair.

The druid seemed restless underneath him; Halsin’s hands trailed up Astarion’s spine, rubbing circles into the vampire’s muscles with his thumbs. Astarion nearly bit his tongue as he resisted arching his back in response. Halsin always seemed to find exactly where his muscles had knotted, and his practiced fingertips always loosened his tension. The pale elf could not recall a time in which he had touched Halsin and did not leave his arms feeling giddy. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

He lapped his tongue lower onto Halsin’s broad chest, curling the tip of his tongue as he licked. The druid writhed beneath him, similar to how he had during times Astarion had fed from him. The vampire wasn’t sure how long he had been lapping at the druid’s body, but he was sure that he enjoyed it. Feeling the much larger man wriggle beneath him at only the slightest flick of his tongue, made Astarion’s head spin with pleasure.

Astarion wanted to see more. To do more. To watch Halsin lose his composure at his masterful touch. He traced his tongue lower along the druid’s chest, far past where the wounds were, onto his undamaged flesh. His ministrations pulled a whistling hiss from Halsin. The druid’s hands had stopped wandering, and had settled on Astarion’s hips, fingertips gripping tightly.

Halsin lowered his chin to make eye contact again with Astarion. The druid had crescent indentions in the soft skin of his lower lip; he had been biting them as Astarion tasted his skin and his blood. Halsin lifted his hips into Astarion, the full weight of the vampire on top of him.

Astarion’s face flushed as he felt the solid, thick bulge of Halsin’s cock throbbing beneath his own. Halsin’s hands shook as he raised them to rest on Astarion’s ass, the tips of his fingers kneading on his skin. The vampire’s leather trousers became tighter in response. The druid’s heady expression, his lips parted and strands of hair stuck to his forehead, sent another pulse of need to his groin and a storm of anxiety to his mind.

Even with all the wounds, Halsin was a stunningly handsome elf. Astarion tilted his head, ruby eyes scanning the druid’s body; perhaps the wounds made him more handsome - the evidence of his intimidating nature in battle. It sent another pulse of need to his cock, which he automatically pressed against Halsin’s with a roll of his hips. The druid’s erection twitched in response.

He is exquisite, Astarion thought. He wanted to touch Halsin everywhere; watch his face contort in ecstasy, hear his pleasured whispers. As his mind swam with thoughts, he realized how deeply he desired Halsin, in more ways than they had previously experienced. Astarion longed to drown in Halsin like a cleric of Umberlee in the ocean, to be reborn again.

The idea of ceding control to the druid was an alarming yet terribly delicious concept. An urge that made the vampire roll his hips against Halsin’s swollen arousal. A whine escaped his plump lips at the friction. Halsin’s hands tightened on his ass cheeks, pulling at him from above. The druid’s mouth parted in a ragged exhale.

“Thank you, for caring for me, my heart,” Halsin said, his voice breathy, his hands quivering against Astarion’s muscled rear for a mere moment. Halsin’s shaky fingers soon lifted to rest against each side of Astarion’s face. One thumb brushed lightly over the vampire’s bottom lip. The other tucked a stray curl behind his red-flushed ear.

“For more than just the stitches…Thank you for also being by my side through all of this,” the druid said, his voice trembling almost as much as his hands. “And I also forgot to thank you for the kiss…at the portal.”

Astarion’s chin dipped down, Halsin’s eye contact becoming too much to bear. He felt his cheeks become warm from both blushing and the soft caress of the druid’s thumbs. “I…thank you, too. I rather liked it,” he started, before raising his gaze back to Halsin, “Although I would have preferred it to not have felt like it was our last kiss.”

Halsin chuckled heartily, bobbing Astarion up and down on his barrel chest. “Then may I make it up to you, my heart?” he asked gently, his fingers carding through Astarion’s curls. The druid’s honey eyes seemed to have misted over. Astarion’s brows furrowed as he tried to study them closer; was Halsin fighting back tears? “I would like to taste your lips. I want to kiss you with the reverence that you so truly deserve.”

Astarion felt faint, overwhelmed by all that was the arch druid Halsin: his amorous words, tender eyes, and now his strong arms, which had shifted to the pale elf’s back to embrace him once more. This feeling, whatever it was - infatuation, desire, lust - made the vampire anxious.

Astarion settled down, calming himself by meeting the gentle gaze of his partner, before nodding slightly. His lips parting without uttering a word as he lowered his face to Halsin’s, capturing the druid’s mouth in a kiss. Halsin’s lips felt like fire against the coolness of his own. Astarion traced his tongue along Halsin’s bottom lip, over the scars that lingered there.

Halsin returned the kiss greedily before his lips flittered along the vampire’s jawbone, down to his angular chin. His blunt teeth nibbled at the tender underside of Astarion’s neck before his wide, hot tongue pulled across the pale elf’s throat. Astarion felt as though he were molasses under Halsin’s ministrations; he felt himself melting in his mouth. Halsin lapped at the circular divots scarred on Astarion’s neck, suckling the ivory skin to raise a bouquet of blossoming bruises to its surface.

Astarion felt as though he had spent the night drinking; his head spun as he groaned at Halsin’s love bites, and his hips seemed to act of their own accord, pressing into Halsin’s. The friction made him feel as though he were going mad with desire, and he blinked away the stars with a sultry whine.

And yet, Astarion’s hands trembled as they pressed against the undamaged patches of skin on Halsin’s chest. Astarion’ couldn’t fight the rigidity that formed in his entire body. Halsin pulled away from Astarion’s mouth as soon as he felt the pale elf’s jaw quivering in his kiss.

“I…it seems like you want this,” Halsin panted, nearly out of breath. He placed his arms under Astarion’s, embracing him gently. “But I sense your hesitance. I do not wish to make love to the phantom of the person for whom I care most. I can abstain, Astarion.”

Halsin gently kissed the curls that stuck to the vampire’s sweat-covered brow and placed his forehead against Astarion’s. The druid inhaled and exhaled slowly, his hot breath blowing on the sweat beaded on Astarion’s neck and his damp shirt. The pale elf shivered at the contrasting temperatures of Halsin’s scorching embrace against his own undeath.

Astarion blinked quickly, squinting his eyes to hold back the wetness forming in them. For centuries he hated the idea of anyone touching him, and the sensation of touching anyone else. But as Halsin had disappeared into the portal, Astarion had felt a ravenous rot of anguish and grief twist his soul. He could have lost Halsin. Astarion himself could have been killed, whilst defending the druid at that bloody portal. Since then, the vampire had been brooding over the concept of his own mortality. At any moment, Cazador could capture and kill him, or his body could twist into a mind flayer.

Fate had never been kind to him, but could he accept its cruelty once more, by not chasing the opportunity for a genuine connection? For true intimacy? Astarion clenched his fingers, digging his nails into his palms, as if he could crush the life out of the anxieties that taunted him. He wanted to touch Halsin; More than anything in Faerun and the heavens and hells, save his own freedom. Whatever was left of his soul ached to feel something with the handsome, gentle wood elf. Did I not just spend a morning fighting for just that - my freedom to be intimate with my own partner?

Astarion broke eye contact with the druid as his fear lurched in his stomach and clawed at his chest. It sneered at his hope, insisting that the druid’s soft-spoken proclamations of dedication were falsehoods. Merely surface-level lies that were a roundabout means of possessing Astarion’s beautiful body.

The vampire did not want to believe it. Astarion brought his ruby eyes back to Halsin’s. Do I not deserve, at long last, to experience pleasure? Kindness? With someone who is interested in me, as a person…or at least someone who claims to be? Astarion felt as though he were drowning in his thoughts as he scanned Halsin’s face, searching for answers, for a life preserver to which he could cling. He desperately wanted to believe that Halsin was everything that he had shown himself to be. The vampire’s tongue could not form words, so instead he ran it across the pointed tips of his fangs.

As Astarion had sat silently, lost in his thoughts, Halsin remained patient; he did not push him to speak The large elf sat quietly and raised his hand from the small of Astarion’s back to his shoulders. Halsin rubbed the calloused pads of his fingers on Astarion’s back muscles, which felt tense from pulling his short bow.

A sigh fell from Astarion’s lips at Halsin’s warmth and tenderness.

“Halsin, I,” Astarion began, swallowing thickly, “I was…distraught at the idea of losing you today.” The large druid tilted his head, gazing at Astarion with eyes that had misted over slightly. Halsin inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, circling his thumbs now on the muscles under Astarion’s shoulder blades.

“I can’t…I can’t go another day without having explored…you. Us. And what we can experience together.” Astarion’s words were clumsy, stammering. He spoke quickly, as if he were afraid he would forget his words. “But it is still a challenge for me. To let go,” the vampire admitted, dropping his sight away from Halsin’s eyes.

Astarion jumped in surprise as his head and torso were pulled against Halsin’s chest, his cheek tickled by the druid’s thick chest hair. Halsin’s heartbeat was loud, steady, and comforting. The pale elf closed his eyes and felt his muscles loosen slightly in Halsin’s embrace. The druid’s fingers slid along his porcelain neck, up into his curls, gently trailing along his scalp. It brought goosebumps to his skin.

As Halsin prepared to speak, the vampire felt his words vibrate in his chest before they escaped his lips. “You do not have to let go,” Halsin said, placing a kiss on the smaller elf’s curls. Astarion’s arms wrapped around the larger elf.

“I have been in many situations that robbed me of my control,” Halsin continued, his rumbling voice soothing Astarion with its soft vibrations. “And those were frustrating and uncomfortable enough. I cannot imagine how 200 years of that would feel; besides perhaps the anguish of all of Nature’s most wrathful storms converging all at once.”

Halsin’s cock twitched as Astarion nuzzled into the soft skin under his chin. “But Astarion, please know that I want nothing more than to be your safe harbor in those storms,” the druid said, seeming to push his own desires aside. Halsin placed a curled finger under Astarion’s chin and pulled the vampire’s face up to meet his. A sweet smile crinkled the druid’s crow’s feet. Astarion’s blood-moon eyes went soft, attempting to memorize every wrinkle, scar, and eyelash on Halsin’s handsome face.

“Astarion, I care for you beyond reckoning. I want you for more than your body… more than your battle prowess, or your companionship by the campfire,” Halsin said, his deep voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “I want to lie with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine.” Halsin blinked away the wetness in his eyes and raised the pad of his thumb to Astarion’s cheek. “Whether our intimacy is in sex, or in another equally magnificent form…I just want to be with you. I just want to be yours, and for you to be mine.”

The pale elf felt his lips part, and a weight lifted from his lungs. He swallowed deeply, his throat bobbing as he choked back tears that verged on breaking loose. Halsin’s heartbeat thumped forcefully against his palms, as steady and reliable as the druid himself. Astarion’s mouth closed and opened several times before he could form words.

His eyes drifted from Halsin’s, down to the druid’s thin lips. Halsin’s lips, his face, and his entire body were scarred with battles in which he’d always been on the side of good, the side of kindness. The druid seemed to be a fount of kindness itself, overflowing to pour steadily into Astarion’s empty, broken cup.

“I…want that too, Halsin. I want you. I want us. I want this,” Astarion said, his breath shaking as he spoke. He leaned towards the druid’s face, his open mouth placing a gentle kiss on Halsin’s. The pale elf placed another, capturing Halsin’s lower lip in his; the druid moaned in response, squeezing a fistful of his white curls.

Astarion could wait no longer. He laid claim to the scorching heat of Halsin’s mouth, of his tongue. He nipped at Halsin’s top lip, then the bottom, tugging gently at it between his sharp fangs as he pulled away. Halsin’s mouth followed Astarion and captured his lips in another kiss, deepening it, tasting the vampire’s tongue, slightly coppery, before pulling away.

Halsin beamed at Astarion, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It stirs my heart to hear you say that, Astarion. I would like all of that very much. But…I want you to have control over our intimacy. For as long as you need, until you are comfortable in sharing that opportunity with me,” Halsin said, his eyes glowing golden, shining at Astarion in the dim light of the tent like a cat’s eyes lit by a torch. Astarion nodded weakly, perceptible to Halsin only because of the gentle grip his fingers had found in the pale elf’s hair.

“So if you’ll have me,” the druid continued, his voice almost a growl, “I am at the mercy of your touch.” The sparkle of Halsin’s amber eyes outshone the stars as he maintained Astarion’s gaze. Astarion’s hands wrapped around Halsin’s bare waist, fingers curling into the druid’s hips, anchoring himself to the bliss of this reality.

“I would like that,” Astarion replied, a shyness in his voice that even he wasn’t prepared to hear. His lips curved into a smirk, his fangs flashing in the lamplight. He placed another needy kiss on Halsin’s lips and leaned forward, sliding his hands along Halsin’s skin, raking his fingers through the chest hair. The vampire marveled at how perky Halsin’s nipple was as his finger brushed against it. He felt his mouth water.

The pale elf pulled away, peering at Halsin through half-lidded eyes as his finger tweaked at the druid’s nipple. Halsin’s teeth had captured his bottom lip, as if he were holding himself back from ravishing Astarion. The vampire bent slightly and lowered his face to Halsin’s chest.

The druid did not protest as Astarion swirled his tongue around the pert, peachy flesh; he only threw his head back, his lips parting with a pleasured sigh. A smile crept to the corners of the vampire’s mouth. He pulled tenderly at Halsin’s nipple with his blunt front teeth, drawing a hiss from the druid. The vampire exhaled onto Halsin’s nipple, his cool breath making it somehow even harder.

Halsin hands were chaste, merely holding Astarion firmly in his lap; the druid otherwise seemed content, enthralled even, to be toyed with at Astarion’s whim. The vampire needed more. He needed to see what Halsin would do under his masterful touch.

He rolled his hips into Halsin’s, grinding their erections together through their clothes. The druid’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the delicious friction, which pulled a lustful moan from both men. Halsin’s hands drifted from Astarion’s thighs to his hips, slipping under Astarion’s loose linen tunic. The druid’s thick thumbs dug into the v-shaped muscle at the vampire’s hips as if Astarion would float away from him. Halsin pulled away and leaned back to peer at Astarion, his thick eyebrows raised upward. It was a question, unspoken - is this okay?

The vampire gave a small nod, goosebumps rising along his skin. Halsin’s grip squeezed momentarily on his hips - his hands were comforting, and so warm around his body. If his heart had a beat, Astarion was sure it would have doubled its pace when Halsin had asked him for yet another sign of consent. The druid was agonizingly gentle, unnervingly kind. Astarion worried his bottom lip with his fangs.

Halsin waited, his lips parted as he panted for breath, for the vampire to continue their passion; he held to the small elf’s hips only to stay grounded in their intimacy, not spurring Astarion on, nor discouraging his affection. Halsin’s amber eyes fixed on Astarion’s. His clothed cock throbbed beneath the pale elf. He was a loyal soldier awaiting a command, a servant expecting a request, a lover allowing a moment to build. The tenseness between them was a short bow string pulled taut; ready to either let loose or snap in two.

For the first time in two centuries, Astarion realized it was his turn to be in control. True control, akin to that of a stage director, opposed to his experience as lead actor who commanded the stage at the whims of someone else. But now, with no master except his own desires, Astarion was elated to experiment. The rush of the power was intoxicating, sending throbs of pleasure to Astarion’s aching cock. The vampire released a sigh he did not know he had been holding. Halsin inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, his hands trembling at Astarion’s sides in anticipation.

The bow string snapped in two.

In a single movement, the vampire slipped one hand behind Halsin’s neck, his auburn hair slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He pressed his mouth, open and greedy, against Halsin’s, who returned his passion eagerly. Astarion’s other hand darted to Halsin’s trousers and deftly pulled out the laces.

The druid’s girthy cock pulsed at Astarion’s movements as it fell free from its confinement. Halsin groaned at the sensation of Astarion’s cool palm gripping his shaft. Halsin was fully erect, weeping in need already, his tip flushing a deep red. Halsin’s cock was uncut, his foreskin allowing Astarion’s hand to glide along its length. Astarion savored the sensation like it was the blood of a sacrificial virgin.

“By all the gods Halsin, you’re beautiful,” Astarion said, his lips parted slightly. The tips of his fangs were visible, glinting in the lamplight. Halsin was thick, and the firmness of his erection in his cool palm made the vampire’s own cock throb with unabashed desire. The druid moaned again, pulsing in the vampire’s hand, his hips swaying slightly beneath Astarion. In response, the pale elf offered a couple slow pulls from the base of Halsin’s shaft to the tip.

“Fuck,” was all Halsin could manage, his head falling back as he panted into the air. Seeing the druid come undone at his touch gave Astarion luxurious shivers of satisfaction from his scalp to his cock.

Halsin, true to his word, kept his hands as still as he could. His large fingers still dug into Astarion’s hip bones through his leather trousers, shaking with yearning. The large elf met Astarion’s gaze with his pupils blown out, his lips slightly parted as a moan slipped from his mouth. Astarion’s palms were slick with sweat and his fingers fumbled as he used his free hand to unfasten his own trousers.

The vampire’s arousal sprung free from his pants and bobbed in the air. Astarion hissed at the coolness surrounding his cock and thrust his hips closer to Halsin. He wrapped slender fingers around them both, shivering with the pleasure of Halsin’s heat against his erection. Halsin locked eyes with Astarion as the vampire pressed their cocks together.

“Astarion, every part of you is magnificent,” Halsin praised through labored breaths. “Your touch, I-” The druid’s words escaped him as Astarion shifted his hand to rub up and down their lengths. Halsin’s loose hair fell in front of his ears, onto his shoulders, sticking to his sweat-dampened chest. He glistened in the lamplight, like some sort of apparition.

Astarion struggled to not lose himself at Halsin’s appearance, at the tenderness and longing in the druid’s gaze. He pulled a few slow strokes for them both, his mouth open in a pant as their cocks rubbed against each other. The undersides of each of them slid against the other; the swollen shafts shifting as Astarion pumped his hand around them.

Halsin’s mouth fell open, the words he attempted to form trapped behind his tongue. His thoughts, praises, and curses seemed to escape him as Astarion flicked his thumbs over their slits. Pre-cum dribbled down their shafts as Astarion languidly circled his thumbs down the glistening heads, lubricating them further. The vampire’s strokes were smooth, his firm grip gliding over their mutual hardness as their foreskins pulled back and forward with his pumping hand.

Astarion looked to his own hand as it encircled both of their cocks; he relished in the sight of Halsin’s arousal next to his own. Halsin followed his gaze down; the druid’s sex pulsed and felt like it had grown harder at the sight alone. Halsin was thicker, but Astarion had a luscious curve that promised to hit all the naughtiest places. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see that even Halsin’s shaft was sun-touched and as tan as the rest of his skin. The vampire, of course, was pale as a full moon, except for the head of his cock, ruddy with the rush of blood.

The visual contrast was striking enough that Astarion realized it had been a moment since he stroked them together. Halsin had not rushed him to move, but his hips were pressed firmly upwards in need. Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as he pulled upwards again, more pre-cum beading at the tip of both their shafts. The vampire had tried similar positions before, and had plenty of experience with men; but in this moment, he forgot all of them. He and Halsin existed alone in this new world, one of pleasure and of comfort, and he wanted to explore it completely.

Astarion maintained the pumping rhythm with one hand, drawing more guttural moans from Halsin’s lips. With his other hand, he teased Halsin by swirling his fingers under the flared head of the druid’s cock. His fangs peeked from his upturned lips as the druid groaned at his touch. The druid’s contortions and hushed murmurs of rapture were irresistible prayers; Astarion felt like the god before whom Halsin supplicated.

Astarion’s cock quivered in need, more slick pre-cum spilling from its pink tip, dripping onto the vampire’s hand as he pumped both of their erections steadily. The druid peered hungrily at Astarion’s cock like it was a feast, and he was a ravenous dinner guest. But Halsin showed immense self-restraint, his hands still curled around Astarion’s waist, allowing the smaller elf to enjoy complete control.

The vampire basked in Halsin’s attention, in his own gratification, and in the pleasures he bestowed to his partner. Astarion bit back back the curses that he, too, wanted to let loose; the tip of his own fangs pierced his bottom lip.

“Oh Silvanus help me,” Halsin groaned as he shifted his hips. His blunt nails dug into Astarion’s hips.

A cry for his god. That would not do, not for this. The vampire almost sneered.

“Ah, ah, my darling,” Astarion tutted, his voice breathy and an octave lower than normal. He slowed his pumps just enough to pull what sounded like a sob from the larger elf’s lips. Halsin’s noises were foul. They were erotic. They were delicious.

Astarion savored the change of pace, the tantalizing tease of edging. He wanted to see how far he could take the larger man; how far he could take himself. The pale elf struggled to compose himself against the luscious friction. For once in his long life, he wanted to prolong the indulgence, the satisfaction, and the climax. It was a taunt; it was an indulgence. It was the ambrosia of a divinity all his own, brought to reality as he explored his hedonism with Halsin.

Astarion’s vision blurred as Halsin’s hips strained under him. The druid was eager and aching to thrust into the vampire’s palm but unable to, with how fiercely his knees trembled, and with Astarion’s weight in his lap. A rumble began in Halsin’s throat, and Astarion nearly climaxed from both the sound and the power he had over the man beneath him.

Other lovers had moaned his name of course, or more often, slurred it. But how delectable would it sound coming from Halsin’s lips instead? Astarion’s chest tightened. He had to find out.

He distracted himself from the daydream by sliding one hand from their shafts to cup Halsin’s balls, pulling yet another rumbling moan from the large elf. The druid’s sac was heavy in his palm, the curly hair tickling against Astarion’s milky skin. The vampire slid two fingers along the seam on Halsin’s sac, then pressed slightly on his perineum, back and forth, until he drew a moan from his partner. Astarion grinned in satisfaction.

Halsin’s hips shifted again underneath Astarion, his well-muscled thighs pressing up against him. The druid gazed at Astarion through half-lidded eyes, sweat dripping from his brow onto his cheek. The pale elf relished in Halsin’s unkempt appearance; his lips were parted, his brows furrowed, his hair stuck to his forehead. He was gorgeous.

The vampire’s fingers rolled Halsin’s balls gently, again causing the druid to squirm underneath them and let loose a string of oaths under his breath. His fingertips softly pulled at Halsin’s sac, his nails grazing the tightened skin. The druid seemed to melt at the vampire’s ministrations; Halsin could hardly speak. However, Astarion read lips well enough to pick up the words “Oak Father” on the druid’s mouth.

Astarion shook his head again, clucking his tongue in playful admonishment. This man will ruin me, Astarion thought. He loosened his grip around them both.

“Oh, dear Halsin, the gods have nothing to do with this sin,” Astarion hissed, a wicked grin pulling at his lips as he made locked eyes with Halsin. The druid’s pupils were blown out, his irises still glowing slightly, his nostrils flared and lips parted as he clung on the precipice of climax.

“When we are together, you’ll say only my name,” Astarion purred, basking in the reverence in Halsin’s eyes. They were clouded by lust and something else, far deeper: a fervent, warm, honey-sweet affection. Astarion squeezed their shafts again for a momentary tease, eliciting a succulent whimper from Halsin’s lips.

“Gods,” Halsin practically sobbed, and gripped Astarion’s hips tighter when the vampire loosened pressure around his cock. “Please…”

“Ah ah, to whom do you beg, darling?” Astarion’s voice was firm. Commanding. Authoritative.

“To you,” Halsin corrected feverishly. His bottom lip quivered as he gazed into Astarion’s wine-red eyes. His body quaked beneath the vampire. “My heart, my everything. My Astarion-”

Astarion captured Halsin’s lips in a growl of his own. It was obscenely erotic, to have such a stoic, eloquent man undone by his hands. His stoic, eloquent man. Astarion crushed his lips onto Halsin’s harder, his tongue exploring the druid’s hot mouth, which opened readily at the vampire’s touch. Halsin’s lips were luscious, but the druid needed to breathe; Astarion pulled away, saliva stringing between their lips before dripping down onto Halsin’s chest.

He wanted Halsin to be his; for now, forever, for as long as he could swim in the bliss he felt in Halsin’s companionship. Astarion pumped their cocks steadily, firmly, occasionally wincing as his palm grazed the sensitive flare of his own cock.

He smirked when he pulled the same reaction from Halsin, and repeated the gesture gently to make the druid writhe again. Halsin’s breath came out in such delicious whimpers, breath ragged with pleasure that grew with each touch beneath Astarion’s skillful fingers.

Halsin’s head fell backwards, his auburn braids stuck to the sweat on his brow. Astarion felt the druid’s sac tighten in his palm as a low moan escaped him. He was close now.

“Pray to me, darling,” Astarion whispered against Halsin’s gasping lips.

And pray Halsin did, with a wrecked cry of his name. The druid’s hips convulsed as he climaxed, a thick rope of cum spilling over Astarion’s elegant fingers.

Astarion used Halsin’s spill as additional lubricant, panting as he pumped himself to climax. His sac tightened, his balls felt like they would burst from pressure as he came closer to his climax. The pale elf met Halsin’s gaze before his vision blurred; the druid surprised him as he captured his lips in a passionate kiss and explored the pale elf’s pliant mouth with his hot tongue.

Halsin’s attention pushed him to orgasm. Astarion’s ears rang as stars burst behind his eyelids as he, too, coated his hand with his seed. The pale elf’s head swirled, but he felt himself smile back into Halsin’s lips, the feeling of warmth of the other man’s palm against his cheek. This, Astarion decided, was perfection. This was bliss. This is how sex was supposed to be, what it should have been. What it could continue to be.

Astarion felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes, and he let them fall. This little death, this drowning in Halsin’s affection, this exploration of something new was stronger than any intoxicant Astarion could imagine. And he knew that, and Halsin, would be far more addictive.

Halsin pressed a palm to Astarion’s chest, breathing deeply with the pale elf as he slowly floated back to the world. If his cold heart could have done so, Astarion felt as though it would flutter at the druid’s gentle touch. Halsin wrapped his arms around Astarion’s torso and leaned back into the pillows, pulling his partner with him. Astarion felt the weight of Halsin’s arm draped across his back. The druid’s large hands stroked the vampire’s tense shoulder muscles through his now-sticky shirt. 

Post-climax bliss, something Astarion had experienced rarely over his lifetime, still fogged his mind. The vampire’s hands settled on Halsin and were tickled by the druid’s chest hair. He found relaxation in the steady thump of his beating heart. Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he nestled his face under Halsin’s neck; the heat from the druid’s skin felt soothing on his forehead. Even though his shirt was damp and forehead slick with sweat, the vampire always ran cool to the touch.

The druid’s thumbs rubbed down both sides of his spine, rumpling Astarion’s shirt. Halsin’s motions were slow and intentional; it struck Astarion that massage, too, is an art of healing. As was lying beside, on, or with his partner. Just like this. The vampire lost himself in Halsin’s gentle carress, intent on keeping this moment alive for as long as he could.

Halsin was the first to shift from their position; he pressed Astarion to his chest in another embrace, then held the smaller elf in an unusually firm grip. Astarion raised his head, brows furrowed in confusion, to stare at his partner. Halsin’s face was expressionless, unreadable. The vampire’s mouth parted as he prepared to ask Halsin’s intent as the druid’s hazel eyes met his own.

Halsin did not give his partner a chance to speak, and placed a brief kiss on Astarion’s lips, only to pull back and pepper the vampire’s face and neck with kisses, tickling Astarion’s sensitive skin. The pale elf felt a squeak escape his lips as he squirmed in Halsin’s grip. The druid captured the vampire’s wrist and held it firmly, kissing Astarion’s fingers, then his palm. Halsin seemed to delight in planting tickling kisses along Astarion’s pale wrist. Halsin nibbled in the crook of Astarion’s elbow, up his sleeved biceps, and back up to his collarbone, holding the vampire firmly as he squirmed in his grasp. Astarion felt himself erupt into laughter, genuine laughter and joy, as the druid mercilessly planted ticklish pecks along his neck and chin.

After what seemed like an eternity of delightful torture, Astarion felt the grip on him lessen. Halsin shifted the placement of his large hands onto either side of the pale elf’s face. Astarion couldn’t resist their warmth, and leaned his face into Halsin’s palm; his eyes were closed, pale eyelashes kissing his cheeks. He allowed himself to live in this moment far longer than he ever allowed himself to indulge before.

As his eyelids flitted open, Astarion met Halsin’s gaze, softer than the vampire ever thought possible. “Astarion…” Halsin whispered, bringing his lips meet his partner in another kiss. It was a soft, tender exchange; chaste and sweet, like their very first had been. The pale elf pulled away just enough to speak.

“Halsin…” Astarion said softly, just centimeters from the druid’s lips, “thank you.” He lowered his head back to Halsin’s chest, his face and ears flush. He felt the druid nuzzle his face into his hair, and Halsin’s hot breath blowing through his curls. Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he fell into a trance to the sound of Halsin’s heartbeat.

[kilisia]

Why are More People not Talking about Isobel Thorm

ACT 2 SPOILERS AHEAD

Larian Studios really outdid themselves with this one in my opinion. From the surface when you meet her she seems like just any other character. Just Selûnite cleric that uses her moon magic to protect the last light inn.

(Isobel Selûnite cleric)

In my first playthrough I ran headfirst into the enormous battle that follows having no idea how important her character was. I let her fall and Fist Marcus took her. All hell broke loose and I fought my way through hordes of turned harpers. I continued to play the game as normal after said battle until a friend actually recommended that I backtracked on my saves and actually saved her. (best choice on god)

(Isobel doing her moon magics to protect The Last Light Inn)

Not much is revealed about her character after saving her. You don't find out to much about the character until saving Dame Aylin and also until you explore Moonrise Towers (if your thorough here). You can find an item that links her to Aylin within the towers, though this is quite subtle.

(Selûnite Brooch embossed with 'A + I')

There are several more hints towards this through letters, notes etc. Isobel does end up telling you after a while but I think this letter was the biggest punch in the gut for me

(Note found on Ketheric Thorm's Body that reads " Papa, I love you. LOVE FROM IZ")

Her whole story is so tragic, as is Aylin's, and Ketheric's. Playing though the act and learning about this set of characters made me emotional on a level that characters from previous videogames never has.

Despite everything, Isobel is still comes across as a ***MOSTLY*** happy character.

(Isobel Smiling)

Oh and of course I can't forget to mention... LESBIANS

(Isobel and Dame Aylin smooooching)

(Gif of Isobel)

So, to sum this all up... I think Larian really put a lot of thought into this character and the story is just so heart wrenching I cannot.

(Writers notes: I am perfectly normal about Isobel and totally don't want her to absolutely crush my skull with her thighs akldfhjblkadfjhkldfjhkl)

[frownyalfred]

Could Dick's pack not be his small horde of red heads.

The addition of Roy Harper at the very least adds more a fun Oliver Green connection.

oh my god, just a pack full of redheads. little does he know, all Waynes are cursed to have the most insane, chaotic packs possible and his omega parent is absolutely suffering across town with his own redhead.

[atelier-dayz]

the reluctant mand'alor - an instrumental jangobi playlist [also on youtube]

[Note: The playlist cover is an edited version of an image by mizuri on artstation]

For this playlist, the music follows the events in the story! Which I know hasn't been posted yet but soon! Hopefully! It's Jango-centric, and basically a 5 times Jango could have been Mand'alor and nope'd out and the time he finally accepted the title ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

The Story Begins - Hampus Naeselius

They Shall Not Pass - Johan Söderqvist, Patrik Andrén

Valiant - Dream Cave

Deceit and Betrayal - Audiomachine

We Fought Them All - Epic Score

Revelation - Really Slow Motion

Man of Honor - Ludwig Göransson

A Mother's Wrath - Dream Cave

Endless Bonds and Broken Promises - Krale

King of the Mountain - Michael Salvatori

Hordes - Jo Wandrini

The Fall - Trevor Morris

Fate Calls - Mikolai Stroinski

End of an Era - Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen

Aspire to Inspire - Howard Harper-Barnes

Kaer Morhen - Joseph Trapanese

Matera - Hans Zimmer

The Power of the Mind - Anne Sophie Versnaeyen, Gabriel Saban, & Philippe Briand

Magic of Love (No Irish Whistle) - Two Steps from Hell

Be Bold and Be Brave - Secession Studios

The Hunter - SIE Sound Team

Knights of Palmyra - Jo Blankenburg

The Book of Boba Fett - Ludwig Göransson

[veshialles]

Dr. Edith Harper Chisholm

-2102- Resident Psychologist of Vault 76, honorary Responder, "field medic". -2287- Traveling researcher, Priestess of the Forgotten God, occult expert.

Once an esteemed graduate of Vault-Tec University and a close personal friend to the Chambers and Hopper families, Edith Chisholm set out on Reclamation Day alongside her fellow residents to explore and settle in the ruins of Appalachia together.

Throughout her journeys, she grew ever closer to Jaden Chambers and Beverly Hopper, coming to care for them as her own children, and soon enough found herself romantically involved with Janice Chambers. Though initially fully loyal to Vault 76's mission statement of "reclaiming the wasteland", Edith soon became disillusioned with The Overseer's colonial vision when the mysterious Scorched Plague threatened the health and wellbeing of her newly-found family.

Although curing mutagenic infections fell far outside her typical area of expertise, Edith worked tirelessly to formulate a treatment plan, utilizing the resources left behind by the extinct post-war factions and following the trial of breadcrumbs left behind by The Overseer to seek out a solution to this monumental problem. While she remained acutely aware of the dangers, fervently analyzing and documenting the unique "telepathic" properties of the Scorched Plague is likely where her morbid curiosity with the occult and the unexplained truly began.

In 2103, after the Scorchbeast Queen was slain, and a cure for the plague was finalized and distributed, Edith's fascination with unexplained phenomena began to turn into obsession. Though her many encounters with so called "cryptid" and "mythical" entities served to fuel this fixation, the main driving force behind Edith's predilections came after Beverly Hopper's exposure to an unearthed mysterious artifact granted her with telekinetic powers, transforming Beverly into a kind of Psyker.

At first, Beverly's powers were greatly beneficial to the survival of the family and to the returning wastelanders, crushing raiders and crippling the abominable mutant hordes who would have seen them all dead or enslaved. But as the months drew on, and as Beverly grew in power, so too did she begin to grow reckless and careless as well, becoming as much a danger to herself and those around her as to her would-be foes. A force of raw fury and power to be reckoned with.

By 2104, Beverly's growing instability lead to tragedy when her family finally confronted her with their concerns, lashing out against them and mortally wounding Jaden when he dove in front of Edith aand his mother, taking the brunt of Beverly's telekinetic blast. Realizing what she had done, Beverly fled across Appalachia, leaving a path of carnage in her wake. Solemnly, Edith and Janice swore to stop their adopted daughter by any means necessary. Relentlessly they pursued Beverly until finally cornering her inside an abandoned nuclear facility, where a final confrontation played out, ending with Edith trapped inside the reactor core and suffering intense radiation exposure. Though she miraculously survived and was rescued by Janice, over the coming weeks and months, Edith underwent the slow and painful transformation into a ghoul, while Janice's health merely deteriorated.

Broken and grieving and irradiated, Janice and Edith returned to the homestead they had built, caring for each other until the end. Desperate to find some form of "understanding" in the wake of so much pain and loss, Edith sought out spiritual guidance and found her way to The Enlightened, fully indulging herself into the field of paranormal and occult research, etching crude wings onto her face and proclaiming herself as a Priestess of the Forgotten God.

Years later, when the Brotherhood Of Steel's fledgling presence made it unsafe for Edith to exist in the open, rumours began to spread among the Appalachian settlers about a dangerous and powerful mad-woman wreaking havoc and destruction somewhere to the east of Appalachia. A rumour which Edith has been chasing ever since.

[slxsherwriter]

Hello and welcome to my depraved little corner of tumblr. Here I write for a variety of slasher and horror characters. Primarily will be featuring drabbles with the occasional longer piece. Headcanons will feature from time to time

At the time I do NOT consent for my work to be translated or posted anywhere else.

Below you will find some more information on who and what I write.

MINORS DNI. Due to the nature of these characters and potential content, only 18 and older are allowed.

Characters || Rules || Masterlist || Masterlist mobile friendly || Non-slasher writings blog: @rewritethisstxry

What I will write:

Angst

Fluff

Smut

Platonic relationships

Alpha/Omega dynamics

What I won’t write:

Snuff

Rape, rape play, non con

Underage

Inc*st

Who I write for:

Michael Myers (primarily Rob Zombie based)

Corey Cunningham

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Rusty Nail

Eric Newlon

Jesse Cromeans

Asa Emory

Billy Loomis

Stu Macher

Ethan Landry

Mickey Altieri

Jedidiah Sawyer

Tex Sawyer

Thomas Brown Hewitt

Jason Voorhees

Evan MacMillan

Frank Morrison

Caleb Quinn

John Ryder

Leslie Vernon

Ethan Belfrage

Dr. Richard Sommers

Lawrence O'Neill

Lawrence Gordon

Robert Englund characters

Wayne Jackson (A Good Day for It)

Stuart Lloyd (The Last Showing)

Dr. Peter Andover (Fear Clinic)

Professor William Wexler (Urban Legend)

Doc Halloran (Behind the Mask)

Dr. Anton Rudolph (Python)

Jim Bickerman (Lake Placid)

Mayor Buckman (2001 Maniacs)

Warden Kane (The Funhouse Massacre)

Inkubus (Inkubus)

Sheriff Richard Berger (Heartstopper)

Scratch Monahan (Windfall)

Detective Gassner (Criminal Minds)

Mr. Meredith (Natty Knocks)

Tim Wexler (MacGyver)

Vaughn (Hunter)

Lyle Eckert (Walker Texas Ranger)

Costas Mandylor characters

Mark Hoffman (Saw)

The Warden (Death Count)

John Shepherd (Bloodthirst)

Agent Cole Bennett (Night of the Sicario)

Cylus Atkinson (The Horde)

Raymond Crowe (Saints & Sinners)

Jim (Blackout)

Chase Harper (Primal Doubt)

Stephan Lang characters

Norman Nordstrom (Don’t Breathe)

The Party Crasher (The Hard Way)

Miles Quartich (Avatar)

Fred Parras (VFW)

Holt Ramsey (A Good Marriage)

John Korver(Gridlocked)

Tony Cobb (Monkey Paw)

Nathaniel Taylor (Terra Nova)

Richard Brake characters

Winslow Foxworth Coltrane (3 From Hell)

Doom-head (31)

Dean Portman (Doom)

Otis Clairborne (RIPD 2)

William Colcott (The Gates)

Mr. Big (Bingo Hell)

Dr. Henry Augustus Wolfgang (The Munsters)

Norman Tyrus (A Good Day For It)

Bill Moseley characters

Otis Driftwood

Luigi Largo (Repo)

Darryl (Old 37)

Logan Burnhardt (Dead Air)

Frank (Fair Game)

Doc (Shed of the Dead)

Zach Garrett (Halloween)

Jake Spooler (The Practice)

Abner Honeywell (Natty Knocks)

Gimple (Minutes to Midnight)

Captain Harris (Welcome to Horrorwood series)

Farmer Sam (Hayride to Hell)

Bruce (Boar)

Jacob Sutter (The Horde)

Peter Van Hooten (The House of the Witchdoctor)

Deputy Henry Depford (Dead Souls)

[lakemojave]

Tonight at 6pm Pacific: The Direct Actors, A Baldur's Gate 3 "Adventure" pt. 16!

I'll be real everyone. The team is in a very dark place right now. We're in the middle of the Gauntlet of Shar and the team is in a particularly bad way of things. Come see @radiofreederry play Dhudlei Durite, elf paladin, my friends Nana and @mayflowers429 play Leviathan, Dragonborn Dark Urge Monk, @caputvulpinum play Micah Harper, Tiefling Cleric, and me play Delilah "Mama D" Harper, Halfling Bard!

Art by @terrafey, recap under the cut. See y'all then!

THE STORY SO FAR: On the way to a union rally, Delilah "Mama D" Harper and her grandson Micah were abducted and taken aboard an ilithid nautiloid, which they escaped with mysterious dancer Leviathan and self-proclaimed "Champion of Ilmater and Paladin of Good" Dhudlei Durite. Each infected by a mind flayer tadpole, but so far immune from transforming into mind flayers themselves, The Direct Actors, as the party have come to be known, have been pushed to their breaking point in the Shadow-Cursed lands, and now look to break the power of Ketheric Thorm and end the curse once and for all...

LAST TIME: The Direct Actors entered the Thorm Mausoleum, and after Dhudlei solved a puzzle relating to Ketheric Thorm's life and descent into villainy, they discovered a hidden entrance to the Gauntlet of Shar, the proving ground for the Lady of Loss' Dark Justiciars. Micah pretended to pray at a Sharran altar, continuing to delight in fooling the goddess.

After a battle with some Sharran constructs in which the party was aided by a horde of reanimated skeletons, the party met Ketheric's lieutenant Balthazar, who, believing they were True Souls of the Absolute cult, charged them with retrieving the Nightsong, confirming that it was integral to Ketheric's immortality. Now armed with this knowledge, the party dispatched Balthazar and his undead before resting for the night.

With Dhudlei barred from entry to the Gauntlet of Shar, the party decided to take their Sharran cleric Shadowheart along for the journey, and she quickly became fixated on completing the trials to become a Dark Justiciar. The party encountered the orthon Raphael had tasked them with killing, which Mama D accomplished by literally talking him into killing his companions and himself.

The first of Shar's trials was a maze to test stealth, which Leviathan cleared after a few false starts. After this was the so-called Self-Same Trial, in which the party's voices and forms were stolen by shadow versions of themselves, which ripped into each party member's insecurities and flaws in order to tear them down. Emotionally and physically exhausted after defeating their doubles, the party set up camp for the night.

A tearful Micah confided in Leviathan about his own death wish, and the dancer comforted him in his own manner before his other personality drunkenly beseeched Micah and Mama D to tell him stories of past days. Leviathan then admitted that he felt he was going to "die" soon. Mama D insisted that she would not let that happen. As the party fell asleep, Micah received a cruel message from Shar, mocking him for his attempts to fool her.

Will the Direct Actors make it through the Gauntlet of Shar? Will Shadowheart become a Dark Justiciar? What is the Nightsong? Has Dhudlei really just been chilling this whole time making tea and eating Oreos? Find out on another exciting instalment of Baldur's Gate 3, starring the Direct Actors!

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 2/5

Book Blurb:

In this dark and enchanting stand-alone fantasy from debut author Lynn Buchanan--complete with black and white illustrations and a full-wrap illustrated cover--discover a world centered around destructive, all-consuming monsters; the magical dolls designed to fight this force; and the artisans tasked with creating demon-slaying dolls. A touch cozy fantasy and a touch horror, The Dollmakers is perfect for fans of Studio Ghibli films, the works of TJ Klune and Travis Baldree, and readers of Juniper & Thorn and The Goblin Emperor.

In the country called One, dollmakers are vital members of the community. An artisan’s doll is the height of society’s accomplishments, while a guard’s doll is the only thing standing between the people of One and the Shod: vicious, cobbled monstrosities that will tear apart any structure—living or dead, inanimate or otherwise—to add to their horde.

Apprentice Shean of Pearl is a brilliant dollmaker. With her clever dolls, she intends to outsmart and destroy the Shod, once and for all—a destiny she’s worked her whole life toward accomplishing. But when the time comes for her dolls to be licensed, she’s told her work is too beautiful and delicate to fight. A statement that wounds and infuriates her; the Shod killed everyone she loved. How could her fate be anything but fighting them?

In an attempt to help her see a new path for herself, Shean’s mentor sends her on a journey to the remote village called Web, urging her to glean some wisdom from Ikiisa, a reclusive and well-respected guard dollmaker. But Shean has another plan: if she can convince the village of Web of her talents, the Licensor Guild will have to reconsider and grant her a guard’s license. And what better way to convince them than challenging Ikiisa and instating herself as the official dollmaker of Web? Once she’s done that, proving her dolls’ worth in the fight against the Shod will be simple.

As simple, that is, as calling the Shod to Web...

Review:

A girl who is determined to prove that her dollmaking skills are up to par ends up in a strange little town facing off against another dollmaker and the monsters inside the forest. In a world where dollmarkers create dolls that protect and fight against the Shod, vicious monstrosities that tear apart beings.... you have to earn your license as either a artisian dollmaker or as a guard dollmaker. Shean of Pearl is an apprentice and a brilliant dollmaker, her dolls are clever and beautiful, and she intends for her dolls to outsmart and destroy the Shod. It's all she's been working towards ever since her family was murdered by the Shod before her eyes. Yet when she goes to take her license test and is told her dolls do not qualify to become guard dolls she snaps and loses it. Her mentor sends her off to Web to glean wisdom from Ikiisa, a reclusive and well-respected guard dollmaker.... but Shean has other plans, such as stealing the job from Ikiisa and proving to the Licensor Guild that she deserves to have her license reconsidered to being a guard dollmarker. Yet Shean begins to discover that maybe she wasn't as right as she thought and that maybe she isn't as brilliant as she thinks and that there are bigger things to be concerned about than her desires... such as the monsters surrounding Web. This book was a rough one to read especially considering how annoying Shean is, reading from her POV had me wanting to tear my hair out for the most part. I didn't like or care for her if I'm being honest and would have much preferred if the story focused more on Ikiisa. The story was an easy read and despite being part of the world, you can read this as a standalone. Shean does grow by the last 70% of the book but by then I was already over her. Honestly if you are looking for a fantasy book with a unique magic system, I would say give it a go!

Release Date: August 13,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Avon and Harper Voyager | Harper Voyager for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[feral-roach-man]

Welcome, Welcome!

Hello, I am Harper, the leader of this particular horde. Specific gender depends, but I'm always somewhere on the male/masculine side of the gender spectrum. If unsure, use he/him for me. The roaches don't have gender, use it/its for them. It's a pleasure to meet you.