#Shar Dressed Man

[earlysunshines]

killshot

im nayeon x fem!reader ; smut!! 

synopsis: your roommate is aware that you hate her and she likes irritating you but oh no she just now realizes you’re hot and wants you so bad

warnings: kinda porn w no plot ; smut!!! ; mentions of alcohol ; hate fucking(???) ; degradation kinda ; insulting each other as they fuck yesss ; face riding ; comp sci major!reader *shivers and shakes* ; fwb-ish but not really ; nayeon is umm lowk manipulative but only if you squint , maybe? ; not proofread as always

wc: 5.1k

a/n: computer science major slander (i'm jealous) and also i don’t like the pacing but oh well maybe u guys will (i'd be such a great writer if i weren’t lazy af... )

with a groan, you lift yourself off the bed after hearing a loud thud. tiredly, you blindly reach for your phone and check for the time with squinted eyes: 1:04am. 

a low “fuck” leaves your lips while you struggle to sit up, still hearing the impact of bodies crashing against the walls and the faint sounds of a woman and man groaning through the bedroom door.  

nayeon is home. 

this is a bi-weekly occurrence; your roommate nayeon stumbles into the apartment all hot and heavy from the alcohol that was in her system, and then you can hear her getting all intimate—against your will—with some random person she’s found at the various clubs she cycles through. to be completely honest, you don’t care for her midnight rendezvous, just as long as they don’t bother you. 

however, this night she’s bothered you greatly; you’re fucking irritated. 

just when you had finally sought solace in the arms of sleep after hours of laboring over a project, your few minutes of rest are abruptly shattered by the intrusion of nayeon. —all drunk and insatiable—who’s barging into your room whilst some average guy latches onto her neck. he doesn’t look like he knows what he’s doing, but it doesn’t matter because nayeon’s senses are too fucked to really pay attention to that. 

“get the hell out of my room.” you yell angrily towards the two. to say you were annoyed would be an overwhelming understatement, you were furious. 

“ah—fuck, sorry y/n,” she responds, voice all airy and light whilst the man’s hand slides down to play with the edge of her dress. “wrong room baby, let’s go.” she says whilst pushing the man off her a bit, much to his dismay. 

they both leave the room, still attached to each other with their hands roaming and gripping at anything. to make matters even worse; they didn’t close the door behind them. 

“fucking whore.” you scoff, falling back down on your bed and groaning.  

- 

im nayeon is an indescribable pain in your ass and unfortunately, she also happens to be your roommate. 

for the most part, you generally pride yourself on your composure and tolerance, but living with nayeon has truly put your patience to the test. she's irresponsible and unreliable, which regularly pushes you to your limits. you find yourself frustrated sharing an apartment with someone who’s always falling hort of your expectations. she's falling far from them, really, and it’s almost impressive. 

she has a knack for disappearing into the lurking in the apartment while you're away, often entertaining friends and leaving behind a mess in her wake. the audacity she possesses to neglect simple chores like doing the dishes or tidying up after herself borders on infuriating, you’re fighting the urge to bodyslam her into the mattress sometimes. it's as though she expects the cleaning fairy to magically swoop in and restore order while you're left to pick up the pieces of her irresponsibility, maybe she thinks you’re the fucking cleaning fairy. 

living with her was hell, you don’t even know how she managed to keep up with her courses and stay sane with how she lived her life. she was a pretentious, sassy little thorn stuck in your skin. 

but still, there are two things that keep you tethered to the apartment, even if it's a bit embarrassing to admit on factor. one: the rent is cheaper, and your shared living space is nice. two: nayeon’s fucking hot. 

the truth is: nayeon is the epitome of physical allure, the hottest person you've ever laid eyes on. as much as you resent her for her shortcomings, you find yourself unable to ignore the pull of her undeniable visuals, which whispers against the urge to pack your bags and leave.  

you despised the stupid allure of her face, the way her figure teased and tempted, and the fact that she held the power to have you on your knees if she poked you in the right ways. it grated on your nerves to know that you weren't the only one drawn to her; half the campus seemed to be either enamored with her, aspiring to be her, or eager to get into her pants. and she wielded her beauty like a weapon, using her "pretty privilege" to her advantage.  

the feeling you had towards her was bitter, but the attraction you had made things complicated. 

it was easy to mask your little attraction for your pretentious roommate with annoyed comments and irritated glares, but deep inside you wanted her in ways that you could never admit out loud. countless daydreams and very questionable thoughts about her invaded your mind at the worst times possible, espeically when she was near. 

- 

- 

your irritation mixed with attraction was mutual. nayeon felt the same way about you; what a match. 

at first, nayeon found herself irritated by your stuck-up demeanor and seemingly perfect self. your involvement in various extracurricular activities, dedication to your studies, and honestly majoring in computer science major as a whole contributed to her initial impression of you as someone who had it all together. it was a stark contrast to her own carefree attitude and laid-back approach to everything, which built friction between the two of you. 

(nayeon could never do all of that, study for hours and keep her shit together. and god, especially watching you type for two hours straight already made her head swirl. how does someone do that without losing their shit? she wonders if you’re okay) 

from nayeon's perspective, you were nothing more than a stuck-up bitch in her shared home, always fussing over cleanliness like a relentless clean freak. it striked a nerve every time you scolded her for leaving behind a couple of dishes or a few stray bottles of alcohol. if it bothered you so much, why not just pick up after yourself instead of constantly complaining? 

despite the irritation you stirred within her, nayeon couldn't deny the undeniable truth: you were actually pretty cute for a nerdy, uptight roommate. in fact, she'd even go as far as to admit that you were pretty hot. 

nayeon has seen the people in the computer science department, most of them are men who look like they’ve never spoken to a woman or gone outside for more than thirty minutes a day. you on the other hand were quite the sight, someone nayeon would describe as “eye candy.” 

and yeah, she kind of overlooked the fact that you were her type after you had yelled at her so much, but then there was this one little moment that changed her mind. maybe she could tolerate you more. 

(maybe nayeon had to put looks first in this case.) 

-- 

-- 

some thursday afternoon, while you typically would be found either buried in books at the library or enjoying the afternoon at a café, nayeon found herself in a predicament—she couldn't find one of her favorite t-shirts. with frustration growing, she decided to take matters into her own hands and went into your room to see if it had somehow ended up there, given that you were supposed to be out.  

to her surprise, she discovered that you were most definitely home, a fact that caught her completely off guard—especially when you’re home in your room, in the middle of taking your pants off. 

she barges into your room to see you with your shirt off and the fly of your pants down, revealing some of the logo of your victoria’s secret underwear. your cheeks flush a dark hue of red when you realize she’s invaded your privacy, and you quickly cover your chest—which, is already covered since you have a bra on, but god is this whole situation embarrassing.  

after you literally push her out the door—slamming it shut with embarrassment—nayeon stands outside the door with a newfound interest.  

nayeon couldn't fathom that someone who dedicated their sanity to lines of numbers and letters on a screen could look so good. there was something mesmerizing about the subtle groove tracing down your stomach, hinting at the definition of your abs, or the glimpse of your bicep as you hastily covered yourself and scolded her for intruding, maybe even the hint of muscle on your shoulders. whatever it was—all nayeon knew was that the little mishap of you not locking the door and giving her the chance see you like that piqued her interest without doubt. 

and after seeing you half naked? the image of you, with your shirt off and the hint of your physique tantalizingly on display? holy shit you had her fantasizing a little (a lot) more than she already had been; she needed some of her fantasies to come true.  

your roommate had already been attentive to your quick—and evident—glances on her body and her lips. she also noted the subtle bite of your lips when she swayed by, your eyes barely caught her, but she noticed it all. getting her fantasies to become a reality seemed easy enough—probably—and she was determined to make it all happen.  

she knew she already had you starting to wrap around her finger, just by those observations, so it should be easy enough to get you hot and heavy, right? 

- 

“oh look who’s finally fucking awake.” you mutter, turning around to see the hungover, marked up woman emerging from the hall.  

nayeon rolls her eyes at you like always and simply responds, “oh shut up, don’t be a drag.” 

“i’m a drag? i’m not the one barging in at one in the morning the same night my roommate stays up to actually do their school shit. not only that, but that fucking guy—” 

“was a terrible kisser,” nayeon cuts you off, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i kicked him out so can you please just—” 

“no!” you scoff, surprising nayeon with this burst of anger. you’re much more irritated than usual, which is weird. nayeon suspects that it’s because she’s never accidentally stumbled into your room, and to be fair; this was kind of intentional.  

you see, nayeon thought that if she could make you a little jealous, it’d increase the chances of you intervening. just what she wanted. 

“i couldn’t fucking sleep and i have a really important assessment today.” 

“yeah yeah, move over i need some tea.” nayeon says tiredly. upon hearing her response, you clench your jaw tightly and lean against the marble counter, gripping it with one hand tightly to suppress your annoyance. 

your roommate looks at you and a laugh slips out accidentally. after hearing that, there's probably a vein visible on your forehead, maybe your neck—somewhere. 

that was your last straw. 

angrily, you lift yourself off the counter and swiftly advance towards nayeon, pinning her against the fridge with force. the impact reverberates through her as her back meets the cold surface, while you lean in closer, your eyes narrowing with intensity.  

now, this should not be turning nayeon on—she’s going to blame it on her hangover and whatnot, and maybe the fact that whoever that guy was and whatever he did didn’t really satitate her—but it does.  

with barely an inch of space separating you, your height advantage allows you to tilt your head down, locking eyes with nayeon with a glare. the tension crackles between you like a firework, it’s thick and palpable, your look shows restrained anger. despite how furious you look, there's an unexpected allure to you, drawing nayeon in even as she senses the little reprimanding you’ll give her. 

“don’t give me that fucking attitude nayeon. you’re fucking unbelievable, you’re a fucking slut, you know?” 

“yeah?” she says, a smirk tugging at her pretty, plump lips.  

you feel your body tense as soon as you start to take in the proximity of the two of you. gulping lightly, you move yourself away just an inch, but nayeon pauses you, pinching your collar. 

“oh don’t get so timid now, you were just fuming earlier pretty.” she laughs. “keep going. this is cute, i like this. what did you call me again?” 

as nayeon's eyes flicker from yours to your lips and back again, the tension between you is like pushing down on a spring, and it’s about to pop back up any moment. sensing an opportunity, nayeon skillfully navigates her way out of the looming scolding, her allure becoming a potent weapon against your mood. she begins to weave her charm, coaxing a reluctant softening in your expression. despite your initial anger, you find yourself drawn to her, you can’t let yourself slip up, not now, not when she’s the reason you might fail your assessment. 

“you’re— you’re so... fucking irritating…” you mumble the last part of your sentence, voice getting smaller. you push yourself away from her and shake your head, trying to conceal your blush. nayeon giggles before going back to making her tea, the tension in the air like an invisible weight pressing down on you, and this whole morning might just completely flatten you down from how distracting it’ll be the whole day. 

nayeon’s relieved, at least you’re not scolding her while she dips her chamomile bag in and out her little mug of hot water. 

- 

the day is filled with the events of the morning, with you struggling to finish various lines of code because the feeling of nayeon toying with your collar lingers, and nayeon trying to force the thought of you finally snapping in her head. 

seems like the two of you are trying to avoid the same thought, despite how badly you two want it. 

it's palpable that there’s something in the air that needs to be swatted away, and nayeon knows you’re too much of a coward to really do anything about it, so she’ll figure somethign out.  

one thing about im nayeon: she always gets her way, no questions asked, no matter what it takes. 

- 

nayeon finds you on the couch typing away later that night, probably doing some homework. 

nayeon plops down next to you, intending to tease and push you over the edge. you turn your head after feeling the cushions under you shift, immediately grimacing once you see your roommate. 

“what do you want?” 

“what, i can’t sit next to my roommate?” nayeon questions, “i’m just going to watch tv, if you don’t like it you can leave.”  

“whore.” you mutter under your breath, quiet enough so she doesn’t catch what you say.  

your roommate lounges lazily on the couch and rests her head against the armrest. as she reclined, her hair spilled over, framing her face like a halo. nayeon's gaze wandered lazily around the room before settling on the tv, and with a languid movement, she turned to lay fully, bending her legs so they didn't intrude into your personal space. 

your jaw tensed, a visceral reaction to the sight before you. the light from the tv in the dimmed room accentuated the allure of nayeon's figure. you couldn't help but steal a glance, your attention momentarily torn away from your screen by the annoyingly captivating vision in your periphery. 

casual sweatpants adorned her figure, the looseness of the bottoms from brandy allowing for comfort yet teasingly hinting at the eye-catching curves of her terribly alluring figure beneath. the fit of her tank top—cropped just enough to expose a sliver of her toned midriff—effortlessly made your gaze linger. the fabric clung to her silhouette in all the right places, revealing the subtle contours that sent a subtle jolt through the room and your veins. you completely forgot about pretending to be irritated in that brief trance. 

the tank top, snug against her skin, revealed a gentle dip of her collarbone, an enticing invitation that you took note of. the image staying in your head even as your attention returned to your screen. a flush settled on your cheeks as you tried to focus again. the ambiance of the room, however, remained penetrated with the downplayed sensuality that lingered in the air. you huff lowly. she's winning whatever game this is without even trying. 

after typing at your laptop for a bit, you hear the faint sound of people talking in the background. you look up from the screen and see some show playing, then turn to see nayeon’s head turned toward the tv.  

shaking your head, you redirect your attention back to the assignment in front of you; the task is quite easy, but it’s insanely tedious and for some strange reason nayeon’s presence isn’t helping you. 

nayeon shifts on the couch and sits upright against the cushion, you don’t bat an eye. your roommate is sick of you being academic, she’s bored and wants your attention. needs it, maybe. 

“when’s that due?”  

without turning your head, you respond, “next week.” 

“why do it now?” 

“why do you care?” your tone is impatient. “and besides, it’s better to get things done earlier.” 

“nerd.” nayeon sighs. she scoots over and peers at your screen, putting her hand down beside you to prop herself up and when she leans over, her boob smushes against your arm a little.  

you glare at her. “aren’t you usually out? it’s a friday night.” 

she shrugs. “didn’t feel like it.” and after she scans the screen one more time, she leans away (to your dismay) and continues on with whatever drama she had been watching.  

the thought of her boob being smushed against you lingers, embarassingly it’s almost tattooed in your mind for the next half an hour. 

when you finish your assignment, that’s when you let out a big, hefty breath and close your laptop.  

nayeon's annoyingly melodic giggle dances in the air as you sink into the plush couch, surrendering to its embrace that eases the pain in your shoulders. after savoring your few seconds of tranquility, your thoughts drift to the comfort awaiting you in your bedroom, your bed, peace and quiet, being enveloped by the blanket.  

as you start to stand up, a delicate yet firm grip clings to your forearm, delaying your departure. nayeon's touch, like a sirens call, invites you to linger, gently coaxing you to stay a little longer. 

she bats her eyelashes at you. “stay here.”  

you brows knit. “why would i stay with you?”  

“watching shows alone is boring, and i know your ass isn’t going anywhere tonight.” 

you groan in response and decide to give in—you might as well lounge on the couch for a bit—earning a smug smile from your roommate. she unpauses her show and you allow yourself to ease into the cushion, then watch with her (against your will), only to immediately tense up at the scene that unravels before your eyes. 

two girls appear on screen, and they’re kissing each other.  

they’re close, kissing, and then fifteen seconds pass and boom—they’re eating each other’s mouths sloppily, groaning and everything, tongue and all. you shift in your seat when you feel a weird pulse down at your core. 

“y/n,” nayeon starts, “have you ever even kissed someone?” 

“of course i have.” you respond, crossing your arms.  

nayeon turns her head in surprise and tilts her head. “seriously?” 

“yes, is it that surprising?” 

“well, you’re always cooped up in the house and whatnot… didn’t think you had any game.” 

“i hooked up with someone last month for your information. i'm not a homebody.” 

“yeah? sure, you did.” she laughs, shaking her head. you roll your eyes at her. 

“fuck you.” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the tv and watching the two girls undress each other. “do you always watch shit like this?” 

“why, does it turn you on or something?” nayeon asks, shifting closer to you. a lump forms in your throat. 

you shoot a quick glare at her and lie, “no.” 

nayeon laughs in amusement after pink dusts your cheeks. “you seem pretty flustered baby.” 

what the fuck? 

as you meet her gaze, a wave of surprise washes over you, mirroring the hunger that burns in her eyes. nayeon's laughter tumbles from her lips, enchanting and playful, as she places her hand delicately on the couch. leaning towards you, she ignites a spark that makes your heart skip a beat. feeling a sudden urge to be closer, you subtly shift in your seat, captivated by the exhilarating simplicity of the moment and giving into nayeon’s intentions. 

“i don’t believe you.” she says. 

“what?” 

“you’ve never kissed someone, hell, like you could even fuck someone.” 

“excuse me?” 

she just laughs at the mix of emotions coming from you; your cheeks are dusted pink, but your tone and expression displays that regular irritated look of yours. 

then she bites the corner of her lip, finally easing into the reason she even bothered you in the first place. she leans a little closer, lips hovering near your ear lobe, and giggles again. 

“how about you prove that you’ve fucked someone, hm?” nayeon suggests, raising her brows. “that you even can.” 

your breath trembles slightly, you’re stiff in your place. 

“if it’ll shut you up then... fine.” 

she clicks her tongue, then pulls away from your ear. now she’s looking at you with a shit eating grin, you want to wipe it off her face. 

the air stilled, your breath shook, and nayeon’s hand inches to your forearm. her other hand grabs the collar of your shirt, pulling you in and your lips meet in the middle. 

she tastes like cherry, well, her lip gloss does. 

your hand finds its way to the back of her neck, pushing her deeper into you so your lips can hungrily slide and suck and gosh, everything, all of the above, both a and c, you name it. 

the last thing you had on your mind for the friday night was kissing your roommate aggressively. initially, you were just going to finish the assignment and take a nap or something, but this? it’s much better than what you had planned originally. 

nayeon practically takes your breath away after simply kissing you, just the way your lips lock makes you greedy. you groan accidentally, embarassed until you have nayeon groaning into you too, even louder for that matter. 

you pull away for a brief moment, voice a little shaky and out of breath. “is this why you bothered me? are you that horny that you wanted me to fuck you?” 

“oh shut up, it’s not like you’re against it.” nayeon’s right, you’re not. not in the slightest. 

“fuck you” is uttered from your lips before you crash your lips against her again, taking the air from her lungs again. 

the kissing quickly escalates and your tongues are in each other’s mouths. you’re both unashamedly moaning and groaning into each other carelessly, it’s funny how quickly everything escalated within seconds, the boundaries between whatever you two had dissolved like sugar in boiling water. you shift yourselves over so that nayeon is under you, both your knees on either side of her legs. you reach over for the remote to pause the two girls who were mirroring the two of you—well, the two of you started going at it after they did so maybe it was the two of you mirroring them. 

each subsequent kiss felt as electrifying as the crackle of sparks dancing in a bonfire. the more nayeon deepened the kiss the more it drove you crazy, irrationally enough to continue kissing her and slip your hands under her shirt. 

nayeon sighs blissfully as you kiss down her neck, her fingers tangle with your hair while she claws at it aggressively, and still, the pain from her grabbing your hair only turns you on more. 

“fuck,” she groans when you suck on her neck, sinking her nails into your tricep. 

“slut.” you mutter, smirking against her. “so easy to rile up.” 

unashamedly, nayeon begs and begs for you until you’re biting down on her skin, repeatedly uttering your name until you’re leaving marks that’ll have her friends wondering who ruined her this time—and this time, it’s not some person she’s run into at the bar while tipsy. 

still, she could get drunk just off of you. 

you start to undress her, starting with her top and taking a moment to gaze at her undeniably alluring figure. strands of hair just barely stick to her forehead as she gazes at you breathlessly with eyes full of lust. she moves her slender fingers to work at the edge of your shirt, urging you to take that stupid t-shirt you have on off so she can get a sight of your surprisingly exciting figure. maybe she’ll get a better, longer view of what she had seen that night she walked in on you changing. 

“fuck, why have you been hiding this?” she mutters, sliding her hand down your side. “god you fucking bitch.” 

“if i didn’t you’d be all over me, you fucking horny mess.” you spit back harshly, but the way you moan when nayeon latches her lips onto your neck completely rids of that fake, irritated tone of yours.  

nayeon ends up on top of you in a matter of seconds, thenyou’re groping her ass shamelessly as you two devour each other’s mouths again. hands tug at whatever else covers your bodies until it’s just the two of you skin to skin. everything that had just happened in the span of ten minutes was for sure ten times better than whatever else had been going on in the movie. 

you can feel her grinding desperately against your thigh as you kiss her, feeling the moisture from her needy cunt that dampens your once-dry upper leg. you palm her breasts blindly and feel her gasp against you, and then nayeon forgets how to breath when you press your thigh up and against her, adding more stimulus. 

she moans frustratedly, the feeling of just your thigh against her throbbing pussy is far from what she needs. so, she’s putting her hand on the middle of your chest and pushing you down to lay flat on your back. she bites her lip blatantly before lifting her hips away from your skin. 

you furrow your brows in confusion and begin, “what are you—” 

“shut up,” she grunts, shoving one hand in your head and gripping your hair so rough that you whimper. she shifts over so that her pussy is directly above your mouth and orders: “just eat, bitch.” 

this is something you can’t argue with her about, and fuck you’re hungry.  

there’s a meal waiting for you that you’ve been craving, you can’t just lay there and starve. 

eagerly, you lift your head up a bit to meet the aching in between her legs; she’s so wet and you’re definitely teasing her about this later—but who knows how long it will take until it’s later. 

she moans louder than ever and it surprises the both of you, it only leaves you wanting more of her, wanting to hear her when she’s at her limit. your nails sink into the flesh of her thigh as you devour ravenously, taking note of what makes her twitch more and what earns lewder noises. what earns noises that turn you on more than ever. 

it doesn’t surprise you how shameless she is during sex—clearly, she isn’t ashamed of seducing her roommate—the way she rides your face so desperately gives you enough to know how she is. 

nayeon likes when you suck on her clit, she grips your hair tighter with each “pop” sound that’s made after you release the suction. she’s easy to read, her cunt is easy to adjust to. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” nayeon moans, leaning back little while she continues to ride, head tilted back and face almost parallel to the ceiling. “god-- fuck, oh my—shit, keep going,” 

you can see her tits from your view, nipples all perked up while you grip onto her thighs tighter, feeling her shake in your grasp.  

nayeon's like an alarm clock, ticking and ticking away until the alarm rings, her cry echoing through the room, hand gripping at your hair tighter than ever as her head falls back. you continue to savor her arousal even after she came, earning little whines and whispers of your name. 

“oh, y/n, just like that...”  

you're doing all the work now, which only helps with your aversion towards her, but still, you’ve made her moan, cry—all of the above, so at least there’s something to use against her. 

and then she lifts herself off of you, letting your head rest back against the seat of the couch so you can catch your breath.  

when she looks down, all she can make out through fuzzy vision and overwhelmed senses is the puff of your lips, hooded eyes, and fucked up hair; everything about the sight of you is a product of her desires, a fantasy that’s been lingering in her mind now come true. 

“slut,” you mutter, almost breathlessly. “you’re really loud, you know.”  

“fuck you.” 

“already did.” you retort, giggling. “let’s go for another.” 

“oh so now look who’s a horny mess.” nayeon responds, moving over to sit on your lap. 

you sit up, holding yourself up with your hands placed behind you. “you just never shut up, do you?” 

nayeon smiles before tracing her finger along your skin. “do you me want to?” 

you look at her amusingly before shifting positions so she’s laying down flat on her back, with you hovering above. the two of you kiss again, nayeon savoring a the traces of arousal off you, a muffled hum of delight vibrating against your locked lips. 

she pulls away, thumbing your nipple and making you groan surprisingly. you pull away to glare at her. 

nayeon laughs, “wow, you’re so--” 

you cut her off by shoving your ring and middle finger in her mouth, she almost gags, but the way she sucks obediently is enough to tell you that she’s enjoying this. 

“you just never shut up,”  

in response, she moans with your fingers still in your mouth, right before you pull them out, skin coated with her saliva. 

you bring your fingers down to her cunt, teasing her folds. 

“let’s change that.” 

[eldritchqueerture]

hi hello, back on da bullshit

@lighthouseshepard not sure if you want me to keep tagging you, so doing it just in case 💜

---

Getting ready for bed was, again, a quiet affair. The air between them felt tense, full of unspoken expectations that John didn’t know how to parse. He didn’t know how much descriptions Arthur now required of him, and he found it was a lot harder to tell where the man was directing his attention, watching him from a third person perspective. Was he supposed to… perform as a human now? Did he even know how to do that? He’d watched plenty of humans act out more or less meaningless tasks and gestures, but how did they know which ones were the right ones at any given time?

 But that he could figure out later. Right now, Arthur was far away from him (on the other side of the wall, in the bathroom), separate from him in a way he had never been before, and John suddenly realized, sitting at the edge of one of the beds, that what he was feeling was grief. It was the same thing that he had felt when he saw Arthur thrust Kayne’s dagger into his own throat and knew that the only way to save his life was to give himself over to the King and probably never see Arthur again; the same thing he’d felt for so long in the Dark World when the memories of his time on Earth and in the Dreamlands returned.

He was grieving the loss of Arthur.

He grimaced at himself, frowning at the irrationality of it. He hadn’t lost Arthur, he hadn’t lost anything – fuck, he literally gained a body, and with it the autonomy to do whatever the fuck he pleased. He could finally live a life of his own, without being dependent on Arthur to agree with him.

So why did it hurt so much?

The sound of water from the shower quieted and John waited, motionless, listening to Arthur softly muttering to himself at times, unable to parse the words. Eventually he emerged, already dressed in his sleep clothes, passing a hand along the wall.

“This is,” he spoke with a self-conscious laugh, “Significantly more difficult without you around.”

“I could help next time,” John offered without really thinking it through. Arthur raised his eyebrows slightly, a look of surprise morphing into embarrassment, and then into a carefully blank smile.

“Yeah, maybe,” he replied half-heartedly. John tucked whatever nauseating feelings that had elicited in him into a secure pocket of his mind, to be examined later, or perhaps never if he was lucky. “Uh, if you could direct me to the bed...”

“Right, yes. Forward a couple feet and then on the left, yes.”

“Thank you.” Arthur sighed as he sank down onto the mattress. “Fuck. That ritual really took it out of me.”

John hummed sympathetically, not looking at him. The way their beds were placed along the wall, sitting here, his back was towards Arthur. John had found that as long as he didn’t look back and they were both silent, he could pretend he was still in Arthur’s body, about to lay to rest like they always had. He didn’t know what to think of that desire.

“John?” Arthur asked, none the wiser of his inner torment.

“Yes?”

“Are you just sitting there?”

He realized he was. As obvious as this perhaps should have been, he realized he would also now require sleep.

He followed Arthur’s usual steps in preparing for bed and crawled under the covers after switching off the light. Arthur was still sat on his bed, following the sound of his movements with his head.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked after John had stopped moving. “You’ve been really quiet.”

John stared at the ceiling, trying to think of an answer that wasn’t a contradiction to everything he had said he wanted. Arthur had been right – even now all the physical sensations of textures and smells were less pronounced, easier to ignore. The one thing that bothered him the most, like a sharp splinter in the wound driving itself deeper and deeper with each passing moment, was the distance between him and Arthur. The way his voice sounded so far away and not right next to his ears. The way he would be able to just walk away from him now – and if John didn’t pay enough attention, he wouldn’t even notice.

“I suppose I’m just thinking about what comes next,” John said, not entirely untruthful. “Now, that we’re...”

“Yes, that’s a good question,” Arthur mused. “We have to consider what we want to do. I do want to pay Daniel a visit. And Marie! It will be good to see her again. And—And Noel... Maybe we could give him a call,” Arthur sighed. “I hope he made it out okay.”

John hummed in agreement.

“Well, either way,” Arthur continued. “Right now, we just need to sleep, all that is tomorrow’s worries. Are you...” he hesitated and let out a huff, apparently discarding the question he wanted to ask. Instead, he just quietly said, “Goodnight, John.”

John gripped the cold sheets tight in his fists, trying not to think of Arthur lying all too far away from him; of the fact that he couldn’t watch over him while he was asleep as well. Yet thoughts still crept to him like predators in the dark – did Arthur cradle his left hand to his chest like he usually did? Was he as acutely aware that it no longer belonged to John, as he himself was? Did it even matter to him that when he did that, he cradled John’s entire being to himself, and now...

His eyes started to sting, and he directly commanded himself to cut that strand of thought. He turned to the side facing Arthur, but in the dark, he could barely see the outline of his body under the covers. His chest tightened as he closed his eyes and willed his breath to slow. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

John’s first sleep was a fitful one. He couldn’t recall any dreams for all his wondering about what they felt like, but he woke up a few times during the night, with his heart beating fast, surprised at the number of limbs he could now move. Then, he’d be frantically checking for Arthur before memory caught up to him, and he’d sag back into bed with relief.

Not long after dawn, he finally gave up on trying to fall back asleep. Arthur was sleeping like a rock, and John wasn’t going to deprive him of this rare opportunity to rest. Instead, he got dressed and looked about the room.

Nothing really caught his interest as anything that could provide him with entertainment, aside from the window overlooking the entrance to the hotel. As he got closer to look out, he saw a family of four get out of the cab and walk into the hotel, the smaller child sleepily holding onto their mother.

Suddenly he wished for nothing more than to be able to go out there, experience the crisp, morning air on his face and listen to the slowly growing sounds of the city with his own ears. He looked back at Arthur – surely nothing would happen to him in this hotel room, right? No one knew they were here; Larson was dealt with, no one should be on their tail. There was no reason as to why John would have to sit here and wait for him to wake up – after all that was the reason for their separation, right? He was no longer bound to Arthur; he could just as well benefit from it.

He put on his jacket and, after a brief consideration, took out two bills from their wallet. With a last look back at Arthur – who hadn’t even so much as stirred – John left the room.

The hotel wasn’t busy at this hour. The only people he passed were the staff, who politely wished him a good morning. Only at the door did he realize he could have said it back.

The morning air felt chilly on his skin. He took a deep breath, smelling the exhaust fumes in the wind – not the most pleasant, but he’d take it. The streets were still mostly quiet, quite the contrast to the bustling city they had seen during the day.

He crossed the street and started walking forward, not really thinking where it would take him. He watched the shop clerks set up their stands and people hurrying off to work or run some other errands with a giddy feeling in his stomach. He realized he might get hungry now and frowned at the prospect of food. Arthur did seem to enjoy eating most of the time, but John could scarcely believe shoving things in his mouth like an animal would be that much of an exciting activity.

He walked for some time, taking in the unravelling landscape of the city. More people appeared on the streets as time went by, in automobiles, or horse-drawn carriages, and the combined sounds of it all created a sort of music in John’s ears that he could honestly get used to. The giddy feeling intensified, putting a soft smile on his face.

On the other side of the street, he saw a clothes shop that caught his attention. Spurred by a sudden impulse, he directed his steps there and entered, the little bell above the door happily announcing his arrival.

“Just a moment, be with you in a second!” Came from the backroom – a voice of a man by John’s estimations. He was glad to have a moment to look around before he was forced to interact – a little nervousness made him feel slightly jittery.

Looking around the shop, there were various shirts, pants, overcoats and accessories on display. His eyes were immediately drawn by a brown tie, laced with a golden thread. He brought a hand up to feel it between his fingers – the fabric was cool and smooth, and he could feel the lines of the thread under the pads of his fingers.

“Morning, good sir, what can I do for you?” The man appeared from the backdoor, and John jerked his hand back. He was older than Arthur, greying on top, with a big smile on his face. He spoke with a slight accent to his words, though John could not quite place it.

“I was just…” John faltered looking back to the tie.

“Interested in the ties? Anything specific you’re looking for?” He asked and approached John and the selection, rifling through the display to show him as much as he could. “The blue ones are especially in season, I find, though these red ones would positively fit you, sir.”

John did not especially care for the idle chatter, having his sights firmly on the first one he saw. He reached to show it to the shopkeeper.

“How much for this one?”

“Oh, that is a fine choice. I command your refined taste.” The man nodded with approval. “May I recommend a shirt to go with it as well? I have a perfect one to match—”

The whole affair took longer than John would expect. He refused the shirt the man had offered but ended up buying a hat. He also told him to keep the change, as he’d seen Arthur do many times, and a glimpse of a more genuine smile appeared on the man’s face.

After fixing the tie on his neck and bidding the shopkeeper goodbye, John exited to the street, feeling strangely more like himself. With the giddy feeling returning to his chest, he directed his steps back.

He returned to the hotel in good spirits, considering his lack of sleep and the general unfamiliarity with this physical form. It did seem like the longer he spent like this, the more comfortable he felt in his skin, so to speak. There was, however, a pit in his stomach at the prospect of speaking with Arthur, though he could not tell why.

The pit suddenly grew, swallowing every other feeling he might have felt, at the sight of the hotel room being empty.

Arthur’s bed was unmade, but that spoke to nothing as he usually didn’t bother with that unless they were leaving permanently. His bag and clothes were gone, however, and the worry grew as John searched the bathroom just to be sure. Arthur wasn’t there – that much was obvious – but with some relief he noted lack of any blood as well. Perhaps he saw John had gone out and went to look for him – blind, without anyone to guide him.

John cursed himself quietly and went out of the room. He made his way down by the stairs, making sure to glance through every floor. Downstairs, he spotted a receptionist – perhaps he would have seen Arthur.

“Excuse me,” he spoke. “Have you seen my friend? He’s thin, shorter than me—”

“Yes!” The man exclaimed. “He was just asking about you. He should be over there, by the telephone.”

John looked over at where the man pointed, and sure enough Arthur stood there, looking around blindly like an idiot. Without further comments to the hotel clerk, he made his way to him and grabbed his arms.

Arthur yelped in surprise at his strong grip. “What? I—”

“Arthur,” John growled at Arthur’s gasp. “Shut up, it’s me.”

“J-John?”

“Yes! What were you thinking, leaving like that?”

Arthur flinched slightly as if he’d been struck, his brows knitting in anger. “Me? You left!”

“Yes, but I can see. You could have gotten hurt or—”

“What, so just because I can’t see I don’t get to leave the fucking room while you wander off wherever you want?”

Arthur’s words were a quiet hiss, but they were starting to draw attention to themselves. John’s grip on Arthur’s arms tightened.

“People are staring at us,” he pointed out.

“Where’s the door?” Arthur asked angrily.

“In front of us, the other side of the room.”

They hurried outside, John keeping his grip on one of Arthur’s arms, barely keeping himself from dragging him faster. As soon as they were outside, John directed Arthur towards a back alley, mostly out of sight.

“What the fuck, Arthur,” John breathed out.

“Don’t ‘what the fuck’ me,” Arthur snarled. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out,” he replied. “I can move on my own now.”

“You could’ve also fucking told me.”

“You could have waited for me instead of going out there, blind.” Unwittingly, John’s fingers dug into Arthur’s arms. “I can’t guide you if I’m not there, remember?”

“I don’t fucking need you to guide me all the time.” Arthur tried to push John’s arms away but lacked the strength to do so. He exhaled through gritted teeth. “Let go of me.”

For a moment John felt the urge to fight. He wanted to pin Arthur to the wall, grab both of his wrists with one hand just because he could now; strip him of any control so that he would stop going out and putting himself in danger. He wanted to dig his fingers into Arthur’s flesh until they were coated in his blood, until they were one again so that he wouldn’t disappear from John’s sight.

That moment of hesitation had sparks of fear, however subtle, bloom in Arthur’s eyes.

“Let. Me. Go,” he hissed.

At once John let go of his arms as if burned and took a step back. Arthur did the same, his back hitting the wall. He stumbled but regained his balance quickly.

“You don’t get to control me just because you have a body now,” Arthur spoke shakily but intently. “Just as you didn’t get to control this body when you were in my head, you fucking monster.”

“I…” John frowned, breathing heavily.

“I don’t fucking need you and you don’t need me anymore,” Arthur continued. “So, if you want to leave, then leave.”

“Oh, fuck you, Arthur,” John spat out.

“Then we’re in agreement,” Arthur laughed mirthlessly and turned around towards the hotel. “Fuck this.”

John watched as Arthur followed the wall, quite confidently. How much of that was actual spatial awareness and how much was pure spite he could not tell, but he would lie if he said the way Arthur stumbled near the door didn’t bring him a bit of sick satisfaction. He turned and walked in the other direction, spurred on by anger and other feelings that coiled in his chest like maggots, festering and writhing.

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 37: Ghosts of Memory

Nonchalantly, Astarion hands her a dagger sheathed in a buckled strap, scanning the room as he leans in close, speaking in a low voice. “Arm yourself. I don’t like the size or energy of this crowd.” Celeste casts a sidelong glance at him but takes his offering anyway, pushing aside the slit of her dress and concealing herself behind Karlach’s frame as she fastens the weapon to her thigh. “Not provocative enough for you, Astarion?” Wyll taunts. Astarion’s eyes flicker towards him with annoyance. “Crowds usually mean trouble,” he murmurs. Without so much as a look in her direction, he extends his hand toward Celeste, palm upturned. “Dance with me.” She takes it and waves apologetically at her friends as Astarion guides her onto the polished floor of the ballroom, situating them amongst the other couples. Celeste feels a pang of self-consciousness as he leads her with confidence into a slow waltz, intertwining his fingers with hers while his other hand finds her waist. She reaches for his shoulder apprehensively. Astarion growls in her ear, “I told you I’d think about it, not that you should inquire about it with the high priestess.” He focuses on their steps before adding, “You look nice.” 

Chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full story on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+. Big warnings for allusion to SA (nothing particularly graphic in this chapter), violence/blood/gore (very graphic), murder, trauma/trauma response. Hurt/comfort. Soft Astarion, protective Astarion. fluff.

“Traitor.”

Violet shadows obscure Celeste’s vision as smoke encircles her, leaving her lost in a field of impenetrable darkness.

Her heart beats at the corners of her vision as she watches a dagger impale her father’s chest. Once, twice, then too many times to count. 

“Oathbreaker.”

The blade comes away from his body in a clean motion, blood glistening on the tip of the blade. Adril Delios’ vacant eyes stare up at the ceiling, while the cacophony of screams from Celeste’s neighbors echo outside over the crackling of burning houses. It had been a pleasant existence to live so close to others like her. To be seen, acknowledged, and shielded from harm. Until now.

“Coward.”

Suddenly, she becomes aware of the large, calloused hands encircling her wrists that are keeping her in place as her father dies. Helpless and motionless, Celeste watches as the murderer approaches her mother, knowing there’s nothing she can do to stop him. Her beautiful mother, who stands proudly, accepting her fate, silent tears falling onto her cheeks as she stares at the body of her beloved. Her attention shifts slowly to Celeste. A lifetime of watching people, reading them as if she could protect herself if she understood them, tells her it’s not fear on her Geriana Delios’ face, but regret. Shame. She wants to run to her, to tell her this isn’t her fault. How could anyone prevent something like this?

Shock. You’re in shock.

She's forced to her knees, made to watch her mother’s execution with her head jerked back. Her mother’s hand touches the moonstone at the base of her neck and whispers something, but all Celeste can hear is the roaring in her ears.

Don’t say it, gods, please, don’t say it, because then he’ll-

With a twist, the hooded man snaps her mother’s neck. Like a lifeless doll, she crumples to the ground, and Celeste reels from the quiet of it. Something that would destroy her universe shouldn’t sound any quieter than a thunderclap.

From beneath a dark hood, a sinister face grins at her. This wasn’t retribution for Shar. This was opportunistic. Personal.

The hands holding her shove her face against the floor, sliding to the waistband of her pants and she claws at the splintered floorboards toward the open front door, as if anyone could save her. As if anyone…

“Celeste?”

Her childhood home fades away and a teenage Gale Dekarios gazes down at her in his bedroom, shirtless. He brackets her between his hands, his movements filled with apprehension and concern.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head, a solitary tear escaping from the corner of her eye, betraying her demeanor. He withdraws, placing the bedsheet over her unclothed form. He rolls onto his side, tenderly brushing her cheek with his thumb. 

“We didn’t have to do this. We could have waited. We could just be friends, Celeste. I didn’t need this from you-”

“I needed it,” she whispers. “I needed you to know how much I appreciate your kindness. You deserve this. It’s all I have to give you in return. And besides, I…knew you’d be gentle., and I wanted to do it with someone gentle-" He winces, as if her words hurt him. 

“Don’t betray yourself like that, Celeste."

After closing his eyes for a moment, he opens them again and a soft smile appears on his face. 

“Thank you, Celeste. I’m glad it was you. I just wish it had been different. For you.”

A deep ache settles in her chest. Forever haunted by her memory, he’ll always question the sincerity of anyone who shares his bed. Because of her .

“Gale…”

A shadow falls over him, and he wraps his fingers around her throat, squeezing. She desperately tries to form words, but they fail as she struggles to breathe. He speaks with a voice that doesn’t belong to him.

“Did you think you could hide from me, Celeste?”

“Celeste! CELESTE!”

Her body is propelled upward, and she ascends through layers of enveloping darkness, progressively returning to consciousness. Icy fingers grip her shoulders, shaking her gently. A panicked expression on the most beautiful face she’s ever seen hovers over her, a galaxy of stars still shining behind him. As she gasps for breath, her throat sears with pain and her lips prickle, the numbness of suffocation dissipating. Blood flushes underneath her skin, painting her cheeks a bright pink even in the dim light.

“Gods below, Celeste, what the hells was that?” Astarion’s voice trembles with concern. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he crushes her against his chest. His chin brushes against her shoulder, his gaze fixed ahead as he tries to regain his composure.

“Just a nightmare,” she croaks. He loosens his grip but still holds her by the shoulders to assess her condition.

“A nightmare that makes you stop breathing? I could hear your heartbeat slowing.” Releasing her, he points to a long, raw, and bloody cut on his temple. “You nearly took out my godsdamned eye when I tried to wake you up.”

“No, no...” she reaches out, her fingers hovering over the wound, her mouth falling open with horror.

He dismisses her apology before she can finish it. 

“It’ll heal momentarily. I shouldn’t have said anything.” His hand cups her cheek. “I’ve had my share of nightmares as well, even if I don’t wake up clawing and spitting like a feral cat. Do you want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head and leans into his touch before she shifts and pushes herself out of bed. She moves through the room to the balcony where the sun peeks through a crack in the curtains and slips through their sun-warmed velvet, careful to not let any more daylight spill into the room, enclosing herself where the darkness can’t touch her. Astarion moves from the bed, standing cautiously on the other side, his gaze curious.

“I always wondered what your eyes would look like in the sun,” he says with a bittersweet smile.

“I’m sorry-”

“It’s nothing you can help.” He shakes his head. “Don’t deny yourself comfort on my behalf.”

“There’s a lot we haven’t spoken about.”

He crosses his arms. “Anything in particular?”

“Since you discovered the ring…wasn’t what we thought it was...have you considered my offer from before?”

“Your suggestion that Selûne could cure me?" His lip curls slightly. "It’s been on my mind.”

“And?”

He sighs heavily, combing his fingers through his hair. “As much as I’d enjoy the freedom from my… condition,” Astarion squeezes his fist shut, rubbing a thumb across his knuckles as he speaks, “The benefits of being quicker, stronger… immortal, are hard to sacrifice.”

“But you’ve thought about it?”

There’s a knock before the door swings open, and a doe-eyed woman holding a tray of porridge and fruit looks between the two, surprised. 

“Breakfast,” she squeaks, setting the tray down on a bedside table and rushing out of the room. Astarion watches silently, pupils tracking her every move. When the door clicks shut behind her, he retrieves his trousers from the floor and steps into them. 

“You should eat.” He says flatly, fastening them at the waist and then scooping up his shirt.

“Don’t change the subject.” Celeste slides out from behind the curtains and carefully pins them closed again. The beam of light disappears, and her vision adjusts to his form.

“I’ve thought about it.” Astarion shrugs on his shirt and buttons it quickly.

“And?”

He presses a tender kiss against her forehead. “I’ll continue to think about it.” He inclines his head. “I’ve got to go find my breakfast.” 

“You could-“ Celeste begins, stepping forward and pulling aside the collar of her robe to expose her neck.

“No.” Astarion responds resolutely. The door falls shut behind him, and she stares after him. She glimpses her reflection in a nearby mirror and steps closer, examining herself. Fingertips moving to the glass, she hesitates, squinting as she inspects the shadows against her skin. Bruises. 

Fuck.

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

“Shar’s magic cannot penetrate these walls.” The high priestess insists as Celeste and her companions stand in a small room holding the Moonstone Shard, a magical artifact capable of animating to defend the temple should it come under attack. Astarion is noticeably absent, no one having seen him since this morning. 

“Then how did I wake up with bruises on my neck after dreaming of being choked? ”

“Perhaps your lover-“ Minthara begins, but is silenced by a sharp look from Shadowheart.

“The Tear enhances magic,” Seraphina explains, pacing to a thick, enchanted glass display across from the Shard. The Tear of Selûne glows faintly, as if responding to being acknowledged. “You likely drew upon it subconsciously in your sleep, making a dream reality.”

“Why were you dreaming about being strangled?” Gale asks with concern. Celeste’s jaw tightens, and she deliberately shifts her gaze. 

“Just a nightmare I have from time to time.”

She senses movement near the door and watches Astarion slip inside, positioning himself on the wall between Gale and Wyll.

“Where have you been?” Wyll whispers, his arms crossed in front of him.

“Breakfast.” Astarion answers, staring ahead.

“Nothing innocent, I hope?” Gale asks warily, keeping his voice low.

“Come to think of it, I think the pig was a Lathanderian priest.” Astarion mutters.

Gale ignores him and returns to his conversation with Seraphina. “So how come the Tear isn’t going wild with the magic from everyone in this temple? Why just Celeste?”

“It’s attuned to Selûnites, and Celeste was born of the same essence the Tear encapsulates. It responds to her more strongly. With others, it’s more discretionary.” The high priestess answers. 

“So it’s sentient?”

“No. Just…discerning. It responds to Aylin as well.”

“Have you tested it at all? To see what it’s capable of?”

“It doesn’t need to be experimented with. We know what it’s capable of. It just needs to be kept secure until the right moment.”

“If it’s so discerning, what good is it to the Sharrans?” Karlach asks skeptically.  

“They want to destroy it. But in order to do so, they’d need to weaken Mystra and Selûne. How they would expect to do that, I do not know.”

“So naturally, you’d throw a giant gala, inviting half of Waterdeep inside these walls while what the Sharrans want is right here? ” Astarion gestures to the Tear. 

“It remains guarded at all hours, and access to these floors is restricted. Entrance to the gala is invitation-only, and we’ve been very particular about who-”

“This seems like a terrible idea.” Wyll grumbles. As Astarion and Celeste’s eyes meet, the high priestess’ words fade into a distant hum. He furrows his brow in silent inquiry.

“-besides, the honoring of the new high priestess will occur this evening, and it is not a ceremony that can be postponed.” Seraphina finishes. Celeste’s head snaps towards her.

“New high priestess?”

“We all must pass the honor sometime. My understudy is perfectly capable.” She replies with a shrug. “You’ll meet her later. Which is why..." Seraphina gestures in the direction of the hall, “You should all prepare yourselves.”

“If I might have a word, Seraphina.” Celeste reaches for the high priestess as her companions file out. With suspicion in his eyes, Astarion lingers in the doorway, watching intently, until Gale forcefully pulls him out and the doors are promptly shut by the guards. 

“I…” Celeste looks over her shoulder. “I want to talk to you about curing Astarion of his vampirism.”

Seraphina raises an eyebrow. “Selûne does not make a habit of granting such miracles to vampire spawn.

“Astarion is different. He’s done a service to Selûne and this temple by returning the Tear, proven his loyalty, saved Baldur’s Gate, killed his master, and shown a great capacity for morality…”

Seraphina shakes her head. “Such decisions are not up to me, Celeste. There’s no benefit in petitioning me for such a favor. Even if it were, I would not grant it.” 

Anger flares in Celeste’s cheeks. “Why not?”

“He has taken the lives of innocents.”

“Not by choice! He - well, I…”

“I’ll see you this evening, dear.” The high priestess exits the room, and Celeste stares after her, locking eyes with Astarion as the doors swing open.

Seething, he turns on his heel and disappears. 

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

Celeste descends the marble stairs, approaching the rising music emanating from the temple’s grand hall. As she proceeds, a knot of dread tightens in her stomach, intensified by the sight of the vast crowd before her. Contrary to the modest gathering she had anticipated, there are hundreds of attendees from various backgrounds, not just Selûnites. Wealthy lords and ladies, influential dukes, esteemed temple leaders, and members of the community line the stairwell, the crowd becoming more dense as she moves through it. She tries to conceal her unease, searching the room for her companions.

With a wave of relief, Celeste spots Karlach at the bar, donned in a deep maroon dress that accentuates her features flawlessly. Next to her, Minthara sulks in a fitted, understated black gown, sipping wine and discreetly assessing for potential threats.

Celeste pushes through the sea of finely tailored doublets and elegant gowns until she finally reaches them, exhaling when Karlach pulls her into a crushing hug.

“Stunning!” Stepping away, she admires Celeste’s shimmering pale blue gown, its long sleeves gracefully concealing the markings of both Shar and Selûne on her shoulders. As the dress opens at the back, it reveals the expanse of her upper spine before hugging tightly against the base. Her hair cascades down in soft, loose curls that delicately frame her cheekbones. Subtle, black shadow follows the natural curve of her eyelid. A matching shade of pink adorns her lips and cheeks.

Karlach releases her and rejoins Minthara, beaming. 

“Good to see you in something other than training leathers.” Shadowheart’s purple silk gown hugs every contour of her body as she approaches, leaning in close. “Hopefully, the Selûnites don’t mind that I still prefer Shar’s color palette.” Celeste giggles at her friend’s words, giving Gale a slight nod of acknowledgement as he approaches.

“You clean up nice.” Celeste says, squeezing their hands, feeling a sense of relief as the lingering unease from her dream gradually dissipates. “Has anyone seen-”

“Astarion?” Wyll asks from behind her. She spins to find him in a dark blue doublet, Nocturne wearing a dress of the same material and hue. “He’s lurking around here somewhere in a piss poor mood.”

“I think I saw Aylin and Isobel as well.” Gale mentions, standing on his toes to peer over the crowd. Celeste strains to hear him over the melodic chatter, laughter, and occasional clink of glasses.

“You can’t miss the wings,” Astarion purposely bumps into Celeste as he joins their tight-knit circle. How he’d held on to his rage for hours doesn’t surprise her nearly as much as the all-black doublet adorned with intricate silver embellishments, laces tying its front together. She’d half-expected him to refuse to attend after his reaction earlier. 

Nonchalantly, he hands her a dagger sheathed in a buckled strap, scanning the room as he leans in close, speaking in a low voice. “Arm yourself. Something’s not right about this crowd.” Celeste casts a sidelong glance at him but takes his offering anyway, pushing aside the slit of her dress and concealing herself behind Karlach’s frame as she fastens the weapon to her thigh.

“Not provocative enough for you, Astarion?” Wyll taunts. Astarion’s eyes flicker towards him with annoyance.

“Crowds usually mean trouble,” he murmurs. Without so much as a look in her direction, he extends his hand toward Celeste, palm upturned. “Dance with me.”

She takes it and waves apologetically at her friends as Astarion guides her onto the polished floor of the ballroom, situating them amongst the other couples. Celeste feels a pang of self-consciousness as he leads her with confidence into a slow waltz, intertwining his fingers with hers while his other hand finds her waist. She reaches for his shoulder apprehensively.

Astarion growls in her ear, “I told you I’d think about it, not that you should inquire about it with the high priestess.” He focuses on their steps before adding, “You look nice.” 

“Likewise.” Celeste mumbles, “And I’m sorry. I just wanted to see if it was a possibility.” 

“My body has not belonged to me for centuries,” he continues, maintaining a neutral disposition. “The choice to go through a transformation like that, again, should be up to me.”

Surprised, she pulls away, searching his face. “I never intended to take away your choice, Astarion. I only sought the possibility of giving you a choice at all.” 

“I suppose I can’t blame you. It must get lonely in all that sunlight.” 

Celeste’s eyes narrow. “It hurts me too, remember?”

“Is that why you’ve been gallivanting in it with our friends?” He asks bitterly.

“Stop pushing me away!” She snaps.

Heads turn at the sound of her outburst. Astarion offers a few curious onlookers a smirk that oozes charm and nonchalance, followed by a casual shrug. “Two left feet.” 

His charming facade falls as he pulls their bodies close. Celeste’s breath catches, a gasp escaping her lips. 

“How’s this?” Astarion angles his head to the side, challenging her. 

“I’m sorry.” She rasps. 

“I am not pushing you away, Celeste. I am letting you in.” He keeps her close as they move together. “Unfortunately, I’ve never done this before, and lack experience.” He traces the faint bruising on her neck with his knuckles, barely noticeable under the makeup she’s applied there, and swallows hard.

As they sway, she lays her head on his chest. “I haven’t either.”

“What is it you want, Celeste? For yourself?” She feels a rush of heat as his whisper brushes against her ear. “Because I think you should take it.”

She looks up at him slowly, meeting his ruby irises, before being interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Celeste watches Astarion frown and turns to find the high priestess behind her, mouth pressed into a thin smile. 

“Pardon,” the high priestess says, her voice melodic yet commanding, “but could I steal away Celestria for a moment? I’d like for her to meet the new high priestess before my speech.” Astarion gives Celeste a pointed look, as if to emphasize his last question, and releases her. The warmth of his touch lingers on her skin.

“By all means.” He gives Seraphina a polite bow, his voice grinding out forced formality.

“You have my gratitude.” She says curtly, beckoning for Celeste to follow. Astarion watches them go, then resolves to find his friends again.

He weaves through the crowd, Wyll and Nocturne’s bodies moving gracefully in synchronized steps as he passes them, followed by Karlach and Shadowheart, whose laughter intermingles with the music as they sway drunkenly together.

Astarion greets Gale and Minthara on the edge of the dancefloor. “Can’t dance?” 

“Lose your partner?” Gale fires back, not looking away from Shadowheart. 

Astarion snorts, a soft sound of amusement escaping his lips. “She’s in high demand.” 

Gale grunts, returning his focus to the ballroom floor. 

“You’ve got it bad, don’t you, Dekarios?” Astarion teases. 

“I’d be wary of throwing stones in glass houses, spawn.” Minthara says in her deep growl. Astarion scoffs and takes her wine, finishing it in one gulp to spite her.

The three watch in silence for several minutes. 

“Never took you for a wallflower, Astarion.” Gale muses. 

“I’ve been to enough of these things to know they’re all the same.” His tone is tinged with a touch of boredom. He snatches a drink from a nearby server’s tray. “This one’s particularly stuffy, however,” he adds, his words accompanied by a slight grimace.

A scream echoes across the hall and Astarion’s attention shifts towards the other end of the room. Too many people obscure his view and he shoves his wine into Gale’s hands, the glass slipping smoothly from his grasp. He forges through the crowd, the press of bodies against his own, the sound of incoherent screams and gasps of alarm filling his ears.

“Where are you going?” Gale calls after him. Next to him, Minthara unsheathes two hidden blades from under her gown, the metallic glint catching the soft light of the chandeliers.

“Celeste’s up there!” Astarion yells, his voice strained with worry as he shoves past hysterical guests. “Gods below, move!” He snarls, sending one man toppling over another as he leaps for an opening.

The scent of unfamiliar blood fills his senses, and he’s comforted only by the thought that it isn’t hers. In the chaos, someone slams into his chest. His eyes widen as Celeste stumbles back, her body trembling. She looks up at him, a portrait of shock and terror. Blood stains her dress, smearing her chin and splattered across her abdomen. 

“Celeste…” He begins slowly, his fingers reaching out instinctively but hesitating in the air. His eyes trail the crimson dripping from her hands down the blade of the dagger he’d given her earlier. “Whose blood is that?”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed and have a moment, could you please, pretty please, leave a kudos/comment on AO3 and/or, interact with this post in some way? I'd be forever grateful. Thank you thank you! xo

[precious-little-bhaalbabe]

This post took me so long to actually write down all of I ended up sketching the swapped companions before finishing it

Behold!

More detailed descriptions and musings under the cut

Jenevelle the Shadowheart

Forever seeking to serve her Queen and to prove herself among her adoptive kin. Prove herself worthy of the silver she wears and perhaps one day grace the back of a mighty red dragon as Kithrak, should her Queen allow it.

Paints her spots on every day along with her war paint

Her long braid is decorated with a headpiece paying tribute to the Undying Queen, though of course never as resplendent as Vlaakith herself

Lazelle, Daughter of Shar

With her blade, she will cut Selûne and her wretched Tears from the sky and blanket Faerûn in the Nightsinger’s perfect darkness, whether the Mother Superior permits her to become Dark Justiciar or not

If not for her nose, it would be hard to pin her as Githyanki and not a strange looking wood elf. No spots and the shells of her long ears lacking the usual frills (inspired as an artist by Ptaris not having those features in game). A harmless malformation as the result of being raised in an unnatural environment, or something more sinister at play?

The name Lazelle was gifted to her by the Mother Superior, though something about it always felt slightly… off.

Karlach Cliffgate, Mage of the Heartlands

Chose her title saying there were far too many lofty heroes already claiming heritage from Baldur’s Gate, and she wanted her legend to show she fought for all the innocent people of the Heartlands her city calls home, like the heroes of sword and sorcery that inspired her to study magic as a youth.

Far fewer scars but nearly as many tattoos under those robes as the Karlach we know. Runes imbued with protective wards, magic symbols, dedications to her parents and to Mystra.

Her rough cut and dyed hair is woven in with silver disks with the symbol of Mystra

Even having fallen out of her favor recently, the Mage of the Heartlands wears her tabard emblazoned with the symbol of the goddess of magic still.

Naturally quite tall and heavy set, she still keeps an impressive musculature for a mage. Claims there’s no use for more mages who just sit in their towers reading all day. The Weave is meant to be touched, used to protect and assist people. Would far sooner cast a new spell to see the effects than study it in theory.

When you first meet her, she explains the softly glowing orange mark on her chest to be a scar of one such use of experimental magic. Perhaps after some trust is built, she will reveal the true nature of what caused it.

Gale Dekarios, the Black Flame of Avernus

A guard trained in picking off threats with his trusty longbow long before they could reach him or the one he protects, the Blood War has seen him far closer to the center of the action than he would prefer.

I didn’t draw them because it was hard enough designing new outfits for him and Karlach but he’s got tattoos. And scars.

The black flame and smoke from the infernal engine in his chest waft from the vents on his shoulders, the deep ominous glow from under his ribs never ceasing.

Wears a single earring of the crest of Waterdeep, the home he has sought to return to all these long years. Now, he’ll finally have the chance. If his heart doesn’t burn him from the inside out first.

Astarion Ancunín, the Blade of Frontiers

Handsome, heroic, and the talk of the land, the Blade of Frontiers will be a storybook hero in times to come

His dashing smile and golden eyes, handsome figure fitted in beautiful embroidery, are protected by his rapier and the healthy green glow of Fey magic

The armored chest piece he wears emblazoned proudly and loudly with the crest of Baldur’s Gate, a reminder of the people he’s sworn to protect

Wyll Ravenguard, the One-Eyed Warrior

A handsome and unassuming man at first glance, apart from his missing eye. Closer look is even more intriguing, his remaining eye a striking blood red.

Dressed in courtly garb, hardly the outfit you’d associate with an adventurer, but his skill with the blade quickly squashes any doubt he’s fit for the task at hand.

Upon first meeting him, he says the missing eye is the scar from a battle and nothing more. When you learn about his past and his history with the vampire lord Cazador Szaar, he reveals the scar is one of the last injuries he suffered as a mortal man. Taken out in the fight with cultists of the dragon that resulted in his death, before Cazador claimed him as his undead spawn.

[authorautumnbanks]

One Night (14)

"Why are you always late?"

Satoru flashes a smile at Utahime and takes his seat against the wall. Why is it there are never any cushions in these meeting rooms? Yaga must pick these rooms out to be as uncomfortable as possible, so the meetings go fast. "I'm here, aren't I? Real question is why are you two here?" He gets the sorcerers employed for Jujutsu High, but why is the Tokyo school here? Didn't they just leave? Frankly, he's sick of seeing Gakuganji's face.

"I called them here because the blackouts last night also reached Kyoto." Yaga picks up his cup and takes a drink of what Satoru assumes to be tea. Or maybe sake. Who knows.

"No shit?" Satoru chuckles. "That's wild. It got that far?" He can't wait to tell Kagome.

"This is not funny," Utahime says between clenched teeth. "Whatever curse or curse user that caused that last night is strong. Too strong. It was not the power grid failing."

"At least," Yaga interjects, "That's what the civilians have been told so they don't freak out. That Tokyo and the other cities were testing out the power grid and made a mistake. It simply took them a while to fix the oversight." Yaga blows out a breath. "Did you check it out?"

"... Check what out?"

"The influx of cursed energy," Gakuganji says. "Something that strong must be a special grade. It had to be a curse, then."

Satoru clucks his tongue. Utahime fidgets with her fingers. He frowns. Is she seriously freaked out by this? "So, what's the plan? You want me to find the cause of the blackouts and then what? What if it is a sorcerer?"

"Then we need to apprehend them and bring them in for questioning. Make sure they aren't up to no good," Yaga says. "And stop grinning so damn much. What the hell are you so happy about?" Yaga makes a grand sweeping motion with his arm. "Because of the idea of another stronger sorcerer?"

"Nah." Satoru interlocks his fingers and stretches his arms out. "No need to go looking for the source. I know who did it."

"Was it that woman of yours?" Gakuganji asks sharply.

Satoru grins, flashing his teeth. "Kagome may have been a catalyst." He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "But the cursed energy was all me."

"... How was she a catalyst if the cause was you?" Utahime scratches her cheek and gives him a befuddled expression. Shoko snorts next to him and shakes her head.

"You really made it everyone's business?" Shoko says, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

"I mean...it's not like I meant to do it. Shit just happened." He swipes his tongue over his teeth, trying his best to keep the grin off his face, but he can't. That energy massage was something else. At least they know now that the blackouts only happen when she gives him a massage. Satoru covers his mouth with his hand and turns his head to the side. Damn. Now he's thinking about earlier in the alley. She wanted to suck him off, but he didn't want her squatting so close to the ground, so they improvised with him, holding her upside down instead.

He should buy her a truckload of skirts and dresses to wear.

Utahime looks to Shoko and then at Yaga. "I don't... I don't understand?" She looks at Mei Mei, who giggles.

"Satoru was having sex," Yaga deadpans. "Explains that shit-eating grin of yours." He stands and grabs his drink. "And stop smiling so damn much," he gripes. "Unbelievable."

"You're disgusting," Utahime exclaims. "There's no way sex is that good, that it causes two blackouts."

"I mean, I caused more than two. If it reached Kyoto, then it reached the other cities too." Satoru bites his tongue, but his face hurts from grinning so much. Just thinking about Kagome makes him all giddy and shit. Is it lunchtime yet? Man, it hasn't been an hour, and he already misses Kagome.

"Disgusting."

Satoru shrugs. "Not like your opinion matters. So, we good here?"

Utahime splutters and clenches her fists. Gakuganji holds out a hand, cutting off her retort. "What kind of person makes you, of all sorcerers, lose control?"

"Ummm... I'm not sharing sex tips. Aren't you a little old?"

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M ASKING!"

"Pfft. Whatever. Either way, I ain't got anything else to add." Satoru stands and stretches his arms above his head. "Go back to Kyoto." He heads out of the room with Shoko hot on his heels. Satoru waits until they are a good distance away and then stops to address her. "What is it?"

"Are you kidding me?" She fishes out a lighter and lights the cigarette. "You bring her—"

"Kagome."

"Kagome," Shoko says, tightly. "You bring Kagome around everyone else, but I don't get to meet her?"

Satoru sighs. "Well, we can't do it tonight. We have plans. Family plans. It's not my fault your ass is slow."

Shoko growls in the back of her throat. "If I could, I would choke you."

"Pfft." Satoru laughs. "Even if I turned off infinity, you're too short to reach."

"Oh, fuck you."

Satoru pulls out his phone and huffs. Why isn't it lunchtime yet? "Maybe tomorrow you could come over for dinner or something. How's Tsumiki doing, by the way? I've reached out, but she says she's fine, but I don't know if I believe that." Satoru slides his phone back into his pocket. He's on his own today as far as getting around to his missions. The first years get Ijichi today.

"Actually, she is fine. More than fine. Gave her the green light to go back home, but I don't want her going back to school just yet. Physically she is fine, but she could be overwhelmed if she starts school back up right away." Shoko blows out the smoke. "You know, Kagome would make a great healer. I couldn't even heal Tsumiki, and she did it in an afternoon. Why are you making that face?"

"I'm not making any kind of face," he retorts, resuming his strides down the steps. "You seriously following me?" Doesn't she have work to do? He has work to do. The more missions he gets done now, the more time he can spend at lunch with Kagome and Koushi. His fingers twitch, so he stuffs them in his pockets. Kagome said she was going to show him something later.

Demons.

Those don't exist, but he is curious to see what she comes up with. Maybe a powerful curse?

"Why can't she be a healer here? You know how lacking we are."

"Yeah, you should get good," he replies absently.

"I'm going to strangle you."

"You can try," he sings songs. "It's the higher-ups I don't trust." He slows down so Shoko can catch up. "When Kagome came here the other day, she showed off some shikigami skills." He pauses at Shoko's nod. Right, someone probably filled her in. "And right after that, someone tried to pull a hit on her. Maybe the dude was telling the truth about not looking for trouble, but he also went after her, anyway."

"Back up... what?"

"Kami, Shoko, keep up. Kagome went with me on a mission the other night and a curse user was there. Not sure if the bounty is to take her alive or not, but it's out there. I don't want her under the higher-up's noses any more than she already is. Couldn't get him to talk, so I killed him to send a message."

"I want to say she'd be too valuable as a healer... but with her being attached to you and birthing another six eyes and limitless user..." Shoko blows out a breath and then takes another drag of the cigarette. "Yeah, guess it's best not to." She cuts her eyes at him. "Though you can admit it. You just like her being at home, which is odd to me. Thought you wanted strong allies."

Satoru wrinkles his nose. "I do want strong allies and I also like knowing my wife is at home, safe."

"You aren't married, right?"

"Not yet. I'm getting the ring custom-made, but it's a given. Just a matter of when." He presses his lips together. "You think she would want it before she starts showing?"

"... She's pregnant?"

"I mean, I hope so." The amount of times he came in her last night, she should be.

"Dear Kami." Shoko puts her cigarette out on the back of her hand. "If you two have any more like Koushi, the higher-ups may actually fall over dead."

Satoru looks up at the sky and smiles. "That would be wonderful."

"Why am I here?" Megumi asks. Satoru rolls his eyes behind the blindfold and claps Megumi on the back.

"Because it's a family lunch, and I asked Kagome if she could show you some shikigami techniques. She's the strongest user I know."

Megumi blinks. "Kagome-san? I heard from the others that she made one that looked like you... but I have ten shadows. It's a little different."

"Not that much. I'm sure you can learn something." Satoru opens the door and slides his shoes off. Ryu's loud voice booms throughout the house, followed by Himari's laughter. They round the corner to the kitchen where Ryu is boasting about some great feats and juggling the kitchen knives, while the old man stares on in boredom. "Uh? What are you doing?"

"SATORU MY FAVORITE NEPHEW!" Ryu collects the knives and sets them down on the counter. He beams at Satoru and plants his hands on his hips. He's wearing... jeans. Since when does Ryu dress down and wear actual jeans and a casual shirt?

"I'm your only nephew."

"THAT'S WHAT I SAID!"

"Stop yelling," Father complains. "No one even invited you." He rolls his eyes. Himari laughs and places a hand on his arm. Satoru zeros in on the movement. The hell? Kagome makes a face and jerks her head towards Himari and his father. Himari moves her hand, only for the old man to grab it and place it on his chest.

Satoru clucks his tongue. He just lost his appetite.

Kagome shakes her head and bounces Koushi. She walks over to him, and he immediately wraps his arms around her, drawing her and Koushi in for a hug. "Those two are really hitting it off," she whispers.

"It's a little revolting." Damn, she looks really good in her priestess getup.

Kagome exhales. "Be nice." She turns to look at Megumi. "Hi, Megumi. I'm glad you could join us. Lunch isn't quite ready yet, but Satoru told me you're a shikigami user?"

Megumi nods, though he takes a slight step back. Satoru stifles a laugh. Megumi is still wary of a baby?

"Okay, great. Satoru, you and I need to head out real quick, but I figured while Satoru and I are gone, Megumi, you could practice with one of mine." She purses her lips together. "Scratch that. I'll just give you one."

"Give him what?" Satoru asks.

"A shikigami, of course. You're family and I haven't given you a welcoming gift yet," Kagome continues, gently pushing Koushi into Satou's arms.

"... You can do that?" Megumi blinks. "Do you mean like you have a talisman?"

Kagome shakes her head. "No, nothing like that. Here, hold out your hands."

Megumi shoots him a look but holds out his hands. Kagome holds her out in front of her. There's an influx of energy. Ryu quiets down for once and Koushi turns his head to stare at Kagome and Megumi. Satoru chews on his tongue. Is that an egg?

"Uh, Kagome-san? I don't—"

Crack.

"It's a gift. Though I don't know what will come out of it."

Megumi stares at the brown and white egg in his hands. A head pops out of the top. Koushi lets out a stream of giggles. Satoru leans over to the side and stares at the cat shikigami. It's small and doesn't look like much... but he moves his face closer.

"It's a baby," Kagome explains. "But it should grow in power relative to you, since it imprinted."

Megumi's eyes widen. The cat shakes off the rest of the shell and then jumps into Megumi's shadow. Satoru turns his head at Kagome. When he asked her to help Megumi, his mind didn't even entertain the notion of her gifting a shikigami. This is... for once, he is at a loss for words.

"THAT'S MY FAVORITE NIECE!"

Kagome chortles. "I'm glad your opinion of me has improved." She looks over her shoulder. "Satoru and I will be right back. Don't eat without us." She smiles at him and motions for him to follow. "Megumi, make yourself comfortable."

Satoru snorts. Megumi sits down at the table with the old man and Himari, and summons the cat shikigami from his shadows. It prances around on the table and holds out a paw at Himari. Satoru shakes his head and then follows Kagome out of the house. "Where's Gramps?"

"Oh, he's still talking to some people. I helped with the blessings earlier." Kagome leads them to a... well house. The hairs on his neck raise. Something isn't right about this well. It doesn't feel cursed, though. Kagome grabs a big ass yellow bag and slides it on. It's bigger than her.

"What's in the bag?"

"Oh, I got some gifts for Sango and the others."

"... Sango?" Satoru hums and rocks Koushi. "Baby, we're in a well house."

Kagome rolls her eyes. "I know that. You wanted to see demons, so I'm going to show you some. However, Sango isn't a demon. She's human." Kagome frowns. "Hopefully she's still alive." She perks up and holds out her hand. "Come on. You need to be holding on to me when we go down the well, so the magic works. I already undid the seal earlier."

Satoru shifts Koushi to one arm and takes Kagome's hand with his free hand. "I just want you to know that this is super sketchy and I must be in love with you to be jumping down a dark well to potentially see actual demons."

"It hasn't even been a month." Kagome pauses. "I'm sure it's just infatuation."

"Ehh, I don't think infatuation feels like this." He peers down at the well. "Would it be better for you to drop the bag and then I just carry you and Koushi instead?"

Kagome hums, pulling her hand away to do just that. "I would usually travel alone." She drops the bag down the well and then holds out her hands for Koushi. Satoru waits until Koushi is settled and then picks Kagome up bridal style.

"So, I just jump, huh?"

"Scared?"

He snorts. "Not at all. Just never had the urge to jump down a well." He rolls his tongue over his teeth as he hops down. Blue lights up the area and the energy feels ancient. Satoru clucks his tongue. An open sky?

"Set us down and take the bag up. I'll hand Koushi out to you."

Satoru nods, though his mind is on high alert. He picks up the bag and hops out of the well. It's quiet. Too quiet. And far too open. He pulls his blindfold down and then turns back to the well to get Koushi. Kagome climbs up the ladder and then stretches her arms out in front of her.

"Ready?" She slides the bookbag over her shoulder. Satoru frowns. Where are they?

"I can carry that," he insists, but Kagome shakes her head and sidesteps him. "Kagome," he says, leveling her with a look. "Let me carry some of the burden."

She blinks. "Okay." She slides the bag off and sets it down on the grass. Satoru holds Koushi out to her and then slides the bag on.

"So, where are we going?"

"To the village." Kagome smiles down at Koushi, who looks around at his surroundings.

"Is this another world?" He walks next to her. His fingers flex at his sides.

"No, this is the feudal period," Kagome says casually. "You're sensing some low-level demons. They won't bother us."

Satoru glances at her from the corner of his eye. "Did you just say we time-traveled?" The energy coming from the forest sure doesn't feel like cursed energy either. Maybe she's telling the truth about demons.

Kagome hums.

Satoru opens his mouth and then frowns. That does not feel like a low-level demon. He steps in front of Kagome and Koushi. A man in a bright red outfit and white hair comes running towards them.

Dog ears?

"BITCH WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!"

Bitch?

"You want to repeat that?" Satoru growls out. Kagome touches his arms, but he's too pissed off right now. He doesn't know who this man—demon—is, but fuck him.

"That's InuYasha," Kagome says.

"... What?" Him? She married a demon?

"Who the fuck are you?" InuYasha snarls. "And why the fuck would you bring this fucker here?" InuYasha's eyes darken and his lips curl back at the sight of Koushi. "You fucking bitch," he spits out. "All this time you led me to believe you were infertile and yet you show up with a kid?" He barks out a laugh. "You were taking those damn herbs, huh? What, I wasn't good enough for you?"

"That's not..." Kagome falters, moving closer to Satoru's side.

"That's enough," Satoru says. "Apologize before I break your neck." He drops the bag behind him.

InuYasha scoffs and pulls out his sword. Satoru narrows his eyes. Not a cursed tool, but its energy is similar to InuYasha's, so maybe a demonic one then. "I'on know why you came here with his fucker, but after I kick his ass, you're going right back where you belong." InuYasha cracks his neck. "He can keep the kid."

Satoru narrows his eyes and flashes in front of InuYasha, punching him in the face. InuYasha swings, but the sword doesn't connect. He continues to swing at him while Satoru continues to throw punches. He should rip his head off. The sword glows red and with one hit; the sword nicks Satoru's arm. He grits his teeth and kicks InuYasha in the gut. InuYasha huffs as he jumps back. His fingers tighten on the hilt and when he swings the sword, the wind picks up... and Satoru's heart drops.

That fucking idiot!

He turns and rushes over to Kagome and Koushi, gathering them in his arms. The attack leaves three long cracks in the ground, where Kagome and Koushi were just at. Thank Kami, that attack was slow or else... Satoru squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He doesn't want to dwell on it.

"Shit! Kagome, are you okay?"

"Don't you fucking address her," Satoru bites out.

Koushi sniffs and then cries. Satoru blinks. Crap. All this time, and he's never heard Koushi cry before.

"InuYasha, sit," Kagome says.

There's a thud followed by a yell. Koushi stops crying. Satoru turns his head and stares at the spot where InuYasha was at.

"You can put me down now," Kagome says, but Satoru shakes his head. He could have lost them. "Okay, but we still need the bag." Satoru glances back.

"Do you have a binding vow on that bag?"

"A what?"

"Never mind." He shifts Kagome in his arms and uses blue to attract the bag to him.

"Oi!" InuYasha climbs out of the crater. "I'm not done talking to you."

"Sit." Kagome sighs. "Just go straight and we should reach the village. There's someone there I want you to meet."

Satoru nods, not trusting himself. His body screams at him to finish the job. He pauses and turns to look at the crater. "Koushi, red."

Koushi blinks and then holds out his hands in front of him. The red is huge and far from precise, but it hits InuYasha right as he climbs out to the crater and sends him flying a few feet back. Koushi laughs and claps his hands.

Satoru smiles. "That's my boy."

***

A/N: Happy Fri-yay. I listened to the new Megan thee Stallion song and I'm so happy she was able to get Yuji's VA to do the intro lol.

This meeting actually happened way earlier than I planned, but as usual, I plan and the characters throw my notes out the window. There will probably be another fight before they leave because Satoru is itching to do some permanent damage and InuYasha is pissed that Kagome showed up with someone else.

Kagome didn't react to 'bitch' because InuYasha said it a lot over the years and he's a dog demon, so it's harsh to human ears but not so harsh to demon ears.

We'll probably also get another How To Tame Side Story. Main story hasn't been updating as frequently because I've been trying to see where the manga is going and how much of the 'canon' I want to throw out or keep lol.

Take care of yourselves! Get some rest and I hope you have an awesome weekend.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

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

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

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Read Chapter Twelve on Ao3

Read Chapter Thirteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fourteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fifteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Sixteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Seventeen on Ao3

Read Chapter Eighteen on Ao3

or read Chapter Eighteen below the cut

On their way to introduce Isolde to Aurelia, Astarion realized that she hadn’t actually agreed to stay yet. Not in so many words. She was letting him touch her, guiding her with his hand at the small of her back. She certainly seemed lighter than before, but her cheeks were puffy and there was still a sleepy sort of darkness clinging to her, like Shar hadn’t totally given up yet.

He could sense that she was nervous, which was good. Was something. 

He knocked this time, wondering if he needed to make that a habit in his own home. He wasn’t usually visiting anyone else’s quarters quite so often.

“Come in,” Aurelia said through the door.

He intended to just pop his head in and ask her to get decent, but found her standing and still dressed in the middle of the room, looking down at the scroll of true resurrection in her hands as though contemplating its use. 

She swung her hands around to clasp the scroll behind her back, as though the point was for her not to be able to look at it for a moment.

“Aurelia, I wanted to introduce you to Isolde,” he opened the door all the way to let her enter.

“I told you, I’m not hungry,” muttered Aurelia. A lie, but she seemed determined to suffer.

“Oh dear,” Astarion sighed and laid a hand on Isolde’s arm, “don’t let that worry you, darling.”

Isolde’s brows were high and her heart was beating faster, but she didn’t seem frightened. Should he have mentioned Aurelia was a tiefling?

“No, Aurelia. She’s not a snack, she’s a guest in this house.”

“Oh,” Aurelia said sheepishly, even with red skin, she could still manage a blush, or maybe it was the lingering heat of the hells, “I’m sorry.”

“Welcome back,” Isolde took it in stride, in any case, though her smile was a little anxious.

“Thank you,” Aurelia’s shoulders visibly relaxed, but she still held her hands behind her back.

“Isolde is sort of indirectly responsible for all this, so feel free to shift your resentments over to her,” he was joking of course and he could tell from the flat expressions on both women’s faces that they knew that, but weren’t amused.

“How so?” Aurelia sighed.

“My old master owned the scrolls. Astarion stole them, after his recent unfortunate… internal decapitation,” Isolde managed to nearly sound gleeful, then looked a little ashamed of herself.

“Your old master?”

“The man I worked for, until very recently.”

“Until the internal decapitation,” Aurelia guessed.

“Yes, that was it.”

Aurelia nodded and Astarion felt confident that even with spare details, she had the measure of the situation. “I was just deciding… I will not bring back Cazador.”

That name again, like a hatpin jabbed into the middle of his ear. “I didn’t realize you were remotely serious about that.”

“I only needed to consider, certain rites,” she shrugged, and Astarion’s blinked so hard it hurt his head. He hadn’t even thought about that, but if Cazador came back, he could make Aurelia a true vampire. “But it isn’t worth it, is it?” Aurelia said quickly, and he was glad she’d gotten there on her own.

“Definitely not.”

“Even if you could… bully him into doing it—I’d be able to make spawn, maybe gain a few powers… lose a lot more. And it would be satisfying to kill him myself this time,” she admitted, “but, it’s better to just be done with it.”

“Once you start feeding again—and once you feed on the blood of thinking creatures, you’ll slowly start to develop those powers anyway. You’ll never be able to make spawn but…” Astarion trailed off in a kind of disgusted whine that he couldn’t quite suppress, “it’s really not worth it.”

“I don’t want to feed,” Aurelia shook her head. “I know I have to—”

“—you do have to. Because if you don’t, you’ll simply lose control. Better to have some sense and some choice in the matter,” he would have thought he didn’t have to explain that to her, and maybe he didn’t because she didn’t look at all surprised to hear it, she was nodding, almost imperceptibly.

“It should be one of the newer ones,” Aurelia declared. “They still have a chance. I think I’ll bring back Leon.”

“It doesn’t have to be one of them, you know,” Astarion forgot his earlier conviction not to advise her. That she had even considered bringing back their progenitor had him concerned that her judgment wasn’t the best at the moment. “You still remember your life before. The people you lost… wasn’t there some boy?” It was just a guess. And one he wouldn’t have made if he thought about it for more than one of Isolde’s heartbeats. 

Whoever Aurelia was before—however likely it was that she had people who loved her, they wouldn’t want to see what she became.

All the same,the suggestion just came out of Astarion’s mouth, now that there were no restraints. They’d never been allowed to talk about their lives before they were taken, but he seemed to remember that in the very early days, there had been some threat of harm to someone Aurelia cared about hanging over her that the master would occasionally use.

Aurelia didn’t meet his eyes, her brow knit and her mouth fixed in a pout. “There was. But. No. Tempting, but no. He surely went on to live a fine life with someone else. Besides. It should be Leon.”

“I thought you were going to sleep on it?”

“I thought if I slept on it, the answer would come to me. It came anyway.” Aurelia shrugged. “It’s Leon. It should be Leon.”

“If you’re certain. I’ll just be going then.” Astarion turned to take his leave.

“You’re afraid he’s going to hit you.” Aurelia called him out.

“At the very least, he will hit me.” Astarion halted.

“You deserve it.”

“I still don’t like being hit.”

Aurelia glared at him, flame red eyes casting as much light as the candelabra on the walls. “Isolde, you’ll stay and meet my brother Leon, won’t you?”

“Certainly.”

Shit. Now he had to stay. This was not going to be pleasant. “Do we really want to upset the man in his first moments back by exposing him to my face—”

“—I think he’ll find hitting you cathartic,” and without waiting for him to reconsider fleeing she took the scroll and said “Leon Onufrio.”

The spark of life fully drowned out Astarion’s sigh. As the room illuminated and a fourth body appeared. At least they were just taking care of it here and now, and not going down to the site of his last resting place where he might try and kick Astarion off into a conveniently placed chasm. Granted, if that did happen, he could just turn into mist or a bat and come right back up, but it was still a bother.

Leon examined himself, uncertain at first. He didn’t wail like Aurelia had. He roared. He hadn’t even seen Astarion yet. The sound of his anguish, his fury, whatever it was he was feeling, filled the room, he emptied himself of it, then gasped in, panting, his blood pumping, his heart thrashing.

Then Astarion realized what Aurelia had meant when she said she wanted to bring back one of the newer ones. One of the ones who still had ‘a chance.’

Leon wasn’t dead and wasn’t undead. He’d only been turned into a vampire about thirteen years ago, so he was resurrected back to his mortal state. When he did finally straighted up from the ground and look Astarion dead in the eyes, they were not the red eyes of a spawn, there was no hint of that malevolent light. They were hazel, and tragic, and human.

Predictably, Leon rear back his fist, and Astarion braced himself to catch it, but that proved unnecessary. Both Aurelia and Isolde were on either side of Leon, holding him back. That wasn’t so predictable.

For a long moment, he seemed too angry to speak, though still gasping for air like he’d run miles to get here. His eyes brushed right past unfamiliar Isolde and came around to find Aurelia where he rested them, looking surprised to see her, then saddened. His jaw set.

“Did she tell you?” Leon held Aurelia’s gaze, but from his tone Astarion was sure he was speaking to him. “Where we were? Where you sent us?”

“She spared me the details, but I gather you were burning, freezing, flayed, in the torment of the hells?” No reason to be soft about it.

“You’re not even going to try to pretend to be ignorant of—”

“No, I won’t,” Astarion declared and though he did feel bad, though he did understand that he was fully in the wrong about a thousand times over, he felt a rough surge of irritation that came out in his next words, “I know what I did. I haven’t been soothing myself with false reassurances that you were all just definitely enjoying a nice long stroll on the fugue plane, awaiting comfortable judgments and rest.”

“I can hardly believe you to be penitent!” Leon’s voice cracked and cut through, “don’t think I will buy any slithering lie out of your mouth that you’ve brought us back to alleviate your guilt—to try and repay a drop of blood—you have some angle, some scheme—”

“Really, brother, scheming?” Astarion put a little more distance between them, fearing that Aurelia and Isolde’s touch on either of Leon’s trembling arms wouldn’t be quite enough to keep him back. “Does that actually sound like me?”

“Are you not his creature?! Just a smaller, more petulant version of the master—Mephistopheles brand new curiosity? How can we know what you’re capable of?” demanded Leon.

“I brought you back,” Aurelia said softly. “He didn’t really want to. Thought you’d be mad. And he only brought me back because he’s… well, he says he’s not sure, and I believe him.” She admitted that last party rather wearily. 

“You—” Leon finally faltered, his shoulder’s dropping as he looked at Aurelia, eyes softening, “but—he doesn’t know?”

“A whim brought on by the unexpected procurement of scrolls of true resurrection,” Aurelia’s pouting lips briefly twisted into a frown and she added, in nearly a whisper, “...and some sort of existential crisis, I gather.”

Leon held very still, the apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his chest rose and fell. There was sweat on his brow and upper lip. Gods, people were so different when they were alive. Just being in his presence it was almost difficult to recognize him as the same person. Astarion had never known him back when he’d just been a human sorcerer. “A whim?” Leon considered Aurelia’s words, “crisis?” he looked at Astarion, those unfamiliar hazel eyes sweeping him in a search. “I suppose. That does sound like him.”

“This really isn’t a scheme. It’s barely a reunion.” Astarion gathered that both women must have felt the same reassuring sense from Leon at the same time, because they released him almost simultaneously. Astarion half expected him to take advantage of the lapse and lash out, but he didn’t.

Leon opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. He closed his eyes, muscles tense and Astarion watched him breathe in and out and thought he could understand what he was thinking.

He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be alive again. Truly alive.

Slowly, Leon lifted one hand and whispered a soft word, emitting blue light through his fingers briefly. He let the cantrip fade out, but was still staring at his hand in disbelief. Relief.

“I’d like to welcome you back, sincerely,” Astarion added quickly, “and beyond that I imagine saying anything more would just needle you, so perhaps I should take my leave. Let you and your functioning circulatory system get to know each other again—”

“We aren’t done,” Leon said flatly.

“Yes, yes, so everyone keeps saying.” But no one was trying to stop him. He half wanted to let them try, just as an excuse to release a little anger, but the passing thought didn’t hold him. Shar’s influence simply couldn’t withstand the onslaught of emotions. He felt… well, not good. But he felt.

Isolde was just behind him as he quit the room. Leon and Aurelia would want to talk, alone, for a while, but just in case they didn’t stay where they were, he hurried Isolde along, back to her rooms.

“That was…” Isolde didn’t seem to know what it was.

“Yes.” Astarion agreed.

“He didn’t hit you,” she observed, encouragingly.

“I noticed,” Astarion suppressed as much sarcasm as he physically could, “we were never terribly healthy as spawn. So, I don’t think any of us ever enjoyed the full extent of a vampire’s healing abilities, but it’s still a bit faster than a mortal’s. Perhaps he was concerned about breaking all those little bones in his hand, first thing. Though he could’ve got me with a cheeky little cantrip, now that he’s able to use his magic by his own will again.”

“Why would…” Isolde started, and he could imagine her recalculating as she decided to ask the question with merely passive references to the master that none of them seemed to want to speak of directly, “what is the point of having a spawn who can do magic, just to then not allow him to use magic?”

“To torment him—Leon was a rather gifted sorcerer. Took a lot of pride in it. Just as our bodies didn’t belong to us any longer, his power became… not his. He could only use it with permission.” Again, it didn’t feel good, talking like this again. Exhuming long buried past. In the first years after his ascension, there had been such relief in pretending it never happened. Those sad, desperate people were all gone. The sad, desperate version of himself? He’d killed him too.

Isolde spared him a look, but didn’t linger, or offer pity and he was grateful for that. As they reached her rooms he prepared to bid her goodnight, but she took his hand. “You can come in, if it pleases you.”

“You do please me,” he raised her hand to his mouth and brushed the back of it with his lips, “of course, I’ll come in.” He hadn’t actually expected the invitation, and accepted it without really considering if he wanted to be with her again right now. He let her lead him into the room as he tried to work it out. He still felt a little disconnected from himself, if he was honest. Unbidden, the memory of drinking from her in the library came back to him. His clumsy, far too amused attempts to reassure her that her physical response to him hadn’t been embarrassing but had only aroused him as well.

 It doesn’t mean anything. 

In retrospect, his insistence that it was just meaningless sex felt foolish. True emptiness was not something he pursued, any longer, not since he could help it. They might not be devoted companions, passionately in love with each other, but if their time together was actually meaningless, there wouldn’t have been anything for Shar to take from them.

He just hoped it meant something good.

She led him to the bed and encouraged him to sit down with a gentle press against his shoulders, that smoothly became the first ardent movements around the buttons of his coat, as she unfasten them. He didn’t usually allow someone else to undress him, but found he didn’t mind Isolde doing it. She wasn’t insistent, and wasn’t impatient with the cloth or with herself when it took focus to get through all the elaborate little quirks of the fine tailoring. “Do you…” she hesitated, nibbling at her plump bottom lip as she left his coat half-down on his shoulders and instead dragged her fingers down the front of his shirt and to his crotch, “need to be in control?” she finally asked, cautious, nearly a whisper, though they were very alone.

Her firm fingers pressed against him as she unlaced his trousers, and he began to feel that pleasant tight sensation. “Need to?” he had certainly never thought of it that way. For a very long time, there was nothing more accurate than to say that he wanted control. And after that, he simply had it. From the way she had positioned herself on her knees between his legs with his coat partly binding him, it seemed she might have some intent to do a little more of the work, pleasuring him, this time around. He certainly wasn’t opposed to that. After his ascension, he’d admittedly developed a taste for being worshiped, and even used, at different intervals. He could accept lavish adoration, especially coming from someone like Isolde who frankly, would never really be in control. He simply had too many advantages over her.

But, need? “As in, can I not get it up, unless I’m the one giving?” He laughed but ended it abruptly with a, “no.”

“That’s not really what I meant,” Isolde blushed.

“Then say what you mean,” he sighed.

“I suppose I mean: would you just trust me?” she shrugged, “let me try something.” It was a little unfair to ask him that when she was already under his strained waistband, fingertips brushing up against his growing erection, with her lips so wet and her eyes digging into him like that. He almost felt warm. And she certainly was.

Trust her? Another concept he took for granted these days. Who needed trust when so little was a threat to you any longer? People didn’t harm him, because they couldn’t. That was good enough. In many ways, it was better.

“You may ravish me however you please,” he sighed again, leaning back against the mattress, but she stopped him, with a hand on either lapel, bringing him back up to press their mouths together, her tongue pushing past his teeth. He felt her snag herself against one of his fangs, and tasted the smallest burst of broken flesh, but she barely noted it, apart from a moan that she stifled by deepening the kiss.

Climbing over him, he expected her to straddle his hips, but she sidled past him, kissing him all the while, and leaving a tingling trail from his mouth around his cheek and jaw and back towards his ears. A pleasant rush traveled from the tip of his helix down his neck and into his chest to grip him tight at his flexing core. It was always nice to find a lover who didn’t need to be reminded about the sensitivity of his ears. She had situated herself directly behind him, legs still listing to embrace him, her feet sliding against the tops and then the insides of his thighs as she parted them. His cock was throbbing almost painfully against the restrictive fabric, but as he started to reach down to free himself, she stopped him by pulling his coat all the way off with a few rough tugs. After tossing the garment aside she freed the tails of his shirt, and massaged her hands up his arching back in long, firm strokes.

The reignited scar tissue met her touch with an ache that only made him tense up for a moment, before he felt a distinct unraveling of the coiled muscles through his neck and shoulders. He had noticed it, totally against his will, over the last few days. Ever since bringing Aurelia back, there was more pain than there had been in years. But her touch helped calm the keening fire, and the memory of the nasty little blade that had done the work. She kneaded his flesh in smooth waves, working into the muscles underneath, the sweat of her mortal palms making him feel a little more pliant with her practiced administrations.

Her massage continued around the tight, thin flesh over his ribs and down his sides, up his chest and onto his stomach. Her mouth and tongue sucked and stroked his ears, or else she peppered the tops of his shoulders with soft kisses. “I love the way you touch me,” she started in a murmur, “the way you feel inside of me, how you fill every little space where I want you.” With two firm hands she drew his erection out of his trousers, wet her hands with the moisture weeping from the tip before she started to stroke him in waves of pressure that only started gentle. “But right now, I don’t need you to do anything. Please just relax for me.”

Although, this was, clearly, doing something for her. He could feel her hips rocking into him from behind, and imagined she was as warm and wet as ever.

Her grip around his shaft was a little too tight, too soon, and her movements not so practiced, but her enthusiasm was intoxicating. He only had to briefly slide his hands over hers and help her find the way he liked to be stoked, and she caught on immediately, without reproach. Before long, it was all he could do to hang onto her thighs, while she used her legs to pin him down. He barely managed to tell her he liked it. The rolling waves of pleasure made it difficult to string even two words together. He had found her tendency to come a little early, and repeatedly, to be equal parts amusing and titillating, so when he felt the very near risk in his own body, making his hips twitch, his legs tremble, and his head blank, his first instinct was to fight it, to make it last.

With a roll of her hips and a tug with either leg on the insides of his thighs, she spread him wider, and didn’t wince as his nails naturally dug into her in response. His stomach clenched and the muscles all through his legs were shaking. He tried not to fight it, but it was what his body wanted to do. To fight. Like he shouldn’t just let pleasure come. A protest formed on his lips, but he bit it back, gasping her name instead and gripping all the tighter as that tension all through his core finally released in a wet stream from his throbbing cock. 

Isolde kept stroking him, drawing more of the seed out, making a bit of a mess over his stomach and her hands. His head fell back again, arched almost all the way over her shoulder, and she turned into him to kiss his throat. Once she’d emptied him completely, she wrapped him in a tight embrace, locking her ankles together over his waist while her hands clung to the front of his chest.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long they were lying there. He felt a sort of heady contentment that kept him from immediately moving into the script he knew he should follow her. Something about how it was her turn now, or something about taking off the rest of his clothing, or scolding her for making such a mess, or maybe finding some scintillating and only mildly degrading way to make her clean everything up that they could both enjoy, but instead he felt bond by the silence and its comfort. She wasn’t moving much, besides nuzzling against his face, and occasionally gently stroking him with her fingers. He sensed a similar contentment in her. She just wanted to hold him, and being held felt good.

They could just do that, he reasoned. It was a bit… new.

He turned into her, just enough that he put his arms around her too, and found her simply gazing at him, for the moment at least, with no questions and no demands.

[midnigtartist]

Howdy!

Just gonna send some questions for Dotty (but no need to answer them all!)

What would Dotty think if Gale was a socks with sandals kinda man?

Did Dotty save all the teifling refugees?

Is Dotty a morning or night person?

Would Dotty get lost in a ball pit?

Did Dotty lick that spider corpse in the Shar gauntlet?

Dotty absolutely does the passive aggressive mom thing when Gale( or any of the companions really) dress in a way she thinks is bad. A lot of “oh! This,, this is what we’re wearing? Are you sure?” But if Gale insisted she would at least by him an expensive pair

Dotty did save all the teiflings! Alfria and Bex end up being some of her closest friends by the end of the game

Dotty is a crack of dawn morning person usually which annoys Gale “sleep till noon” Dekarios to no end (he wants to cuddle)

Dotty would never lick something that been on the floor. Shes a lady.

[getmenaced]

People beef with Mystra's design in game and while I can see where they are coming from I mostly disagree. I can understand that its kind of strange that the other gods in game (Myrkul and Shar mostly) are so huge and grand and Mystra just looks like some lady, but I think it is kind of interesting that she can take any form she wants and that is the one that she chooses to show to Gale. From a motivation standpoint I'm sure that that she thought it would be easier to manipulate Gale if she was on his level, and also not to do Mystra apologia but maybe it shows that even she acknowledges their bond is different than just a man and his god, even after she's cast him out. And then from a visual standpoint I think the scene would feel so much less like a victory for Gale if Mystra was giant and sweeping like Shar. It would feel like old man yelling at cloud. As for her look itself first of all people are unnecessarily mean and weird about the way she looks I think, she is obviously a very attractive woman so idk why people call her ugly. I have seen people say that she has iPhone face but I disagree. I think she has a very retro look to her, like the kind of woman you would see on the cover of one of the d&d novels from like the 80s, which I think is both fun and funny because it kind of ages Gale lol assuming that she presents according to his taste on purpose or otherwise. No really the only thing I'm mad about when it comes to Mystra's design is the fact that they put her in that ugly ass default dress. She couldn't have her own clothes? She wears the same dress as counselor Florrick with the cheap nasty weird mesh. It looks like a costume that a child would wear I hate that fucking dress. My thoughts on the situation.

[zenosyneee]

Chapter 2: Who Are You?

Part 2, continued from Introductions. I'm still working on a title. Please don't copy my work, post, or use it without my permission.

In this chapter, Zenosyne discovers a little more about her party members... and a little more about who she may have been before losing her memories... The song lyrics are slightly altered but taken from the song Téir Abhaile Riú by Celtic Woman.

TW: blood, hypnotism.

Evening rain pelted the ground in a steady rhythm, and the sky flashed intermittently with the bright lightning of the heavens.The party had taken refuge beneath a towering cliffside just beyond the Druid’s Grove to keep themselves out of the elements. It had been many weeks since the start of their journey together, but the unusual band of misfits that traipsed through Faerun looking for the cure to their Ilithid curse had grown fond of one another. Each of them had their unique quirks, this was true. Lae’zel was arguably just as ferocious as Zenosyne had predicted, and her coarse manner had not softened in the slightest. Shadowheart talked more with her companion, but it seemed the more that the priestess of Shar spoke the more questions there were surrounding her past. Karlach, however, was more and more thrilled at the prospect of having new friends and of being free of the hells- even if just for a time. Her zest for life left Zenosyne feeling as though her cup had been filled whenever they talked. Gale and Wyll left her feeling this way, too, in their own ways. 

Astarion was a different matter- one which left Zenosyne questioning what it was that she felt towards him. Although Gale had revealed the dreadful curse bestowed upon him by the goddess Mystra- Astarion felt it necessary to chide him on his secrecy. It was a brazen thing to do, considering everyone knew that he was hiding something himself. The hypocrisy of the pale elf was not lost on Zenosyne- but she felt a sadness within him that left her both curious and patient. When he was ready, he would reveal his secrets. 

It happened one day before they had gotten far past the blighted village beyond the Emerald Grove. There stood a man dressed in leather armour, looking fairly quaint but sure of himself. The man introduced himself as Gandrel. 

“I am a Gur- a monster hunter, if you will.” 

“Oh?” Astarion asked, leaning in just enough to insert himself between Zenosyne and the stranger. “You’re a monster hunter? I thought all Gur were vagrant cut throats… and what is it you’re hunting then? A beholder? A mimic?” 

“Well, much worse than that. I’m hunting the lowest of foul creatures that stalk these lands.” He replied. 

Zenosyne sniffed the air, it was thick with a metallic smell. In that moment she gagged, a terrible turn in her stomach- as though it were making every muscle inside her quake in revulsion. Whatever it was, there was more to her reaction than simply disgust at the scent. 

“Pure iron” Gandrel said, knowing what it was that she had noticed. “Forgive me for the smell.” 

“Iron? Are you looking to… kill a Faerie creature?” She asked between gasps. 

Shadowheart turned her gaze to the green-haired “elf” that recoiled before her. She had questioned Zenosyne’s lineage before, and it was true that elves had very distant Faerie blood- but it was not so much that they would normally be averse to pure iron. Few creatures were. 

“Not a faerie, no.” Gandrel continued, “A vampire spawn. A cunning, evil creature named Astarion.” 

Instead of showing her surprise, Zenosyne remained calm. She would not give away her knowledge. She felt Astarion bristle next to her. Suddenly, it was as though an old instinct- one that she had not known she had, came to the surface of her conscious mind. However, she was kept at bay from the iron he wore as a putrid cologne. 

“A monster hunter such as yourself should know better than to look for a vampire spawn in the broad daylight.” She said, then as if she were hypnotizing the Gur- she curled one finger towards herself, walking slowly towards the open water they had been following along. The river was gently moving, and she made certain to be upstream from the flow as she removed her heavy armour and stepped into the water. Dark green, almost black scales crawled up her skin like spiders crawling upwards on a web. She fell slightly in the water, letting the waves take her body a little. She turned and swam against the current with newfound vigor, like a salmon swimming upstream. A powerful fish-like tail manifested from the splashes.

Gandrel’s body turned slowly, his eyes unmoving from her form as she moved. With her back towards them, she turned to look over her bare shoulder. 

“Come, now, and follow me down, follow me down, follow me down…” She sang. 

He moved slowly, his face gently smiling at her call. 

"Look how she's off on the town

She's off on a search for sailors though

There's fine fellas here to be found

She's never been one to stay at home"

His boots made contact with the water, and he waded in slowly- the iron dust flowing down offstream into the unknown. She held her hand up- palm facing him and he stopped his steps, face unchanging. She extended one finger outwards, and slowly pointed in front of her. 

"Come now and follow me down, 

Follow me down, follow me down,

There's fine sailors walking the town

And waiting to meet the ladies there"

Keeping the distance that she was enforcing, Gandrel walked around her. He moved downstream further and his dreadful aroma of pure iron washed away. She slowly let her pointed finger fall, and he followed it slowly beneath the rushing current. 

"Stay here and never you mind

The lights of the town are blinding you

The sailors they come and they go

But listen to what's reminding you

Handsome men surrounding you

Dancing a reel around you"

She began to pull at an invisible force, and he swam towards her- the last of the iron on his person washing away. At his approach, she lifted her palms upwards and he rose from the water- eyes opening, face smiling. 

She pulled him in closer- wrapping both arms around the monster hunter, and held him in a close embrace. The poor fool sighed as he rested into her comforting arms- 

“She’s not some moon or sun elf” Shadowheart said, echoing her previous observations. All of their gazes were fixed on her strange power. 

With one swift motion, she drew a dagger up into the air and brought it down upon his back. 

Not a sound was heard, and he slumped slowly from her embrace into the water- blood mixing with the fresh, clear stream as it carried him away. 

“She’s a siren.” Shadowheart whispered.

The waves carried Gandrel far from the party and out of view, and Zenosyne watched as he disappeared. Finally, she let out a sigh as if she had been holding her breath that whole time. Tension seemed to let go within her.

They did not see the dark figure hiding behind the trees, watching as her scaled slowly faded into flesh again. An old woman smiled to herself.

"Well, well" Astarion said, "Looks like someone has a little secret of their own. When exactly were you intending on sharing that little detail?"

Zenosyne dragged herself out of the river, understanding now what the purpose of her flowing light clothes had been all along- a way to keep quick in the water. Not weighed down by the weight of wool or velvet.

"Whenever I discovered that I had it" she said, her voice still low and melodic despite her song having ended.

"By the way" she added, picking up her armour, "I believe I may have been a siren before I was captured by the mindflayers."

"You don't say" Astarion mocked, but his face betrayed his amusement.

As they continued to walk there were whispers among the companions that Zenosyne could barely make out between the crunching leaves and sounds of the forest. She knew that the whispers were likely about her. They certainly didn't trust her now, if they had to begin with. She decided to leave the conversation about the revelation that had been made about both herself and Astarion at their meeting with the monster hunter. There was no need to address an already nebulous topic after such a day.

Finally, they stopped their whispers and their quiet steps when they came upon a rather dingy sheep.

"What are you doing? Are you far from home?" Zenosyne asked the sheep, hardly expecting a response at all. She went to walk past when the sheep said, "Baaa."

Everyone stood silently.

That was a rather human sounding "Baa" if any of them had every heard one. It was most certainly not from any old run-of-the-mill sheep.

They all waited in quiet anticipation, their hearts racing at the chilling realization. Zenosyne decided to keep up the facade, and echoed its call.

"Baaa" she responded.

The sheep seemed satisfied with this, and moved on from them. They all let out a collective breath of relief. They continued to move forward carefully and kept their eyes wide open, surrounded by "sheep" in the lush green grass. There was a beautiful clearing beneath a tree that shed small white apple blossoms in the wind.

"This is oddly calm" Gale whispered. "There's a dark hint of weave in the air." He dared say no more lest they be overheard by the "sheep" that watched them all too closely.

Upon a second glance, one of the suspicious creatures gnawed at an old wicker basket half open. A few apples were sitting sweetly inside, and a note accompanied them:

"Have a rest, on Auntie Ethel, dear"

"Was that there before?" Gale asked.

Zenosyne sighed, and dried herself in the warm sun beneath the sweet smelling apple tree.

"What a sweet old lady" She said, and reached out for one of the apples. "I'm famished."

With closed eyes she bit ferociously into the tempting apple. She chewed slowly, eyes meeting those of the others.

"Have you never learned not to take food from strangers?" Shadowheart asked.

"I... must hasten to agree with Shadowheart" Gale added quickly. "You never kn-"

Zenosyne hit the ground with a loud thud, and fell into a deep slumber.

"Know" Gale finished.

[justmightyshadows]

This chapter came to me a bit faster than some of the others probably because it is setting up what is to come. It has tender moments but is mostly filling in lore and dissing Selune.

Aylin and Isobel picked a place in the upper reaches of the furthest tower when they set up camp outside of Baldur’s Gate. Isobel tried to remove some of the dust before the others arrived but had barely made a safe space for the fire before Muira stood before them. She wore a long black night gown with a high split up her leg that had been picked out for her by Minthara who had recently fallen into the habit of dressing her lately. Minthara followed behind her in a matching black jumpsuit that had a plunge to her navel. They sat silently across from Aylin and Isobel as the pair tended to beginning of the small fire.

Isobel cast a couple quizzical looks at Minthara - her eyes showed the yearning of a question forming on her mind - but she chose not to speak. The silence was punctuated by the small pops of the embers until eventually Muira sighed and spoke “Out with it then winged one. I need to know what happened. How did you get caught and what magic trapped you?” She began to pass around small glasses to drink out of and a large bottle of elvish spirit which Minthara looked at with disgust.

Aylin threw two overflowing glasses back and wiped the excess from her face with the back of her arm. “I was caught by Ketheric, he used my oath against me. I was distraught at the time over my dear Isobel’s death and searching for ways to do good for Selunite’s in the area. He wrote to me about a threat to them there so I made my way quickly to offer my aid. In other times I would have waited for reinforcements or at least an ally at my side. When I arrived I was overwhelmed by Shar’s forces and bound by the necromancer Balthazar.” Isobel reached over tenderly and stroked Aylin’s face but Aylin lowered her hand gently and moved forward. “At first I was resigned to my fate. To die truly felt like a relief I could not have had any other way, every death felt like a chance to be by her side again. In truth I was not sure if immortality was a real thing, a long life yes but to be killed as I was, I did not think it possible. At the same time I could feel every blow that Ketheric took and his pain ravaged me as well.” She filled her glass again and poured it into the back of her throat. Minthara wondered if it did anything to numb her at all or if the act itself made her feel better, more mortal. “Killing him was a joy I did not think I could have but my pain had already been endured, there was no turning back time.” She shifted in a rare moment of uncomfortable energy and allowed Isobel to hold tightly to her arm.

“You endured a great deal but did you not see the signs? Did you not know he was a Sharran?” Muira asked in an even tone. She watched the facial expressions of them both to glean any clues about the truth of this tale. “I knew he was a sick and twisted man but I assumed it was by grief not by falling to a lost goddess. I spent no time around him or that area after Isobel died. There was nothing I wanted more than to be far from the places that held our memories together.” Her voice quivered and Isobel began to look in concern she thread her hand under Aylin’s tunic and rubbed her back while she poured her another heaping glass of drink. Aylin tipped it back as well and looked off into the distance.

“I pity your predicament in a way, but I had far more technical questions in mind than your emotional state. How did they bind you for so long? Was it with the magic that I suggested?” She made a manageable glass for herself and pulled a small bejeweled bottle from her waist lining and passed it to Minthara who sighed in relief at the drow wine.

Isobel furrowed her brow in confusion “What do you mean that you suggested?” Aylin interjected loudly over her questioning “Do not stir trouble for me, child of Umberlee. I will not stand for it.”

Muira ignored Aylin and shifted her intense gaze to Isobel instead moving her legs to widen the slit which drew everyone’s attention to her thighs. “I came to visit sometime before you died and tried to convince Aylin to bind herself to you if she felt you were her true love. I explained the soul bridge to her and she rejected me fully.” She let a bit of the drink slip from her mouth down her chest and pretended to look surprised. “I assumed she was either too self-righteous or not in love enough to take my advice.”

Aylin jumped up shaking the twigs in the low burning fire, her eyes glowing white with fury while Muira finished with a cool “I warned her the magic could be used against her otherwise. I could not be the only one to think of it. She never told you this?” This angered Aylin even more as she pointed down at Muira “You have no right to come here and stir up trouble in such a way! I did not tell her because I did not trust you! I still don’t. You are too power hungry and too willing to make alliances with dark forces.” She turned to face Minthara “Look, even now who you keep in your bed.”

Minthara rose in a dramatically slow way and breathed out “She keeps someone in her bed who is worthy of the position. Do not blame Muira for your inadequacies and careful where this sentiment goes. You are so far an ally but an enemy can be made just as quickly.” Muira rubbed her hand gently up Minthara’s leg and pulled down at her waist as she spoke to Aylin directly “I was born of a dark force! That is your problem with me golden one, and when I extended my hand in friendship you rebuked me on prejudice alone. Now you must live with where that has put you. You are angry with yourself far more than you are angry with me.” Minthara settled to the floor reluctantly crossing her legs but brought Muira underneath her arm in a protective way as she glowered at Aylin.

“Tell us Isobel, what trapped her for so long.” This time it was Minthara who spoke catching the cleric off guard, she flinched a bit dramatically at being addressed by her. “A soul cage. It bound her and kept her in a state of suspended stasis while her life force, her soul, was used almost like a shield by Ketheric.” She avoided Minthara’s gaze instead looking at Muira with soft eyes, as if she hoped her admissions would win her favor.

“It sounds similar to the soul bridge which would be more of a shared connection. You are both too young” She gestured at Minthara and Isobel “but this was a favorite of the gods before, to make their favorite mortal warriors -immortal through the binding of their soul to something immortal, in most cases a blessed weapon. Many a legendary weapon has a soul bound to it, giving it the properties and knowledge of the warrior it homes. The truly powerful can even extend their mortal body and transfer between the two shapes.”

Muira felt the heat of the drink across her body as she tipped another glass back. She gave a soft kiss to the underside of Minthara’s jaw who smirked at Isobel’s jealous face. “There is nothing stopping you now Aylin, once I’ve gotten the details for the soul bridge you should not make the same mistake twice.”

Aylin looked down at Isobel and spoke in an apologetic tone “It would offend Selune to give my immortality to another.”

Minthara laughed harshly and made a sweeping motion at the room around them. “Look at where we are? You owe Selune nothing! She let you rot away for a century, she let her sister kill you thousands of times and for what? She sent no army, no weapon, no warrior to your aid. We lifted the curse and felled Ketheric on our own. You owe her nothing, oh mighty paladin. ” She let the last sentence fall as the insult that is was and enjoyed the angry look on Isobel’s face.

“We owe her everything.” Isobel whispered, she drank her first glass into the silence of the room. Muira let the silence drag on as she stared longingly at Minthara, she gave another playful kiss and Minthara gave her a stern look to behave. She did not mind pda but seemed to be taking stock of the company before them.

Isobel yawned, tired from the talk and seemingly annoyed by the display of affection before her. “It matters not, we will lead two different lives for two different lengths it seems. However, to destroy this cult you still have our help. You saved Aylin, you saved me and you helped Jaheira as well, that is not something we take lightly.” She spoke directly to Muira, and held her gaze, then lowered her head slightly in deference.

Muira rose and put a hand out to Aylin “You do not need to trust me yet - look into it on your own. Ask yourself if you can endure her death again.” She then put a hand out to Isobel who raised it to her mouth and gave the knuckles a light kiss as she whispered “I owe you a great debt, child of Umberlee. I hope one day to repay it.” Minthara bristled to her side as they said their goodnights and headed back to the tent.

They had barely crossed the threshold before Muira has opened a map on their bedroll. “They gave us the information we were looking for. In Baldur’s Gate we need to find that book on soul binding to weapons. I think it holds the key we are missing. We also need to enter the Wave Mother’s Temple. I believe we will be safer there than sleeping in the streets of Baldur’s Gate.” She circled two areas and then added two symbols in the corner for Bhaal and Bane. “Of course we must also kill Orin and remove this tadpole.” Minthara listened absentmindedly as she sat in front of Muira. She reached out and rubbed both of Muira’s arms following behind with soft kisses that trailed up to her neck. She pressed their bodies together and leaned into Muira’s ear enjoying the feel of the demi-god’s heart rate quickening from her touch. “You will give me this gift then my love?” There was no doubt what she meant. Her question was as tender and soft as she’d ever been but in a way that was drenched in a sort of desperation. She wants to live forever. “Yes, of course, ussta kulggen*(my shield)” Minthara moved to rest on her lap pressing her weight into Muira. “Promise me you will not stop until we are bound as such.” She flickered her tongue along the edge of Muira’s ear. “Usttan Iglata. ** (I promise)” she moved her mouth to bite down harshly into Muira’s neck. “Make it so then, my love. Before we do not get the chance and end up like them.” She pulled back a bit to stare deeply into Muira’s eyes, the dark brown of the gaze returned looked like pools of the deepest water. “I would never allow us to be like them. You have my promise.” She rubbed her head into Minthara’s and continued “Rest now. I will be lookout while you meditate. I have plans to make.” Minthara nodded and shed her clothes wrapping herself in the soft blankets and furs that Muira kept for them. She draped one hand over Muira’s crossed legs, even in resting she yearned for the closeness of their bodies.

Muira waited for Minthara’s breathing to slow before she called out to Aenwyn. In a flash her trident shifted and aneleven was before her. She had piercing emerald eyes, light gray skin and jet black hair that falls neatly below her cheek, across her face is a large scar that crackles gently with electricity. Her head is adorned with a three pointed circle and she wore a billowing green dress that fell above her knee. “My lord?” Her voice is almost two each word in perfect unison but the harmony of it sung like a small choir. “Watch the perimeter while she rests.” Muira did not look up from her reading when she spoke, staring instead at a small book on binding spells. “Of course my lord.” Aenwyn gave a small bow and walked off, the sound of her feet nonexistent as if she hovered right above the ground.

The night labored along slowly until Minthara’s breathing became shallow. She writhed in agony, sweat beading on her forehead. “No” she whispered into the darkness over and over. “Aenwyn, bring cold water now!” Muira called out. Within seconds Aenwyn was at her side with a small cool basin as they stared over the drow. “She looks haunted.” Aenwyn’s voice was even as Muira dabbed at the sweat that had formed on her lover’s head. “Give her time - if she isn’t awake in an hour you must wake her.”

Muira nodded and allowed Aenwyn to plant a gentle kiss on her head. “Stay close, Aenwyn.” She called as Aenwyn stepped out of the tent. “I am never far my lord.”

[rainbowbobatea]

💗 Sweethearts' Nite 💗 

"Oh, look! The castle looks so pretty!"

Excitement bursts in Shar. She happily points up at the Cinderella Castle, the tall structure gleaming against the dark sky. Stars twinkle. A cascade of red, white, and pink hearts light up against the stony walls, reflecting against the excited guests walking into Disneyland.

Well, everyone is excited, except for…

Oscar. The sassy five year old stomps his foot and sticks out his tongue, mimicking a "barfing" noise.

"Bleh! I hate pink daddy!

Shar (who loves pink) mocks an offended gasp. Meanwhile, Hugh shakes his head, continuing to push the stroller with Ava. "I told you Oscar—behave. No stomping.”

"Pink is the worst color! I hate it daddy!" Oscar screams again, stomping his little feet.

Hugh's brow furrows as he leans down, his voice low and stern.

"Listen here, young man. If you don't calm down, we're turning right back around and dropping you off at Grandma Mimi's house. Is that what you want?"

Oscar's eyes widen, his little lips pursing into a pout. He shakes his head vigorously, curls bouncing. "No, Daddy. I'll be good."

Shar gives Hugh a odd look. She leans in close to Hugh, her voice a whisper. "You know, Mama Mariah would’ve had a fit if she heard you call her 'Grandma.' Remember what happened last time?"

Hugh's stern expression cracks, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. "Oh yeah, I remember alright…”

Their minds drift back to that fateful family game night. The evening had started with unexpected drama when they'd arrived at the house. Oscar, innocent and unaware, had greeted Mariah with a cheery—

"Grandma Mariah!"

—and the effect was instantaneous. Mariah's eyes had widened comically, her perfectly manicured hand flying to her chest. Then, with all the theatrics of a diva, she'd swooned, falling dramatically at the threshold.

Mariah’s fainting spell caused lots of drama.

Hugh bites back a smile, thinking about that moment. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her," he says with a wink. "Now come on, guys. Let's hit the park!"

As they step through the gates, Disneyland unfolds before them like a storybook come to life. The iconic Cinderella Castle looms ahead, its spires reaching towards the California sky.

Tonight, it's adorned with a cascade of twinkling lights in shades of red, pink, and white, transforming the already magical structure into a lovey-dovey dream.

It's like if Valentine's Day threw up all over it.

For the Sweethearts' Nite event, the park had been transformed into a romantic wonderland. Heart-shaped decorations adorn every lamppost and storefront. Couples of all ages stroll hand in hand, many sporting matching Mickey and Minnie ears.

Shar giggles as she bumps Hugh's shoulder, her cheeks pink with excitement. She's dressed to impress in a soft pink dress, a Minnie Mouse ears headband accenting her dark chocolate hair. Hugh, ever the gentleman, has matched in a red shirt with a polka dot tie, a corny yet adorable detail.

"Oh ma gosh, Hugh, look!" Shar squeals, bouncing on her toes and pointing at a massive line snaking through the park. It's for posing with Mickey and Minnie mascots, both wearing red and pink too.

"Can we take a pic babe? Pleeaase?”

Hugh eyes the line, trying not to wince. It's longer than his patience on a good day. But then he glances at Shar, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and he knows he's toast:

He'd stand in line for days if it meant seeing that smile again.

"Anything for you, love.”

Shar's cheeks flush pink at his words, the color matching her fluffy dress. She fiddles with her Minnie ears, suddenly shy as they move ahead to the line. Surprisingly, it goes by fast. Before they know it, they're at the front, posing for a picture with Mickey and Minnie mascots.

“Say Cheese!” The camera man says.

But as they smile for the camera, Ava begins to wail, her tiny fists waving in the air. Her eyes are fixed on Mickey, and it's clear the giant mouse has terrified her.

"Wahhhhh!"

The person in the Mickey Mouse mascot jumps and backs away from the baby. Meanwhile, Hugh and Shar exchange a amused glance; Hugh bends down and scoops Ava into his strong arms, his voice gentle as he whispers comforting words to his babygirl.

"There, there. It's okay. Mickey's your friend—"

"Wahhhhh!!"

"Aw, come on, Ava!” Hugh says, his Australian accent reaching an exhausted pitch. “Mickey's nice! Don't be scared!"

Oscar, meanwhile, stands next to Mickey, giggling and waving at the massive character. He finds his sister's fear absolutely hilarious, his curly head shaking in disbelief. Shar sighs, taking the wailing Ava from Hugh and rocks her gently.

"Don't worry, everything is ok.” Shar coos.

Funnily enough, it only takes a couple of seconds for the one year old to clam down. Shar plants a proud kiss on Ava's forehead, blowing a raspberry at Hugh.

"See? She loves me best!"

Hugh raises an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Now, now, Shar. Don't be too sure about that." He tickles Ava's tummy, earning a delightful fit of giggles. "Who's the real favorite here, hmm?"

Ava kicks her legs and coos. Cautiously the Mickey and Minnie Mouse mascots slide back into the frame, prompting the photographer to finally take a pic.

Mission? Complete.

Shar and Hugh moves on, their laughter mingling with the crowded park as they head to get some food. Walking through Disneyland is full workout—you can get hungry quick. By the time Hugh and Shar strolled through to the food stands, their stomachs were growling super loud.

"So, these special 'Sweethearts' treats..." Shar begins, her eyes scanning the options. "What should we try first?"

The options are mouthwatering, to say the least. There's a churro cart offering pink churros dusted with red and white sprinkles, served with a side of chocolate-covered strawberries.

Nearby, a stand offers mini heart-shaped pizzas, the sauce creating a vibrant red base for the white cheese hearts in the center.

Another specialty is heart-shaped beignets dusted with powdered sugar, paired with red and pink lemonade.

"Ah, the beignets!" Shar's voice cuts through the noise, his eyes lighting up at the sight. "Disneyland beignets are the best, trust me."

"Better than Le Festin's beignets?" Hugh teases.

Shar elbows him, rolling her eyes. "Duhh, of course."

Soon enough, they're borh holding a heart-shaped beignet, the warmth of the pastries seeping through the paper bags. The first bite is pure bliss—soft, airy dough with a sweet dusting of powdered sugar.

"Mmm," Shar moans, licking the sugar from her lips. "These are dangerous. I could eat, like, ten of these."

"You won't be saying that when you see the mess they make," Hugh teases, already sporting a little dusting of sugar on his shirt.

As if on cue, they both turn to see Oscar and Ava with tons of powdered sugar on them. The mess is impressive, to say the least. The kids look like miniature abominable snowmen, their faces, clothes, and hands coated in a thick layer of white.

"Look, Daddy! We're ghosts!" Oscar exclaims, waving his sugary hands in the air.

Ava, not to be outdone, mimics her brother, resulting in a shower of sugar. "Ga-goo!" she shouts.

Shar and Hugh's eyes both widen, looking at each other is disbelief.

"Oh, we should've just kept them at Aunt Whit's, for sure," Shar says, her eyes widening at the sugar-coated children.

Hugh nods in agreeance, wincing at the mess.

“Yeah…I agree…”

In the evening, tons of pink hearts illuminate Disneyland. The air is crisp, filled with the laughter of excited guests and the distant melody of beloved Disney songs.

Shar, Hugh, and the kids (after an agnozing hour of trying to get all the power off) make their way to the "It's a Small World" attraction.

The line moves quickly, and soon enough, they're stepping into one of the colorful boats, cozying up together as they float along the sparkling river.

"Look at all the lights, Ava! Aren't they pretty?"

Shar says, pointing at the vibrant display. Ava, nestled securely in her arms, giggles and claps her tiny hands, utterly captivated.

The boat glides through the attraction, passing by animatronic dolls from different countries, all singing in harmony. The familiar melody fills the air, creating a cheerful atmosphere.

"It's a small world after all..."

"It's a small world after all..."

Hugh snuggles up next to Shar, not even paying attention to the show around him—just the happy, smiling face of his darling.

Just a few days ago, her face had been etched with worry from the fight that broke out in Le Festin: glass was shattered, punches were thrown…his rival, The Backstreet Boys, had caused quite a scene, leaving Shar frazzled for a long time…

Now? She looks happy. Relaxed. Beautiful…

"…Man, she's so fucking gorgeous."

Meanwhile, Oscar, who was initially fascinated by the display, begins to grow restless. He shifts in his seat, his eyes scanning the vibrant scenes with lessened wonder.

"Daddy, I wanna get off now," he whines, fidgeting.

"Just a bit longer, buddy," Hugh replies, his attention divided between his son and Shar.

But Oscar has had enough of sitting still.

Before anyone can react, Oscar wriggles free from his seat and leaps from the boat, landing with a splash in the shallow water below.

"Ahhhhh!"

Oscar screams and laughs, having fun in the water before wading toward the nearest animatronic doll, a Japanese girl dressed in a kimono, waving excitedly.

Shar snaps up, her eyes widening at Oscar.

"Oscar!? Get back here! Oh ma gosh— oh my gosh!!!”

In an instant, Hugh reacts. He dives from the boat, leaving a startled Shar behind, her eyes wide as she takes in the chaotic scene.

"Hugh! Oscar!" she shouts, her voice echoing among the cheerful songs of the animatronics.

Hugh soon surfaces, his expression intense as he reaches for his son. He grabs Oscar's hand, pulling him back toward the boat.

"What do you think you're doing, young man?" he demands, his voice shivering from the cold water dripping from his hair and clothes.

Daddy Hugh is pissed.

Oscar’s bottom lip pouts. "But Daddy, I wanted to say hi to the doll!"

"Say hi to the doll!?" Hugh takes a deep breathe, his eyes flaming in worry and anger. "Boy—you're gonna say hi to a spanking if you do that again."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Oscar says, shrugging. "I just wanted to play."

As Hugh and Oscar sit into the boat, dripping wet, Shar looks between them both awkwardly. She clears her throat, trying to lighten the mood. "Well... at least we know Oscar is fully clean now! Hehe…”

Hugh raises an eyebrow. He can't help but smile at Shar's attempt to ease the tension. His stern expression softens, and he shakes his head, sending droplets flying. "You're something else, you know that babe?"

Shar gives him a gentle smile. “Yeah, I get that a lot."

Hugh smiles, fighting the urge to kiss Shar again—he doesn't wanna get her wet too. But needless to say, he doesn't even have time to: the ride comes to a halt, and all four of them get kicked out of the colorful attraction.

On the positive side though, at least they all made it out just in time for the fireworks display…

Explosions of color light up the night sky.

Fireworks burst forth, painting the darkness with vibrant hues. The castle serves as the perfect backdrop, its elegant structure framed by the sparkling display. Oscar and Ava are both fast asleep in the double stroller, leaving the couple to watch the fireworks in peace.

Finally.

"Oooo look, how beautiful!" Shar's eyes sparkle with delight as she takes in the dancing lights. Her fingers lace with Hugh's, her soft palms against his calloused fingers.

The pink fireworks reflect off the lake, creating a magical atmosphere. Each explosion is accompanied by a symphony of Disney love songs, filling the air with familiar melodies.

But while Shar's attention is fixed on the dazzling display, Hugh's focus is solely on her. He drinks in the sight of Shar, her eyes wide and sparkling with joy.

In this moment, he wants to freeze time, to bottle up this feeling of contentment and keep her safe forever. He thinks how one day, he will have to tell Shar his deep, dark secret—about the mafia, the danger, and the lives he's taken…

But for now, he just wants to relish this moment of pure happiness, of seeing the wonder and innocence on Shar's face.

"BUM BUM BUM BUM!”

"Ahhhhhhh"

The grand finale is marked by a symphony of colorful explosions, each one more magnificent than the last.

Shar turns to Hugh, her eyes shining. "Tonight was so perfect!" She throws her arms around him (despite him still being as wet as a river) squeezing tightly, and lets out an happy squeal.

“Thanks for taking me babe!"

Hugh's heart swells. He holds her closer, breathing in the scent of her curly hair and committing this moment to memory.

“Anything for you, Shar.”

The last crackling pops fade into the distance, leaving behind a magical silence. In this moment, Hugh leans in, cupping Shar's face gently, and kisses her.

The kiss is soft and sweet, just like the beignets they ate that enchanted evening.

[lewis-winters]

Day 13: Fear

Part of my OC-tober 2022 (that will get fucking finished in 2024 so help me god)! Well. We're indulging this time around with some Baldur's Gate 3 on my Band of Brothers/HBO War Blog. I guess. Honestly, with how many OCs I have in other fandoms, I might just start playing around with them for this prompt list, too!

tw: If you're starting to notice a pattern in my writing with parenthood, in iterations of both problematic or good, uuuuuhhhh no you fucking don't.

They’ve been sitting by the fire in the Elfsong tavern for a whole of hour, in perfect silence, before Jaheira chooses to break it. “You will not return upstairs.”

It’s not a question. Still, Pasiphaë answers it as one. “Not until they’re all in bed. I’ve no patience right now,” she tells her with a deep sigh. “For anyone or myself. I… do not like who I was today.”

Belligerent. Jumpy. Too slow to react, too impulsive in her decisions. Near unrecognizable, as compared to her original cool and collected demeanor at the beginning of their journey. She expected better of herself, and her companions definitely deserved better than the kind of mess she’s become. But they’ve been running on near fumes for the past few days, having been tossed about here and there by Mystra, Shar, Lorroakan, cultists, Orin, and Cazador, all alike. On top of that, Serafina had decided to join in on their quest, despite Pasiphaë’s explicit orders for her to get out of the city while she still could—truly, there was a time when her sweet little girl would obey her with no question, but alas! she’s inherited her other mother’s bullheaded-ness. Pun intended. Not for the first time, Pasiphaë found herself wishing that Melisandre were still around to share in her pride over their daughter’s immense bravery. The abrupt reminder of what she no longer had—after several months of not thinking about Mel even once—had been enough to throw her off her rhythm completely. The day had already started being kind of shit.

Ulder Ravengard and his unfortunate decision to mouth off about his son’s new appearance was the last straw.

“I lost my temper.” The verbal dressing down was spectacular while it was happening. Invigorating, even. Pasiphaë doesn’t remember the last time she’s felt such catharsis. After the months of non-stop action, it was good to release it all.

It was the stunned silence afterward that felt particularly… damned. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Bah, he deserved it,” Jaheira scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “He is better off for listening to your wisdom.”

“Calling whatever that was ‘wisdom’ is too generous.”

“But it is what it is: a mother’s wisdom.”

Pasiphaë snaps; “I’m not Wyll’s mother,” and Jaheira tilts her head back and lets out a hearty HA! loud enough to draw the attention of other patrons.

“You are not just his mother, that is for sure,” Jaheira says, wagging an admonishing finger at her. “All of them seem to have attached themselves to you like little suckling pups to a bitch’s teats.”

“Your metaphors leave much to be desired, Jaheira.”

“You were protecting your pup, is what I mean,” Jaheira shrugs. “Even if it is from his own blood. Wyll holds you under no contempt for such a display. I may even go so far as to say that he’s grateful for it.”

“Perhaps.” Oh, but Wyll loves his father so—even when the man has done nothing but abandon him. Pasiphaë knows it isn’t right to get between father and son, not as a simple party member, and most certainly not while one still holds out hope for reconciliation. She might’ve just ruined Wyll’s chances back there, with her vindictive nature and even sharper tongue. If she had, would he ever forgive her?

As if reading her thoughts, Jaheira tsks. “We mothers, we always want what is best for our children. Nobody can fault us for that.” There’s a small smile on her face; a tiny quirk of the corner of her lip that feels conspirative. Like they’re in on a joke together.

Technically, they are. Pasiphaë smiles back. Or tries to. “Whatever you say.”

Their conversation, once again, falls to silence. Patrons come and go, and the tavern keeper’s boy comes once and twice to stoke the fires until, finally, they fizzle out into glowing embers. The night grows even quieter soon after, with the patrons quickly disappearing out the door, or into other rooms, until, finally, it is just them, and the occasional drunkard outside.

“You can go. Rest,” Pasiphaë says, aware that it is late. Tomorrow (later?), they are to confront Gortash. “We’ll need all our strength come morning.”

“You are determined to keep vigil.”

“Someone has to.”

“If I were to climb up those stairs, I would not be surprised to see some of your pups waiting for you by their fire,” Jaheira chuckles, standing up with an exaggerated groan—her knees are not what they used to be. “No doubt, they will send me back down again—or even come down themselves—if I return empty handed. Come, now.”

She offers her hand.

Pasiphaë stares at it.

Something in her chest shudders with anxiety and—is it her imagination? The tadpole behind her eye, wriggling with a sordid kind of glee?

“I fear I cannot be to them what they need me to be, Jaheira.”

Jaheira frowns, confused. Still, she keeps her hand out. “And what is that?”

What, indeed? A leader? With the amount of times she’s failed them? Perish the thought. A caretaker? Barely. Her hands are not made for healing, anymore. Certainly not with the Triad’s silence and her simmering resentment over it. And what comfort she could give is quickly dwarfed by the enormity of all their suffering. What use is a lullaby, when she couldn’t even hold Karlach enough to soothe her tears? What use is her sword, when it can scarcely keep Lae’zel from the betrayal of her kin, queen, and god? Clearly, Pasiphaë couldn’t even call herself a protector—just two days ago, she’d failed to protect Astarion from his worst possible self, leaving the burden to Gale, instead; and just last tenday, Shar had taken from Shadowheart her last connection to her past, while all Pasiphaë could do was helplessly watch. Hells, she certainly couldn’t protect Wyll, who only ever looked to her for wisdom and guidance. Or even Gale, whose final decision haunts them all—Astarion, especially, who has begged her over and over again to make Gale see reason. But how could she, when all she could think about is his fate as both Faithless and Discarded? She understands too well the challenge that lays before him to possibly talk him out of his task in any way that matters. The blasted Wall remains a prominent phantom in Gale’s mind as much as hers; but while she’s resigned to her own fate, that doesn’t mean he should be, too.

Gods, but what will she tell Morena, then? Tara? Astarion? That she let their beloved boy die, simply because the folly of the gods and their selfish nature was too strong for her to fight? No. That would not do.

And yet. She hesitates.

“If I am their mother, as you say I am,” she tells Jaheira. “I am a shit mother. My Melisandre would be ashamed to see how poorly of a mother I am being.”

Jaheira knits her brows together. “Your partner?”

“Yes.” Her beloved. The mother of her children. The balm to her soul. The light in her darkness; Pasiphaë is never going to see her again. “She was always better at this than I—my children—I was never—”

“Serafina seems to adore you.”

“Now,” Pasiphaë entreats, feeling the blasted tadpole wriggle and squirm behind her stupid eyes the more distressed she becomes. “I have failed her before, terribly, and it was only time that allowed those wounds to heal. Time is not on my side, now. If I fail them—when I fail them—”

She stops. She cannot bear to think of it. But it is inevitable. “I fear that it is not a matter of if, but when I fail them, Jaheira. I am cursed to repeat my mistakes. And when I do… gods when I do…”

“You will not.”

“You are a fool to—”

“Ha!” Jaheira barks, snatching back her offered hand to reach out and shake Pasiphaë by the shoulders. Like she were a kitten being pulled back by her scruff. Gone is the amicable, conspiratorial smile, replaced thoroughly by a stern glare. “It is you who is the fool to let such thoughts paralyze you!” She lets her go, wags a finger in her face, “you have fallen out of practice in the art of seeing yourself as what you are. What you are truly capable of.”

“But I am capable of failure!”

“And you are capable of triumph!” Jaheira snaps, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. “Why are you so determined to fail?”

Pasiphaë blinks. Blinks again. Something hot rolls down her cheeks and she scrubs at them with her hands. They come away wet.

“You said, once, that you are destined for the Wall of the Faithless. This is the truth. In many ways, you are,” Jaheira continues, kneeling on the ground so as to catch her eyes. “But you are not dead yet. Your pups are not dead yet. Pull it together; you must see this—if not for yourself, then for them.”

For them. Yes. For them. Children are only as resilient as their parents, Melisandre used to say. Whisper in her ear, when the worst of the grief had taken over as their baby girl cooled in her arms. Phaedra is gone, but Xenodius and Serafina yet live. For them, Pasiphaë had rallied. Taken up what strength she had left, and trudged forward.

Get up, she thinks Melisandre would say, now. Get up, my love. They are hurt, but they are yet living. Get up.

“I wish I had your wisdom,” Pasiphaë says, finally, after a long moment of silence. It comes out in a croak, barely a whisper, barely even words. Still, she manages a small smile. “True mother’s wisdom.”

Jaheira tsks. But slowly, she too returns a smile. “You have it. As I said: you are just… out of practice. Come, now,” again, she gets up on her creaky knees with an exaggerated groan.

And offers her hand. “Your pups might sleep better, knowing that their mother is nearby.”

This time, Pasiphaë takes it. “Their bitch of a mother?”

Jaheira laughs. Laughs and laughs, even as she pulls Pasiphaë toward the stairs and their camp. It’s loud and bawdy and definitely a great disturbance. But it does sound like music, and Pasiphaë likes hearing it. “Just so!”

--

Pasiphaë Elago is my Tav. She's a moon-elf, and a Paladin of Ilmater/the Triad turned Godless Paladin-- it's a long story. She's named Pasiphaë because her late wife, Melisandre, was a druid whose wild shape was a bull. I think I'm funny. Before the events of BG3, she was an adventurer in her own right, and is technically retired and is literally broaching 500 by the time she's kidnapped by the Ilithids. That being said, because she's so old and had just lost her wife a few years prior, she doesn't romance the BG3 characters but accidentally adopts them all during their whole tadpole ordeal. Oh make no mistake, Astarion, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Lae'zel tried to hit that, but she shut that down so fast-- "Some of you are as old as my eldest grandchild. It's awkward." Team Mom! Total GILF!! And also!! suffering. Help her, she thought she was done having to parent like this after watching 2 of her 3 children (the last died during the Spellplague) grow up, move out, and make families of their own. She's supposed to be RETIRED, damnit. She's trying so hard. She just wants a NAP.

Speaking of Greek Myths, isn't it funny that Astarion shares a name with the Minotaur? I swear, I didn't think of that before naming Pasiphaë. I did, however, think of it when naming Ariadne Ancunin, my other BG3 OC, who happens to also be Astarion's biological sister. The name's important. Ariadne gave Theseus the power to kill her Minotaur brother, after all. But that's for another day entirely.

None of this makes sense to any of you. That's fine. It's for ME.

[faize-art]

AFTERWARD: OF SWORD & SHIELD (Ch. 2)

Previous Chapter

As you enter the location Withers had provided you with for the reunion party, you find yourself familiar with the area.

“There you are.” Shadowheart greets you with an unexpected hug. “I was wondering if you were ever going to show up. Ah—and it looks like you do know how to dress up when you feel like it.”

You hug her back. Her hug is tight and comforting as the both of you stand near the water’s edge.

This is where it all began. You recall. Where Lae’zel, Gale, Shadowheart, Astarion, and you first camped out in the wilderness together between Roadside Cliffs and Emerald Grove.

“I’m a busy mind flayer,” you half-joke with her as you let go of each other.

“I don’t doubt that.” She remarks with a giggle and a bright smile. “Hm. You feel more…supple.”

“And you look good too,” you compliment her back.

“I know.” She smiles confidently. “It sure beats having to scavenge for food. Ugh. I remember nights when we barely had anything to scrape by with.”

“…” You reflect on her comment. Your memory of the camp supplies growing scarce a rare occurrence since you made it a priority to stockpile on the daily.

“So, tell me, what have you been up to? Still adventuring?”

You observe Shadowheart for a second. She is genuinely content with her life, and that notion gives you a sense of untroubled joy for her.

“The Emperor and I have been busy making plans, and it has been proving itself promising,” you say without further explanation.

Her face contorts a bit. An expected expression of concern, doubt, and happiness mixed into one.

“As long as this Grand Plan doesn’t involve innocent mass murder or tadpoles, I’ll leave you two to it,” she says in a teasing manner.

“And you? What have you been up to?” You ask.

“Mostly adventuring myself. Though, I do not know if I would call myself a full-out Selûne follower yet,” she pauses for a moment and then resumes. “But I’m willing to find out.”

“Will you become Selûne rhetoric?”

“Oh gods, no. I don’t know how you were able to put up with all that.”

“It was manageable.”

She laughs at your response and then says, “I know my parents were devoted followers of Selûne. With Shar…I was never given the chance to choose. At least this time around, I have a choice and can pave my own path even without my past memories.”

“Your parents will be proud of you, Shadowheart.”

She smiles softly at you. Her fond memories of adventuring alongside you sentimental. And the single kiss the two of you shared beneath the dark skies that night with a bottle of vintage wine poured into your brass goblets, unforgettable. “Thank you, Tav. That means a lot. Now, don’t let me stop you from catching up with everyone else. I’m sure they all want to catch up as well. I will see you around.”

You hug each other again, and then you wander away from the moonlit water’s edge to the blazing bonfire lighting up the night sky where Wyll happily danced.

After you had bid farewell to Wyll and his newfound mercenary life, you float to view the elaborate spread of savory dishes and fruit on the extended dining table.

No brains. You confirm. It seems Withers has somehow forgotten you are a mind flayer, or perhaps Withers intended there to be no brains at the party except for your friends. After all, a mind flayer only needs to consume an intelligent brain for its psionic energy biweekly—a brain once a week being a luxury for any privileged illithid.

“My heart.” A much older man’s voice stops you from viewing the spread.

“Halsin,” you greet him with a twinkle in your barely noticeable black-green irises.

“You would think someone of my vintage would be inured to the passage of time, yet these past six months have seemed endless without your company. But now our paths cross once more…” he poetically says in that sentimental druid fashion of his.

“Let me guess. Just as fate intended?” You lightly tease him in return.

His soft hazelnut eyes peer down at you with much glee. He cannot help himself from letting out a chuckle along with that familiar wide grin of his.

“Yes. Just as fate intended,” he sheepishly agrees. “I cannot help but idle on the times we all have spent together. It weighs me down and causes me to miss everyone…everything.”

You glance at Halsin with listening ears, his soothing voice playing like a comforting lullaby, and it makes you recall the first time you met within the prison cells of the goblin camp. Albeit you did not care for the old hunky druid in the beginning since you had too much on your mind—and in it. Yet, he had a way of gently rooting himself into your life like oak seedling and soil.

He looks handsome. Your wandering mind informs you. You subconsciously eye Halsin’s crisp attire he has on. His clothing of choice enhances his appeal. It is a fine combination.

“Ah. Forgive me if I am talking too much,” Halsin suddenly stops himself from engaging in speech any further. “I tend to have a habit of rambling nonstop, and oftentimes, I catch myself too late.”

“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him. “I like to listen to you talk. It is calming.”

He chuckles out of slight nervousness, smiling ever so gently your way. “I’m glad you see it that way.”

You smile back at him, your beady eyes squinting in endearment. “You seem…under. Perhaps you would like a hug to ease your discomfort?”

Without any hesitation, Halsin’s large arms pull you into an embrace. His body is tough, yet warm like an old hearth filled with undying flames prancing quietly about on a cool night, and his muscular arms that are wrapped around your much slimmer frame holds onto you tightly like a long-lost lover. You lean into each other with quiet sighs and closed eyes, seconds of this very moment fleeting by.

Hm? A strong sensation of safety mixed with arising lust and drunken love pulses through your cerebellum. You sense Halsin may have other intentions hidden from you, and as tempting as it may be to sexually probe his mind, you ignore it.

“Ah, there it is. That is what I have been missing,” he comments on with another sigh before you let go of each other.

“You aren’t afraid?” You ask.

“How can I be when I know you are my heart.”

His words melt you, and you chuckle lightly in thought. “I recall you have quite a few young wards to care for—nine wagons of them, wasn’t it?”

“Ah, my greatest purpose, and greatest reward. Those children have been through more than fate had any right to cast at them, and yet they go on, as resilient as anything in nature. I impart what knowledge I can to them, yet in truth they teach me far more. The land we save is theirs, and they will cherish it, I am sure. Thaniel and Oliver shall never want for friends ever again.”

“Is this the balance you were speaking about back then?”

“It is…but it also isn’t.”

“Why is that?”

Halsin explains to you in detail the downsides of his perceived vision, but it is thoroughly countered with how lush the fields are and how rapidly the population is rising in Reithwin Town and Moonrise. How, after the Shadow Curse was broken, the entirety of the landscape has changed dramatically and is barely recognizable now. He talks deeply and fondly about the children and how he nurtures and cares for them like they are his own, and it inspires you in your own illithid way of who you once were. If anything, you probably would have been happy being at Halsin’s side, too, if you did not turn.

“I will definitely have to pay Reithwin a visit,” you inform him.

“Yes, you should,” Halsin agrees. “In fact, I was thinking that you should visit whenever you please to. I do not see why we should only gather like this when we can meet more often. After all, my door is always open for you. All of you.”

“Thank you, Halsin.”

You embrace each other’s body again, and then he plants a kiss onto your forehead. Surprising you.

“Before you go, I have something for you—just a little keepsake, really.” He quickly reaches into his bag, pulling out an object. “Do you remember how I told you I like to whittle? I made this…”

In the palm of his large tan hand lay a wooden carved duck. The jagged strokes in its every curvature nicked with care and the details of its wings smooth.

Halsin once mentioned liking ducks…and honey. You dimly remember.

“Ducks are my favorite, but I thought they were particularly fitting in this case. They are migratory birds, of course, traveling far and wide with the turn of the seasons.” He hands the gift to you, and you carefully receive it, your fingertips grazing each other’s. “Yet they always find their way back to where they belong, just like old friends find themselves back in each other’s company.”

“It is lovely. Thank you for the thoughtful gift.”

“Uh-hum, yes. Now…do not let me hog you all to myself. The night is still young, and you still have plenty of friends to talk to. I will be here if you need anything, my treasure.”

You float away with the wooden duck in hand. A bit of ways away from the flickering bonfire, you sit down on a fallen log to admire the whittled masterpiece in your hand.

“Hey, it’s you, so you did show up!” A gleeful voice with many elongated tones in it welcomes you. “I wasn’t sure our withered old friend would live up to his promise, but here we are.”

“Good to see you, Astarion,” you greet him.

“Gods, did the old Druid make that for you? Pft. I didn’t think you were the sentimental type since you’re—well…you know,” he gestures at you with both arms swaying up and then down. “Sooo. How have you been darling? What have you been up to? At least I assume it is you in there. It’s a little hard to tell.”

You put Halsin's gift away and kindly smile at the pale elf. “The Emperor and I have been busy. I would indulge you with the details, but unfortunately, I cannot.”

“Well…that doesn’t sound ominous at all,” he awkwardly laughs it off.

“How are you faring? Not drunk on blood, are you?”

“Oh please,” he scoffs in a semi-haughty way, “I know how to control myself, dear. There’s no need to worry. Anyway, I have been doing…good, thank you.”

You do not pry into his mind, but you read his facial expressions and his body language. He isn’t lying. He is doing well.

“I am happy for you. Truly,” you wholeheartedly reply.

“As am I,” he remarks with bits of his sinister-like giggles mixed into his own self-realization. “You know, I’ve taken a turn as an adventurer and hero. And it turns out that no one actually cares about murder. So long as you murder the right people, no one cares. And apparently, I am rather good at it. Hah! Would you believe that?”

“Astarion, a hero? Who would have guessed?” You joke back.

“Darling, please. I am still me. Perhaps more ‘me’ than I have ever been. I also find the whole hero thing rather fun sometimes—not that it wasn’t fun when I was with the team.”

“Noted.”

“But you know, during these six months of simply trying to survive, I learned to embrace who I am. What I am. Part of that was learning to embrace the shadows instead of trying to run away from it. It’s funny, because at first, I thought I was trapped by the shadows and cursed to live in them forever. But in time, I realized that darkness is as much a part of me as my fangs are. After all, it is only a curse so long as I refuse to embrace the shadows. So, I decided I would.”

“Does that mean you don’t miss walking out in the sun anymore?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I still do miss it. And I don’t think I will ever stop trying to look for a cure, but learning to embrace what I am, and doing what I want to do and not what others want me to do has been life changing.”

A slight murmur to your heart ripples throughout your pale-mauve body, and a pulsing sensation of insuperable elation floods your entirety. You are happy. “Really. I am glad to see you happy with yourself, with your life. That is all I wish for, for you.”

Astarion smiles charmingly at you, his smile relaxed and filled with sentiment.

“Thank you darling,” he says with a sincere smile.

***

While Withers’ reunion party was pleasant, catching up with everyone was surprisingly and unexpectedly pleasing. You return to the Knights of the Shield at the break of dawn. The reason for your late arrival home was because there were no brains served at the party, or at least no dead and ready-to-be served brains to your avail.

With a turn of the key, the heavy and sturdy door unlocks itself, and you invite yourself into the main entrance of the guild's stone covered hall.

“Welcome back, Master Tav,” Nevine is quick to greet you, her body stripped of her usual medium armor and covered in lightweight loungewear, and her hefty greatsword lay at her side as she sits directly across the extended Main Hall table facing the main entrance door.

“Still awake?” You question her while locking the sturdy door and then sticking the key back into your pocket.

“I could not rest,” she gives you a curt reply after seeing you have returned home as your mind flayer self, covered mildly in blood.

“Judging from your response, you are agitated,” you point out.

“How can I not be when you have disappeared for longer than usual Master? I thought you would certainly be back by midnight. And by the gods, it is past twilight hours, and you return to your quarters a bloodied mess.”

You sigh. “You are worrying too much, Nevine. I can manage myself. I am not as feeble as you think. And this…this is but the blood of a criminal I stalked outside of the city.”

“But you are a mind flayer. Do you not worry about your own safety?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Yet you are as reckless as the Emperor, and I am stuck here worrying if you will return today or not,” she complains, her agitation turning into dejection.

You study her. Sense her. Feel her every thought that is deliberately spilling out. And then you apologize.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Know that it is not intentional. I am simply busy. Please understand that much.”

Her fiery golden yellow eyes peer over at you harshly and then soften. “Yes. I know. I am trying to. I just cannot help but feel like a failure if I were to fail protecting you. What will I do then? Can you imagine the things the Emperor will smite onto us…to me? You are an irreplaceable asset.”

Nevine mildly reminded you of Karlach. They were not the same, but their passion for those they care for burned near the same. Although Karlach was no longer here amongst your former allies, you think of her often. How the rising yellow-orange hues of the morning sun had gradually risen above the reflective orange salt waters that day, and how she had groveled onto her armored rose red knees at the end of the dock huffing and breathing heavily with a hand on her chest before her mechanical heart finally gave out.

“I adore you,” she had said to you before bursting into cinders in front of everyone.

A sense of guilt begins to encumber you as Nevine’s golden yellow eyes weep over in your direction, and you find yourself perplexed about past grievances.

Perhaps you should have granted Karlach that final request she was so sure of and allowed her to become a mind flayer in your stead. If you did, she would still be here to this day, and Astarion and you would have worked out. Or, perhaps you should have ventured down to Avernus with her and fought alongside her for a cure or an upgraded fix just as she fought alongside you. Perhaps. Yet, you were selfish and took those options away from her.

You set aside your inner turmoil of feelings and straighten yourself out. Logic over any emotional outburst will help you maintain a sense of control and balance.

“Nevine my loyal confidant, if you are unable to sleep after an hour, let me know, and I will make you a vile of mild sleeping potion,” you chastise her before leaving the guild hall area. “Sleep is essential in order to properly operate the following day, and I do not wish ill on you…”

Nevine nods her head and then bows lightly. You can sense the sadness in her heart. Her loyalty to you is unceasing and one-sided, and her unsaid love for you unreciprocated.

***

You lay in bed with one hand clasped over the other. Your hands resting on your bare pale-mauve chest and your breathing calm and steady. Nevine’s harsh words from earlier loop in your brain as you gradually wake from your light slumber.

“Yet you are as reckless as the Emperor, and I am stuck here worrying if you will return today or not,” her voice repeats itself.

It dawns on you that you may be putting too much trust into the Emperor venturing out from the city to network. Then again. Why should you worry? You know the Emperor is capable, and he has managed fine so far.

But what if his luck runs out? You ponder. He was lucky and saved by Ansur the first time…and the second time he became enthralled, it was due to Gortash. Will he be lucky a third time if he were to encounter another Elder Brain?

You think back on Nevine's expression. How her fiery golden eyes wavered so passionately after saying those words to you. How she was trying her hardest not to burst into tears like a child even though she is a grown Tiefling.

Ah…I see. You acknowledge her standpoint. That must be how she views me in her eyes.

You chuckle to yourself in amusement. To Nevine, you are like another Emperor—self-preserving, freedom seeking, and relying on luck to survive in an Illithid shunned world; survival, independence, acceptance, and ambition being your core values. That is quite ironic. You comment on, knowing very well that you are merely another Nevine waiting on their Emperor to return home with trifling unease.

-

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[blackjackkent]

He Who Was stiffens as he hears Hector's footfalls approaching. Turning in a single sharp movement, he sniffs the air like a wolf scenting its prey.

"The air stirs in trepidation," he hisses with relish. "You have the ledger."

Hector shifts, puts a hand against the battered book in his pack. It is, indeed, the proof He Who Was was seeking - a record of Reithwin's distiller, Madeline, turning her Selunite neighbors over to the Justiciars during the rising days of Shar's curse, a century ago.

His own heart, broken and battered by the things he witnessed in the village, urges him to hand it over, to submit to whatever He Who Was has in mind for Madeline's soul. But his mind, still struggling for control, hesitates; this desire for vengeance, even for so many lost souls, is not what he was taught...

"Tell me why you want it, first," he says softly.

"To punish a murderer," the pale elf snaps. "If that is not enough, leave. I have no time for those lacking commitment."

A long pause. Then Hector pulls the book from his pack and extends it in the other man's direction. "Here," he says quietly. "Take it."

He Who Was takes the book and eagerly flips through it. It doesn't take him long to interpret the sparse words within, and a cold, hard smile spreads across his face. "We have it," he whispers with a strange, ravenous glint in his black-on-black eyes. "Her lies. Her *guilt.* Madeline reported her friends to a Dark Justiciar and fled when they were butchered."

He turns to look down balefully at the woman's dead body sprawled on the sigil crudely drawn into the dirt.

"Well, she flees no more," he snarls. "I will be the conduit for Madeline's spirit. I will force her to face trial."

His eyes return to Hector's face, insistent, demanding. "And you will be the judge. Make her beg. Make her *suffer.*" There's an animal hunger in the way he leans into the final word.

Hector feels his skin prickle. There is really no escaping the fact - whatever fancy words they choose to dress it up in, this is an exercise in revenge, not justice, and he is being a party to it. And he hates the fact that even now, several days after seeing what happened in Reithwin, he still feels an urge to lean into that - to punish, to destroy.

This is a monstrous place, he reminds himself firmly. Do not let it make you a monster as well. But the grief and the anger and the fear - for his lost brethren and for himself - still lurk so shallowly below the surface.

"Let's see what she has to say first," he says noncommittally.

The elf smiles coldly. "Careful," is all he says. "For a serpent in life is a serpent in death."

Turning, he lays the ledger at his feet at the edge of the circle. Then he stands, squares his shoulders, and stares down at the corpse, absorbing every inch of it. "Witness her," he hisses.

The effect is instantaneous. His head snaps back and he goes stiff as a board, staring out into the darkness. A burst of pale green light flares around his boots, up through his body, across the still corpse and the sigils and candles around it. Light pours from the elf's mouth and the corner of his eyes and he wails, a strange, ululating groan that resonates through his whole being.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it is suddenly over. The light fades, the elf's head turns sharply to look at Hector - and the expression it wears is completely different.

Unlike He Who Was's usual intense, impenetrable glare, his features are now drawn in visible terror. His shoulders hunch down, his hips loosening, his hands coming together and fidgeting with desperate energy. And a woman's voice pours from his lips, terrified and ingratiating.

"You!" he -- she? -- babbles. "He said I was gonna be punished. That you'd be the judge. But I didn't mean to hurt anyone!"

Hector swallows uncomfortably. This, then, is what He Who Was meant by being a conduit. He is speaking directly to Madeline through the strange man's body...and he is expected to pass sentence.

He feels suddenly entirely unequal to the task - the desire for vengeance and for compassion at war with each other in his heart. He closes his eyes for a moment and speaks with careful, deliberate control.

[MONK] "Peace - speak your truth. We will go from there."

"I said it didn't mean nothin'," Madeline says desperately. "That Ben n' Marc were just drunk n' whining. The Dark Justiciar promised she was gonna chat with 'em. She *promised.*"

Hector resists the urge to look over his shoulder at Shadowheart; he already knows that whatever she might be thinking about this conversation, her face will show nothing of it.

"If it was drunk complaining," he says slowly, "why did you report them?"

She flinches away from him. "The Dark Justiciar said to report everythin'. Big or small," she whispers. "She ain't the type you say no to."

She looks down. "She gave 'em a dagger each, and told 'em to press it against their stomachs. On the count of three to 'start stabbin', and not stop till she said so."

Her eyes lift to Hector's again, her expression twisting He Who Was's features into a sharp image of grief and regret. "She never said stop. I'd do anything to take it back. Anything..."

Hector's insides twist with horror at the scene she describes. The Sharran invasion under Ketheric Thorm seems to have been built on a foundation of sadism unlike anything he has ever heard of before, and that same fury that he felt back in the House of Healing begins to rise in his chest.

And yet...this is not the target for it. The clear part of his mind knows that. This woman's crime is cowardice - she spoke up out of fear, and trusted what she was told, and has, it seems, never stopped grieving for her mistake. The unnamed Justiciar is the one who should suffer...but she is out of reach.

To indulge himself in a parody of vengeance here would solve nothing, not even his own fury. And it would be the same mindless, self-satisfying cruelty that the Justiciars themselves enacted on these people.

Karlach moves up quietly next to him, rests a hand on his shoulder. She doesn't say anything, but he can feel the meaning in the touch. You know what the right thing is to do. We both do.

He draws a slow breath and lets it out shakily. [MONK][PERSUASION] "Forgiveness comes from within," he says softly. "I cannot gift it to you. But know that...I would, if I could."

Madeline blinks, and her eyes widen. "What I did was wrong," she whispers. "And I won't ever forgive myself. But...hearin' that just one person doesn't hate me...that one person forgives me...makes the load so much lighter." Her voice begins to drift off into silence, like a sigh of blessed relief. "Thank you..."

He Who Was's body spasms; the light begins to bleed back out of his mouth and his eyes. He draws a sudden hoarse gasp in, staggers back on his heels, and then comes up onto the balls of his feet with a roar of violent fury.

"Aaaaarrrrggggh! You were supposed to make her suffer!" he snarls. "Not forgive her!"

Hector's eyes narrow slightly. "Do not speak to me like that," he says coolly. It took more than a little effort to do the right thing just now, and he will not be abused for it.

"You're right," He Who Was sneers. "Now is not the time for talk." He draws the polearm from his back in a single smooth motion as the raven at his side makes an abrupt dive for Hector's face. "You have crossed me! And for that, I end your *pathetic* life!"

[faerunscursed]

Isobel sensed something off, though she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Her feet were bare as she moved through the grand hall of Moonrise towers. Walls as white as the moon, the beautiful stonework of the moon maiden engraved into the walls and symbolic images of the moon or stars all around. Stain glass windows held different imagery, some of flowers, others of the crescent moon, of brilliant white deer and more. And the sun shimmered through as it was setting offering up a kaleidoscope of colors. She reached her hand up and allowed it to dance in the colors with a chuckle on her lips before heading up the stairs.

The brief moment of joy faded, still concerned. Where had her father been all day? In fact, he had been gone for two days and not a soul had seen him. She had asked around, the cook, the maids, yet none of them had seen where he had gone. The throne room was empty, a few of the residents confused as they wanted to ask his advice but were turned away with word that he would be back hopefully tomorrow. Even Aylin seemed baffled by were the governor of Reithwin had gone, but she had told Isobel not to worry, that he no doubt had business to attend to that require his vital attention.

Still, there was this inkling of a twist that something was wrong with her father. A feeling like a creeping vine, twisting like a weed that threatened to kill of the moon flowers. She picked up her dress, and made her way to her father's chambers, where she paused in front of a bust. The silver gray stone held her mother's features so perfectly as she brushed her hand up against it. "Ma, I miss you… so much. If you were here, you would know what to do," Isobel took a breath and settled down at a desk. The minutes droned on to hours and she had dozed off. It wasn't until nightfall the the door opened up and Isobel jumped up and the chair fell backwards.

There, finally, was her father, though he looked as weary as a overworked horse. "Dad, what…. are you okay?" She questioned, as she shifted on her feet til she was closer and could get a good look at his features. Her elf ears flicked a little bit, showing her concern for him.

There was something to be said about those who had the ability to change the course of someones life. To make them question everything they had ever known and force them to begin anew. Melodia had been that, for the Elven man, whose family had long followed the guidelines that had been set by Shar. He had never questioned it, even when it was Shar who arranged that they would meet. "Go to Selune's most faithful, join with her and when it is the perfect time to strike, corrupt her and come back to me." Shar had said, only it hadn't quite worked out that way. For as soon as he set eyes on Melodia, she had stoked a fire in his heart like an aphrodisiac.

That love had led to the creation of something he never imagined he would have, a daughter, whom had so quickly become their everything. Under the light of Selune, he had found a new purpose, one not forged in loss, but love and warmth. With them at his side, he could accomplish anything. He could spread joy across the Reithwin. But alas, tragedy, it seemed, would always find him. His decision to turn his back on Shar's command came back to haunt him as his wife had become ill. Ketheric, for his part, had done everything he could to help his precious Melodia better, but not even the holiest of magics could save her from the throes of death.

Despair had overtaken him as many nights since, he struggled with his faith in Selune. He couldn't even enter the chambers that had been mutually shared by him and his beloved without feeling the ache of pain that accompanied him with her loss. Isobel would never know of this pain, either, and for her he put on a brave face. The face of the father she had known and the man broken pieces of a man that he was underneath the surface. One night he found himself returning, then, to the one place he had not dare to venture forth to since his union with Melodia. The temple of Shar. "Selune never cared about you, Ketheric. Why else would she take away your beloved Melodia?" Shar whispered in his ear, her voice loud in contrast to the silence of the dead around him. "Come back to me and I can make you strong again. You and your daughter could have a purpose, you could save your daughter from the same fate."

"My Isobel... I would never let that happen. She is all I have left of my beloved. I will protect her and keep her save." Ketheric said with a hint of determination as he glanced at her statue. "But, much like her mother, she can not be swayed. Nor can I leave her."

Many words were left unsaid as he departed, but he could feel Shar's disapproving judgement. Unbeknowst to him what role she would truly play in times to come. Yet, he had spent hours there, in Shar's presence, weeping the loss of his love. His face was sore from the tears he could not contain, and so by the time he returned to moonrise, he was all but spent. Then to see Isobel his chambers, his heart ached at her concern and at the clear evidence that she, too, was still grieving.

"Isobel, it is late. What are you still doing awake?" Ketheric could not get himself to look his daughter in the eyes as the pain hit his chest. "You should be in your bed, I am sure Aylin misses your company, does she not?" There was a pang of jealousy in that, too, knowing that he lost his love, and that Aylin was still there to hold Isobel in the way he could not. A lovers touch was different from a father's after all. "I've noticed she has comforted you, I am glad. I suppose apart of me is envious,but I promise I will be fine."

[caressofsharess]

* closed starter | @lordgortrash

the demigod hasn’t been back to baldur’s gate in ages, or faerûn at all, what with shar’s darkness and cultists lurking about, poisoning the lands. but with word of the liberation of the nightsong and the impossible fall of ketheric thorm, nothing could keep sharess away. she returns, exuberant and excited, oh how joyous to finally mingle with the mortals of faerûn again. but her fervor is dampened with the news of what is to come, the inevitability of the downfall of all mortal life as they know it. well, this demigod flourishes on mortal pleasures, and she will do whatever she can to make sure they keep thriving so that she can, lest she fall into the clutches of darkness forevermore.

it’s truly absurd, almost unfathomable, how mere mortals were able to harness such intense power in the first place. she should be appalled, that the fate of the realms is currently in the hands of such fragile creatures, and she would be if she weren’t so damned fascinated, impressed even.

she knows time is of the essence, but she can’t just pop into a place she used to frequent so intimately for so many centuries without exploring the changes more thoroughly. the streets are full of refugees seeking safety from absolute cultists and the baldurians who aren’t the most welcoming. times may change, but mortals always stay the same. such interesting creatures, driven by passion, motivated by desires all around her. she feels so alive amongst the chaos of mortality.

this lord gortash, chosen of bane, is her final destination of the evening — the man’s face has been seen by her golden cat eyes plastered on every corner of the city, he does think highly of himself, doesn’t he? she decides not to confront his guards or his steel watch, she’s already let too much of her time waste away within the walls of sharess’ caress earlier that day.

instead, she simply appears.

dark purple wisps of magic flitter from her appearing form, until a mature, dark haired woman adorned in a sheer, flowing lavender dress, held together by braided tinsel is fully visible. her hair falls in dark, long waves down to the small of her back, glitter still glistening upon her flesh her from her rendezvous at the house named after her. she stands in a large, nearly empty room ( save for the guards, the steel watchers, and the man himself ), at the end of a long, red carpet. ` oh, is this for me? ` she knows it probably isn’t, for she didn’t announce her arrival, but she manages to amuse herself nonetheless. a warm smile stays plastered across her features, as she looks around at the grandiosity of her surroundings. what fun it would be, to throw a carnal fest right here in this very room, but she can sense her sudden presence has alarmed the mortals around her. she lets a wave of ecstasy fill the room, soothing billows pulse through the air as she starts her slow strut down the carpet, closer to gortash. this is a man just bursting with ambition to achieve his goals, practically dripping with power. his desires are are forceful, authoritative. he worships so beautifully, and though she knows under their current circumstances that he is an adversary, she adores him no less. he’s still a creature of great passion and divine hunger.

` my apologies, i know it’s quite rude to show up unannounced like this, but — i just had to witness for myself what all the fuss was about, ` her voice is a gentle as a purr, golden cat eyes look upon him as if she’s drinking him in, ` you’ve created a delightful little pocket of existence in this place, and did you know the mortals here have an entire house of pleasure named after me? ` her question is asked with enthusiasm, a contented smile showing off perfectly white teeth. her neck and arms are decorated in expensive gold and gemstones, and the golden rings upon the tips of her fingers mirror the claws of a cat.