#The Fiend and the Sorceress

[shatinn]

Sims 4/ LNDS

' That song you played...It'd be nice if I could hear it again. '

pose @simmireen Thank you

[gil-galadhwen]

Lady Of The Marred Moon [An Eskel Fic]

Chapter 6 - Fiend

Catrin's time in Kaer Morhen has finally begun, and while she's hurt from what she heard Eskel say about her the night before, perhaps they're already on their way to making amends...

Read here...

<Dividers by @saradika-graphics>

[clanlasombrasp]

Erzebeth Basarab, Voivode Tzimisce of the domain of Timisoara (Romania), Koldun sorceress, the she-fiend with twelve claws, my Sabbat Pack Priestess for over 300 years...

I have to say that she is at the same time my comrade in arms and my most terrible enemy. We've known each other since she was still mortal, more than 800 years ago... she knows many of my darkest secrets, which is normal after having maintained an emotional relationship for more than 300 years and having kept me reduced to a pile of bloody flesh hanging from her 'cave of pain' beneath the ruins of her family castle in the heart of her domain.

F.C.: Beatriz Mariano.

[plutotheplum]

I Only Bleed For Him

dragon!sylus x fem!reader

summary: amidst the blooming flowers in tarus city, the dragon claims his beloved.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, a smidge of fluff, angst, kissing, loss of virginity, oral sex, p in v, possessive sex, blood, claiming bites, mating, knotting, soulmates, canon compliant death

wc: 4.5k

a/n: the way the myth cards just keep getting depressing :( there will be another chapter after this fic, but it'll be in the actual timeline! also not very confident in my angst writing abilities, but hopefully y'all enjoy!! <3

also on ao3!

“You know, Tarus City can have flowers bloom everywhere, as far as the eye can see. But only for one person.”

Sylus’ voice is a soft murmur, his hands caressing your waist as he holds you tighter against him. Your heart lurches uncomfortably, fingers brushing across his cheek and the hard, black scale that lays fused to his skin.

“What if we stayed here?” you whisper, peering into his crimson eyes.

“Would you be able to sate yourself?” Sylus asks in return, his claws brushing through your hair gently.

You avert your gaze, cheek pressing against his chest as you stare at the swaying carmine flowers in the soft breeze. Sylus’ heart is steady, the soothing sound of thrumming coupled with the motions of his claws nearly enough to lull you to sleep.

His question holds value. Revenge threatens to pull you apart at the seams, the desire for chaos rearing its ugly head. You want more, you always want more and Sylus gives it to you willingly. Your selfish desires will be the downfall of the Fiend, you think, hands tightening into fists. 

Yet, there is so much more to do. So much to take from those that had taken from you. Resentment makes you tremble, the Sacred Judicator’s words ringing clear in your mind. 

The Sorceress has been judged. 

You could laugh at the thought if you weren’t so angry. Some sorceress you were, powerless and yet put before the Court of Justitia as a traitor for trying to protect the statue of a dragon. 

Angry tears prick at your eyes, teeth gritting together only to be drawn out of your wrathful thoughts by the press of Sylus’ lips against your clenched fists, his claws unfurling your clenched fingers.

“Just like the day we met,” Sylus murmurs, his gaze trained on you, “such hatred and defiance.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when he kisses your palms.

“Beauty,” he whispers against your skin, “and resentment, little sorceress. They make you my precious, most finest treasure.”

“I don’t want to think about the Legion,” you reply, voice trembling, “I want them gone, Sylus.”

“Pluck them out one by one,” Sylus says, his hand caressing your cheek, “but another will replace those gone. Their roots run deep, weeds that refuse to die, marring the world around them.”

You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you lean into the warmth of his hand, the rough scales scratching your skin gently.

“I shall burn Justitia to the ground,” you grit out, eyes burning with determination, “I will make them all regret and spite them into contrition, bring them to their knees and- and-”

Sylus laughs, his expression soft as he peers up at you. “You speak sharply, little sorceress. Your fire and spirit matches my own.”

“Because I am your other half,” you mumble, pouting slightly as you feel your anger subside the more Sylus caresses you. 

“You are,” Sylus affirms, “bearer of my soul, my other half. Only you could be worthy enough.”

A light flush covers your cheeks before you hide again, nosing into his cheek. You can feel the warmth of his soul inside of you as your eyes shut, lungs expanding as you suck in a deep breath, the scent of the dragon clouding your senses.

Burnt embers and a soft sweetness make you whine, body squirming as you try and press yourself closer to him, your fingers caressing his horns.

“Careful,” Sylus grunts, his claws tightening around your waist when he feels the brush of your fingers against the base of his horns.

You can feel the slight jump of his hips, your gaze lifting to find his brows drawn together, eyes squeezed shut.

“Does it hurt?” you ask worriedly, fingers pausing.

“Hardly,” he replies, his eyes opening again, “I am simply… sensitive.”

You hum, head tilting to kiss his cheek as your fingers resume their stroking and caressing. Sylus makes a small noise and you relish in it, peppering kisses here and there, across his cheeks and over the large scales.

A delighted sound escapes you when you hear what you think is something akin to a purr. Sylus’ cheeks tint with a light pink and you smile against his cheek, ears straining to listen again when he rumbles gently, his head tilting as he pushes up into the caress of your hand.

“Like a mountain cat,” you tease, tracing the slope of his nose when he purrs again, feeling his claws twitch against your hips.

“Do not use my gifts against me,” Sylus grouses, despite the pleased rumble of his chest.

“I enjoyed them,” you reply, fingers running through his hair leisurely, “if only we could go back.”

“We will,” Sylus promises, his eyes flickering open, “I shall make sure of it.”

You smile wistfully. Going back to the cavern held more challenges than worth risking. Bitterness makes your smile waver, but you brush the thought away, content to at least be given this moment of reprieve.

“We will,” you repeat after him.

Neither of you mention the emptiness of the promise. The damp coldness of the chapel latches onto you and Sylus is the only one able to make it dissipate, his claws tracing over the curve of your cheek.

You cling to him, nose brushing against his gently.

“I love you.”

Sylus’ chest rumbles in response, his head tilting as he presses his lips to yours. The curl of his tail around you holds you to him, his hands kneading at your hips as you kiss him. It’s slow and syrupy, both of your souls intertwining and interlocking in the sweet musk of the flower fields. 

You can feel the pull of your soul towards him, how your body yearns for more of him, the tendrils of your very being try to claw through gaps of your ribs and pierce his chest. You’d let him hold you in the glowing stone embedded in his chest if it were possible.

“So this is what it means to love,” Sylus murmurs, his lips brushing over yours with every word he speaks, “perhaps mortals are wiser than I thought.”

You laugh, arms wrapping around his neck when he rolls you both over, your back pressing into the soft grass.

“Only some mortals,” you correct, smiling when his teeth bite onto the tips of your gloves, pulling them free from your hands, rings and all.

Sylus’ skin is warm when you touch him again, truly for the first time. His eyes flutter shut, savouring the sensation of your skin against his before he lowers his head, kissing you again.

“I wish to claim you, my beloved,” he breathes out, trailing hot kisses down your neck, “will you let me?”

“Yes,” you sigh, your own eyes slipping shut, “yes, Sylus.”

Sylus’ tail sways behind him, the pointed tip brushing across the skin of your leg before his claws join the midst, dragging down your thighs gently. You gasp, the unfamiliar sensation making you squirm as he begins to undo your dress.

You help him, sitting up as he pulls it over your head, his claws ripping through the delicate fabric despite his tentativeness. You don’t pay it any mind, cupping his cheeks to pull him down into a slow kiss, feeling his body hover over you, his tail wrapping around your waist.

The sharp spikes dig into your skin, making your body seize with discomfort until the repeated brush of Sylus’ lips over yours soothes away the nervousness.

Your panties are ripped away too, the fabric laying in tatters in Sylus’ palm. He frowns when he stares at his claws, and you reach for his hand, lips pressing against his knuckles gently.

“It doesn’t bother me,” you whisper.

“It should,” Sylus murmurs, his gaze dipping as he stares at you laying bare before him. 

He can see the mark of his fangs in your neck, the subtle scent of your blood setting his senses alight. You belong here, Sylus thinks, his eyes darkening as he sees the rise and fall of your chest, the pebbling of your nipples in the cooling breeze. 

An undying flame blooming amidst a field of lesser flowers. 

If only he could keep you here.  

The flicker of emotion in Sylus’ eyes makes you uncomfortable and you kiss his knuckles again, lips pressing against the hard scales firmly. He sighs, his hand flexing in your grip, his tail drawing you closer as he kisses your forehead.

You can hear his breath hitch when you fumble with his trousers, undoing the various buckles to have him bare before you as you are before him.

“Greedy mortal,” he murmurs, gripping your chin to plant a kiss to your lips.

“You already knew that,” you smile faintly, nipping his lower lip playfully.

Sylus rumbles, his body shifting to remove his clothing. You swallow when you see the heavy hang of his thick cock. The tip glistens and you squeeze your thighs shut, trying to quell the dull ache that has settled inside of you.

“It- it is different from mortal men,” you mumble, head tilting curiously as you stare at the base of his cock.

“I am a dragon,” Sylus supplies drily, his hand wrapping around his cock.

You watch, mesmerised as he pumps his cock with his clawed hand, brows furrowing when you see the slight swell at the base of his cock, above his heavy balls.

“A knot,” he explains, moving his cock to show you the swell of it a little better, a low hiss leaving him when you reach out to touch it hesitantly. “It- hah- it is useful for mating.”

It gives a little under your prodding, wetness pooling between your thighs at the sight of it. You try to wrap your fingers around it, but the tips of your fingers hardly touch, Sylus letting out a growl at the sight.

“I want it,” you whisper, blinking up at him, “I- I want you to mate me, and- and I want that.” You point to his knot.

Sylus lets out a hoarse laugh, his clawed hand coming up to caress your cheek. 

“And you shall have it when I claim you. Although…” he pauses for a moment, his expression becoming slightly flustered, “I have never claimed anyone before.”

“Oh,” you flush with him, averting your gaze. “I have never been claimed before.”

Sylus sucks in a sharp breath, his nose nudging against yours gently as he plants a soft kiss to your lips. “My first and my last.”

You have to blink away the tears that begin to brim in your eyes, your arms wrapping around his neck tightly. Sylus kisses the side of your head, his body descending further down your body.

Soft noises leave you as he places reverent kisses along the length of your body, his tongue flicking at your nipple experimentally, carmine eyes peering up to watch your reaction carefully. When you gasp, Sylus hums, his mouth opening wider to envelop your breast with his mouth.

Your fingers delve into his soft hair, back arching as you push your breast further into his mouth, his hot saliva making your skin shine. The flowers around you sway, unbothered by the act of intimacy, Sylus’ clawed fingers pinching at your nipple lightly.

He groans when you jerk under him, mouthing at the sides of your breast, pressing wet kisses here and there, tongue swirling over your areolas before granting each nipple a soft kiss.

“You respond well, beloved,” Sylus whispers, beginning to lave over one of your areolas again, seemingly taken with the way you twitch whenever his teeth graze your nipples.

“It- it feels good,” you whine, your thighs sticky with slick.

“Then perhaps I ought to do the same here,” he murmurs thoughtfully, pulling back to pry apart your thighs.

Translucent strings of slick cling to your thighs and the folds of your pussy, Sylus’ head lowering to get a better look.

“So delicate, little sorceress,” he whispers, his claws pulling apart your puffy folds to find your glistening pussy. “A bud,” Sylus continues, the flat of his scaled finger brushing your swollen clit tentatively, “like a flower.”

A needy whimper escapes you, hips bucking up under his exploratory touch. It’s nothing like when you used to touch yourself in the privacy of your small room within the walls of Justitia. Sylus’ touch is rough, textured, heightening the feeling that makes your clit pulse with want.

“Please,” you beg breathily, fingers reaching out to grasp his horns, “please, I- I need more.”

“But I am not yet done,” Sylus replies, peering up at you to watch the expression on your face when he rubs your clit more firmly.

“Sylus!” you whine, “the ache is too much!”

The dragon between your thighs huffs out an amused breath, the hot air making you shiver.

“So demanding,” he sighs, leaning forward to kiss your clit. “Although I do enjoy seeing you so… uninhibited, beloved.” 

You push his head towards your cunt, growing impatient, although being careful not to jostle his horns too much. Sylus groans when he tastes you for the first time, his rough tongue gliding through your wet folds.

A gasp leaves you when he flicks his tongue against your clit, a tremor settling through your bones as you writhe atop the grass. Sylus holds you in place, a pleased purr sounding as he nuzzles deeper into the wetness of your cunt, his tongue lapping and laving over the velvety flesh of your pussy.

“Oh,” you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut when you feel the dig of his claws into your flesh, coupled with his mouth on your pussy, “S- Sylus, oh yes.”

Sylus hums into your cunt, his tongue swirling around your clit, collecting your slick into his mouth, drinking it down as if it were the very essence of your soul.

“You taste sweet, my little love,” Sylus rasps, his claws pulling apart your folds so he can prod at your aching hole, feeling the needy clench of it around his tongue when he presses it in. “Sweeter than any wine I have ever tasted.”

“You- nghh- you exaggerate,” you mewl, tugging at his hair gently, your fingers stroking the base of his horns.

Sylus shudders, his head tipping forward into your touch. “I do not,” he growls, nipping at your thigh in a show of disagreement. “I would keep you on my mouth every night if you allowed me and drive you mad with pleasure.”

You smile hazily when you hear his words, hips rolling up to meet his mouth when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue stroking across the swollen bud lazily.

“Are we not already mad?”

“Perhaps we are,” Sylus responds, his hips grinding into the clothes beneath him. “But I should be glad to be mad with you.”

A soft, content sigh leaves you as you lose yourself in the sensation of his tongue. It swirls through your folds, presses into your cunt every so often whenever Sylus loses interest in your clit for a brief moment.

He never strays far however, his chest rumbling with his own contentedness as he buries his face deeper into your cunt, breathing in your scent. Sylus sucks at your clit with renewed fervor when he feels the tensing of your thighs against his claws.

“I can feel you, little love,” Sylus rasps, his voice low and rumbling. “Come undone on my tongue.” He presses an affectionate kiss to your clit before latching his mouth onto it more firmly.

“Sy- Sylus,” you whimper, legs beginning to jerk as the pleasure grows.

He growls into your pussy, his mouth working faster, tongue swirling and slurping until you have no choice but to cum. You cry out, his name leaving you in disjointed syllables, heavy pants breaking your cries.

Your thighs squeeze around his head, until his tail wraps around one of your legs, pulling you open so he can drink from you until sated. Overstimulation makes you sensitive, whimpers and whines leaving you as you pull at his horns.

“It is too much,” you mewl, “I- I cannot-”

“You can,” Sylus murmurs, spreading you open wider, exposing you completely, “you will for me.”

The dragon devours you again, his fangs sinking deep into the flesh of your thigh. Your blood and slick mixes together and Sylus feels as though he is being torn apart from within, your taste heating his own blood until he can no longer hold back.

You cum again on his tongue, back arching before you writhe violently, fingers grasping for anything and everything, uprooting the flowers nearby as you attempt to gain some semblance of stability.

Sylus gives you some reprieve, his tongue lapping over your puffy pussy gently, his lips pressing against your clit and the mark his teeth have left on your inner thigh.

He rises up to find you limp, unable to stop the shudders that jerk through your body from the immense pleasure.

“Little love?” he murmurs, a claw tapping against your cheek.

A pout makes your lips jut out when you blink up at him blearily, brows furrowing into a glare. Sylus smiles, his head dipping to brush a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“You are beautiful,” Sylus says, his hand stroking over your hair soothingly, claws running through your hair.

“I want to do the same,” you whisper, your hand reaching down between your bodies to find his cock. “I want you in my mouth.”

It’s harder than before, pre-cum smeared across the tip, warm globs dripping onto your stomach. You wrap your hand around him, squirming around in an attempt to get onto your knees.

“Another time,” Sylus murmurs, stopping you from getting closer to his cock, his tongue licking into your mouth.

“Now,” you demand, blinking up at him, still a little dazed. “Now, Sylus.”

“Another time,” Sylus repeats firmly, his lips descending upon yours again.

“There- there will be no other time!” you protest, peering up at him desperately, your lower lip trembling.

You only speak the truth, and it angers you. The cruelty of fate has begun to wrap its remorseless fingers around your heart, squeezing and squeezing until you feel your heart give, clenching painfully.

“Never say that!” Sylus snaps suddenly, his hands cupping your cheeks. He presses himself against you, forehead touching yours. “There will-” there’s a tremor in his voice, “there will be another time. Always.”

How many more lies will you both tell yourselves? 

You bite back the sob building in your throat, crushing the sense of helplessness by pulling Sylus closer and pressing your lips against his feverishly. 

The dragon grips you harder, his tail winding around you tightly, holding you to him as he returns your kisses.

“Take me,” you beg when he lays you down again, “Sylus, claim me, please.”

“I will,” he hushes your cries with a kiss, “I will, little love. You will be by my side till the end of time.”

Sylus grasps his cock, breathing heavily, your panting breaths mixing together. He notches his cock against your drenched cunt, pushing in slowly. You both share a moan, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. The scales dig into your skin, his claws digging into your hips deeper, pain flaring across your skin.

It’s enough to distract you from the rampant thoughts of loss however, your mind clouding with every inch of Sylus’ cock that sinks into you.

“So- so tight,” he grunts out, his hips moving slowly.

You can feel his knot, slipping in and out of you, tugging on the edges of your cunt every now and again with how swollen it’s become. His cock splits you open, your soft moans sounding into the vast flower field as you reach up, hugging him to you.

Sylus thinks you sound as sweet as the scent of the blooming flowers.

He lowers his body, his weight almost crushing you but you need this, need him as close as possible to convince yourself that this is happening.

“More,” you whimper, pressing sloppy kisses to his jaw, “ruin me, take me apart.”

“You- hah-” Sylus’ eyes squeeze shut when he feels the tight clench of your cunt around his cock, “you mustn’t say such things.”

“And yet,” you whimper, dazed eyes finding his, “and yet, oh- I desire- ngh- it desperately.”

“If that is what you wish,” he whispers, kissing your forehead gently.

You moan loudly, the wanton sounds mixing with his low groans and growls when he swirls his hips, cock pressing into you deeper. His heavy balls slap against your ass, both of you uncaring of the lewd sounds as he thrusts his hips in and out of you, cock driving in deep.

Sylus’ knot sinks into place with each deep, rolling thrust he gives you, popping out whenever he draws his hips back. You’re slurring, hardly able to see him properly, clinging to him, legs wrapping around his waist.

He grunts, shifting your legs higher, away from the sharp, spiked scales that line his tails. 

They say the dragon is dangerous, the epitome of sin and yet he cares for you dearly, his lips trailing across your skin with such reverence that makes your body ache.

“You are mine,” Sylus growls, his carmine eyes glowing as he peers down at you. “Every inch of you, half of your soul, it is all mine.”

“Yours!” you hiccup, the pleasure making you feel numb, “always yours!”

Sylus moans deeply, and your hazy eyes catch the frantic sway of his tail behind him, his hips snapping harder and faster, your pussy struggling to accommodate and keep up with the ever-swelling knot at the base of his cock.

The sheer feral nature that seems to take over your dragon has you whining, a sharp scream leaving you when you feel his fangs bite into the still healing wound on your neck.

Blood flows freely from the bite and Sylus growls at the taste, losing his grip before tightening again. His claws prick at your thighs and hips, drawing more blood until it’s smeared across your skin. Your skin is just as red as the flowers in the field.

Your nails rake down his back, feeling driven wild by pain and ecstasy. Your own teeth sink into his shoulder, a soft whimper escaping you.

“Bite,” Sylus rasps, his hand on the back of your head, urging your teeth to sink in deeper, “harder, little love, harder.”

And you do bite. You mewl as you sink your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, his blood wetting your tongue and lips and the taste is intoxicating. Your mind swirls as you feel the harsh thrust of his cock bullying inside of you over and over again, tongue lapping at the marks your teeth have left on his shoulder.

You can taste his blood and you can feel the searing pain and you- this- this is real.

This is real. This is real. This is real.

Your mind chants the affirmation as you tell it to yourself firmly, biting harder into him as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Take it, beloved,” Sylus whispers hoarsely, pressing his face back into the crook of your neck, “take my cock and my knot. Let me claim you.”

“W- wait,” you begin to gasp, eyes widening with panic when Sylus manages to bully his cock into your pussy enough, the knot catching finally. 

You squeak, unable to comprehend the feeling of being plugged up so full. It’s entirely too swollen to pop free, your poor pussy fluttering around the thickness of it. Sylus isn’t faring much better, his hips jerking and halting when he feels the clench of your cunt, and how his knot has practically held you both in place.

“Yes,” he snarls, low and throaty, his hips swaying a little to grind his cock into you. “Mine, finally mine, little love.”

The press of his scaled claw against your clit has you screaming again, his name leaving you hoarsely as you cum on his knot. Your orgasm is violent, the tight coil in your lower stomach snapping sharply as you come apart, thighs twitching and body shaking.

Sylus sinks his fangs into your neck again and you cry out, softer this time, holding him to your neck and letting him lap at your blood.

He shudders, the taste of your blood coupled with the feel of your fluttering walls around his knot making his cock jerk and balls clench. Sylus cums with a throaty roar, his claws landing on either side of you as he hunches over.

Pleasure racks through his body whilst hot, thick cum floods your pussy unable to leak out and instead held in place by his throbbing knot. You whimper, mind feeling syrupy when Sylus rumbles and purrs, nuzzling into your breasts and then your cheeks, another hot load of cum spilling into you when his cock kicks at the squeeze of your cunt.

You kiss him clumsily, motions clouded by the haze of intimacy. Sylus sighs into your mouth, stroking your hair gently. You both lay there, surrounded by flowers, panting and unwinding.

His knot deflates after several minutes, softening cock pulling free. His cum spills out of you and Sylus watches with a frown, wishing his cum would stay stuffed inside of you.

Sylus rolls off of you when you tap his shoulder, his tail curling around you to bring to lay atop him. You don’t say anything, face pressing into the crook of his neck.

“Your desires are cruel,” you whisper, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“As are yours, little love,” Sylus says softly.

You sniffle, pressing a kiss to the steady beat of his pulse just under his jaw before shifting to kiss the glowing stone embedded in his chest.

Sylus shudders, his claws flexing around your skin. You kiss the stone again, beginning to cry when the stone’s glow begins to dim.

There’s a strange chill that makes your skin crawl, the familiar scent of the chapel invading your lungs.

“No,” you sob, peering up at Sylus, “not yet, please, please!”

Sylus smiles down at you, his expression forlorn. “I love you,” he says quietly, brushing a kiss to your forehead, sitting up to pull you onto his lap.

“I need more time,” you whisper, kissing him despite the growing coldness in the air. “We need more time.”

Hope had made you both fools. Sylus had claimed you in a withering graveyard.

You’re weeping when you ask him the question.

“Will you make the flowers bloom for me, Sylus?”

Your dragon kisses you fiercely.

“Always.”

Sylus’ emboldened oath is the only memory your fingers can latch onto when the dank atmosphere of the chapel awakens you.

The bell of the chapel rings loudly and you sob, scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to pull Sylus closer. You scream when the Sacred Judicator tears you from Sylus, the pull of his soul tugging violently at your chest. 

A week later, the dragon’s curse rings true. 

You no longer feel the warmth of his soul, for your beloved is dead.

[mephiestophyl]

SYLUS MYTH SPOILERS BELOW

angst, sfw, sylus needs a 1000 years worth of hugs and more, g/n reader (no use of y/n)

It is sad, Sylus thinks, while observing his beloved — to have been broken down into a weaker, suppressed version of yourself in this world.

In the old days that he tries not to recall because of the painful longing and agony that twists deep in his gut, boiling himself over with emotions he has yet to make sense of; he still vividly remembers his fated meeting with you — your captivating defiance, the fire in your eyes that burned with a blinding desire for revenge, a flame of hunger that devoured anything and everything that dared to extinguish it. You bowed to no one; you were your own master. Your rage was so beautiful that he enslaved himself to your every whim and desire, no matter how foolish or impossible.

It is not to say that he thinks of you any less as you are now. It is just... he can not bear to watch his beloved, run to the ground with mortal troubles that plague you every day, the weight of your own expectations on your shoulders, always chasing and chasing to find any semblance of certainty in your life; he knows this struggle all too well.

You had helped him once. The roles were reversed; a dragon who adorned a thin, fragile mask of arrogance and bravado befitting of a fiend to cover the ugly truth of who he deluded himself into abandoning a long time ago — a young man who screamed at the world in the dead of night, tearing at his scaley flesh and digging into his never ending wounds, begging to know why he was born this way, why he couldn't just be normal, be like everyone is. Why his slim chance at a human life was pried from his desperate hands. Every stab after another telling him: Ugly. Hideous. You are the very face of cruelty itself. To hell with your kind.

One day, you picked at the aching scars of his past. Your soft touches scorched his skin, the flame in your eyes burning holes through the mask the dragon had thought to be impenetrable, unveiling that vulnerable young man who never stopped hoping for someone to save him from himself.

Your delicate, strong hands cradled Sylus' face, forcing him to face you. To face himself.

"You act mature, but you were sealed away for so long... Sylus, you're still a young dragon at heart, aren't you?"

Your hands had gripped the parts of himself that he used to gouge out daily within the shadows of derelict caves, wrapping your hands around his horns and tail, as if to say that you are seeing him for who he his, instead of fighting or fleeing like everyone else did. Sylus had pushed himself away from you, but it was already too late. You had exposed the weak and naive parts of himself that he thought to have killed in the days of his youth, and now all that was left was the awkward fumbling of a man who had to come to terms with his own weakness. He had never allowed himself to be pried open like this before — it was always with spears, swords, arrows, and insults that pierced his heart, instead of the knowing gaze and lips of a sorceress who had a penchant for dragons.

Again and again, you continued to embrace the parts of himself that he had rejected, even being so daring as to fall in love with and save the very dragon who sought to devour you. Sylus knows that this will all end in pain, but love was never founded on the basis of logic; he will dance with you in this tango of love and loss until the very end of time.

He sees you for who you are in this world. Though weak, he is weak too. Despite how he still has trouble accepting his own faults, he will welcome yours with open arms.

You took care of him once. Now it is his turn to take care of you.

[chuluoyi]

ABYSM SOVEREIGN: THE FIEND AND THE SORCERESS

[vintagerpg]

I think, in general, I am more immune to the depredations of nostalgia than most folks, but not entirely immune. The Dungeons & Dragons figures Super7’s Re/Action line are like a knife honed out of nostalgia that could split the atoms of my being. They are so good they almost cause me pain. Like being haunted by the ghost of a childhood that never existed. Shit’s fucking twisted.

So we have the Githyanki from Emmanuel’s Fiend Folio cover, the Sorceress from Erol Otus’ Basic Set and the Efreeti from David C. Sutherland’s Dungeon Masters Guide. They are presented in the Re/Action style, which is basically the classic 5-point articulation of Kenner’s Star Wars toys. Starting with Alien, I believe, Super7 has slowly turned a vast swath of ’70s and ’80s pop culture into these toys, but few are so perfectly suited to the style as this cohort. They look so perfectly correct, it’s hard to explain. I think it is easiest to see on the Githyanki, maybe — all the detailing is taken directly from the painting, but in becoming three dimension (but also stiff and sculptural), it become something else entirely, recognizable but different. It weirds me out a little, in sort of the same way Jung’s archetypes weird me out, or the Goetia.

I knew the Githyanki was going to sell out fast. I was a little skeptical about the other two rising to that same level, just because, I think, that I don’t vibe on the way the renders looked in the promo materials, but they are all three monstrously cool in person.

[unluckywisher]

Here we go. My "favorite" (note the quotation marks) parts of Beyond Cloudfall - Sylus' Dragon Myth, voice lines at the end.

Oh boy okay. I have a lot of scenes to go through so strap in.

Spoilers for Sylus' myth under the cut!!!!

Normally I would do the whole 'posting screenshots and commenting on them' thing, but since Tumblr is annoying with how many images you can put on a post, I'll just transcribe them. I've grouped them in categories, so just know that they're not necessarily in chronological order <3

Fun moments - I have to start with this or I will have a break down.

[They're both looking at a mural depicting a man slaying Sylus] MC: ...Of course, that's just the artist's take. You're much more handsome and imposing in real life.

MC, narrating: That night, the dragon places me with all the treasures he gathered. It's as if I'm one of them.

- MC PLEASE YOU JUST MET HIM AND YOU BOTH WANT TO KILL EACH OTHER WHY ARE YOU FLIRTING?????

Sylus: I'm also curious to see where a "sorceress" who consorts with a fiend thinks she can go.

- Let's be real here. Sleeping on top of a bunch of coins is not exactly comfy bro. LMAO

MC: Hey, do you have a name? Sylus (at this point, the story had been simply referring to him with the name 'Dragon'): Does it matter? MC: [...] What should I call you? Demon? Dragon? Or maybe... Drago? The Fiend gives me a cold stare. Sensing his boredom, I shut my mouth, but then I hear two faint syllables rumble from his throat. MC: "...Stayrus?" Or are you telling me to stay clear? Sylus: It's an ancient Philosian word [...]. MC: How about I call you by a name that sounds similar? Is Sylus alright with you? Sylus: Call me whatever you want. But don't expect me to respond.

- 'CONSORTS' LMAOOOOO they use this word a lot in the myth and every time it makes me laugh

I hold up a mirror from a stall. It reflects the face of the dragon. MC: Can you guess what I see when I look at you? He lowers the mirror as if he heard a childish joke. He leans closer. Sylus: At the very least, I'm a lot more handsome than I was depicted in that Fiend-Slaying God mural.

- ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????? HIS ACTUAL NAME IS SOMETHING LIKE 'STAYRUS'??????? MC WHY DID YOU BOTCH IT LMAOOOOOOOOOOOO toysrus

Sylus: You wouldn't use them if I gave them to you. Why are you interested in cheap things? MC: You actually measure worth based on monetary value? Sylus: There's another way?

- hfkdgfdhfjd MC I'm still in awe that you said that first with so much ease

Merchant: One piece of information or thirty gold coins for the bracelet. MC: For this bone bracelet? At best, it's worth- I'm about to start haggling, but when I look up, the dragon is already opening his pouch. A cascade of gold coins spills from his hand onto the counter.

- FHDUYSFGHJDFSJKHDASJKBDHSJD

MC: These, these, and these... Don't they all suit you perfectly? I quickly pick up a few, intricately designed accessories and shove them into the dragon's arms. Then, I stand on my tiptoes to hang a bone wind chime on his horn. Sylus: You-

- Old habits die hard, I see

MC: I fell asleep while waiting for you these past few nights. Why didn't you wake me up? [...] A gentle smile graces his lips. Sylus: Someone was dreaming and continued to say my name- MC: Hey...!

- HELP???????? MC LMAO ON HIS HORN, TOO???? XD

[MC is being judged] Sacred Judicator: First crime: worshipping evil and desire, showing no repentance, letting your heart fall to corruption... Second crime: Consorting with a Fiend and bearing its mark, tainting your very body with corruption... Third crime: Plundering wealth and embracing insatiable greed, actions steeped in corruption...

- HAHAHAHA EMBARRASSINGGGGG GIRL

Cute moments...

- god forbid women do anything smh

MC: (Besides... If he's going to treat me like a pet cat, he shouldn't be surprised if he gets scratched.) [Later, in another scene...] The dragon knows about my escape plan. Sometimes he even sits on the pile of gold, resting his head in his hands as he watches - He neither helps nor stops me. It takes me a while to realize he isn't just watching - he's studying me out of sheer boredom. Just like I used to watch a cat in the Sanctuary that kept trying to jump over a wall it could never clear. [And later, again...] When he's caught off-guard, I arch my back like a cat and pounce.

I sit in the dragon's lair and receive shiny trinkets every day. One night, a small mountain cat came in to play with me. It wasn't until later that I realized - there's no way a mountain cat could just wander into a dragon's lair on its own. ...Could the dragon be comforting me?

- So... Origin of MC being treated like a kitten, I see.

MC: [...] How did it feel when you grew your horns? Sylus: It was nothing special. The dragon sits back down, avoiding my gaze. Sylus: It hurt just a bit.

- Awwww???????

I cup his face in my hands and make him meet my gaze. MC: I just realized something these days. You don't understand a song's melody, can't see the beauty in patterns, and can't even taste the flavors of food. Is that right? Sylus: Dragons don't need those things to survive. He escapes from my hands, yet I detect a hint of awkwardness in his words. MC: You act mature, but you were sealed away for so long... Sylus, you're still a young dragon, aren't you? Sylus: ? MC: You only just learned how to hide your wings... I gently stroke the top of his head. Then, my hand glides down his prominent spine and reaches his tail. MC: But you can't hide your horns and tail. Are you an adult? Don't tell me you're just acting mature because you're worried about ruining your "fiendish" image. The dragon stays silent and flicks his tail away from me. He loops it around us, and it touches the small of my back. Sylus: Are you trying to say you've uncovered my secret? A defiant force gently pulls me toward the dragon's chest. Sylus: All right, let's assume there is a young dragon before you. What will you do? Eat it? MC: ... I'd tell it that we're doing something humans call "hugging". Sylus: Then do humans still hug each other even when they want to kill each other? Like us?

- I'm gonna be honest this scene should be with the rest of the angsty ones further down but by itself it's really cute

MC: Sylus, those gems and weapons are boring. If you want to cultivate my desire, you need to give me something rarer. This time, I want... I can't stand being the only one who's troubled by this thought. So, I demand something from him he can never own and will never offer. [Here, the game lets you pick between saying 'Your soul' or 'Your love'] MC: Your love. As expected, he looks surprised and then laughs. Sylus: A fiend's love? What are you going to do with something that doesn't exist? MC: If it doesn't exist, then it's even more precious. Sylus: Speak. What does it mean to truly love a person? Have you ever loved anyone before? MC: ...No, but I know exactly what to do. [MC kisses his forehead]

- THAT'S? SO CUTE? HE'S A SMOL DRAGON? HUG???

The body next to me is warm. I wrap the dragon's tail around myself and move closer. Resting my head on his shoulder, I drift in and out of sleep.

- MC is insanely proactive in this myth. She does NOT hesitate dude.

- I just thought this was a cute moment <3

AGAIN, CASE IN POINT, LOOK. SHE JUST GOES FOR IT. AND THEY MAKE YOU CLICK SO YOU FEEL EMBARRASSED:

Yooo!! The test to take the brooch might have been to try and jog MC's memory???

[After leaving a bitemark on MC's neck] Sylus: This will be the mark for the first time. Until this mark disappears, you will have two more chances to take my life. Prove to me that you can be stronger.

THE SONG!!!!!!!!!!

- Like...????? And the fact that in Midnight Stealth he pins her down, too............

Sylus: What's that sound? [...] As I sing the final note, I close my mouth and continue gazing at the distant lights in Tarus City. MC: A requiem for the departed. Sylus: Sing it again. MC: Haven't you heard someone sing before? Sylus: I've never heard you sing.

Sylus: Sing that song again. MC: It's boring without music. It sounds better with an organ accompaniment. Can you get one for me? Sylus: It's a simple matter. Consider it done.

- so originally it was sung, not just played...

[They found an organ and MC began to play the song] My performance ends, and the Sanctuary falls silent. Sylus: Why did you stop? MC: A requiem is meant to soothe the dead, but the souls in this place don't deserve it. They were sanctimonious enough when they were alive - I have no intention of praising their ugly souls.

- aaaand then that's that...

INTENSE moments (oof)

- And that's why Sylus never got to hear it in full.

One by one, red flames ignite as far as the eye can see. My surroundings are illuminated by their shimmering light. Before me is... An endless array of treasures and luxurious garments. MC: ... Sylus: You are not interested? MC: ...You'd give these to me? Sylus: Why not? You're also mine now.

Sylus: If you want something, just reach out and take it. In the flickering firelight, our shadows intertwine on the dimly lit wall. Sylus: Just. Like. This. Let your greed and desire burn a little brighter... His tail glides up my calf. Smiling, the Fiend leans in to whisper into my ear. Sylus: This is how you'll become worthy enough to be my meal.

- STOPPPPP YOU JUST METTTT I CANNOT STRESS IT ENOUGH WHAT IS THISSSSSSSSS

I hook my arm around the dragon's neck, stand on my tiptoes, and whisper in his ear. MC: Isn't that the place where you tried to eat me for the first time? Sylus: Do you wish to return for the sake of nostalgia?

- I think I'm beyond saving guys...

I press a silver knife against his neck. MC: Be honest with me. What do you gain from indulging my desires like this? I pin him down against a cushion. The knife and bleeding wound dissipate into crimson light particles as he chuckles. Sylus looks up at me. We can feel each other's breaths. As he raises his head, his nose gently brushes against mine. Sylus: What about you? What's in it for you to attempt an assassination with such a weak hand? Before the curtains, our eyes meet. The afterglow is reflected in his eyes which emit a surreal warmth. A strange flutter brushes against my heart, and a soft laugh escapes my lips. I return to my original spot before peeling a savoring a pomegranate. MC: You don't need to tell me. The greedier the soul, the more delicious it is. Am I mistaken? In any case let's hope it doesn't backfire on you. Sylus laughs. As I take out another pomegranate seed, he leans in and snatches it with his teeth. Sylus: Likewise.

- WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT IT LIKE THAT WHISPERING AND STUFF HELLO????

MC: What I desire is... My fingers brush over the renowned painting adorning the wall. I turn, lift the hem of my dress, and sit on the sacred throne positioned at the top of the stairs. I point my toes, and in silence, I hook my leg around the dragon's as he reaches the last step. Just as he leans forward, I tug him closer. MC: To live freely and die without regrets. Our breath's mingle, and our heartbeats sync. Light ripples in his eyes, and his lips slowly curl into a smile. With a flick of his tail, he catches me off guard, wrapping it around my waist and pulling me in. Sylus: Are you aware of your soul's scent? He meets my gaze, leaning in provocatively. His breath teasingly caresses the pulse in my neck. Sylus: It's akin to a strong liquor topped off with salt... Forever boiling and never satisfied.

- THIS WHOLE SCENE HAD ME SCREAMINGG??

An inexplicable raging inferno surges within me. Indignant, I laugh. I open my mouth and sink my teeth into his hand. Sylus: Ugh...! MC: I don't believe in this destined archnemesis nonsense! Moonlight boils in his eyes. Sylus cackles. He lowers his head and bites my shoulder like a predator. MC: You! Pain spreads like fire. Then, Sylus extends his tongue, slowly licking the wound on my shoulder. It's as if he's claiming and soothing me. Sylus: If you want to push me away, now's the time. His tongue alternates between licking and biting, sending a strange, tingling sensation through my body despite the lingering pain. He slowly licks over my throbbing wound.

- I don't even know what to say anymore....

- THEY'RE BOTH? SO KINKY? HELLO? YEAH NO, FORGET WE WERE AT DEATH'S DOOR JUST THEN- TIME TO GET FREAKY

And now... Yeah... It had to happen... Angst...

Sylus: People are far more interesting alive than dead. If you truly want revenge, the best way is to keep them alive. Or would you say this world is the closest thing to hell itself? You can only feel pain when you're alive.

Figures surround them. He could fly her back to the dragon's lair. But tonight, he wants to walk a bit longer with her. Sylus: In the beginning, the dragon lived in a valley with other dragons. Amongst his kin, he was the only one with a human appearance. He mistakenly believed he was a normal person. But as he grew older, horns sprouted from his head and a tail from his back. He had never seen anything like this on someone before. He was scared, so he picked up a blade because he wanted to remove them. But the horns and scales would grow back, dripping with blood. It didn't matter how many times he cut them. After a long time, he finally came to terms with being a monster with horns... But then, the love of his life appeared. She showed him human love and companionship, making him think he could live like a human too. And slowly, without realizing it, he began to forget he was a dragon.

- When I first read this scene I was like 'YEAHHHH REVENGEEEE' but after finishing the myth.......... bro....

Sylus: Save me? Are you aware of the cost? Once we hold hands now, our lives will be bound together, along with our deaths. We must offer half of our soul to the other. They'll be merged... To forge an unbreakable bond. To share your life with a fiend - it might be a punishment worse than having your soul devoured. Will you truly not regret it? MC: I said I'll live, didn't I? No matter the cost. If following our hearts is a sin, then you and I must be the last of our kind in this world.

- Can you hear my heart shattering?

MC: Let's make a pinky promise. Sylus: Hmm? MC: To never betray each other. Sylus: Our souls are bound. We will never betray each other even if Doomsday arrives outside this Sanctuary. Even if the world crumbles. MC: This promise can't be broken. Sylus: This promise will never be broken.

- SYLUSSSS WAAAAAAA DON'T BE LIKE THAT T_T

His body lies quietly among the flowers. In his garnet-like eyes is my reflection. MC: Look at me... You're not allowed to close your eyes! My tears fall onto him as I lower my head. I allow him to place a kiss on my forehead. The dark-red glow in his eyes dims. Obsidian-like crystals crawl over the dragon's scales, slowly covering his entire body. My dragon is gone.

- ...let it sink in

- Listen... At least we can take some comfort in knowing... MC didn't kill him on purpose. He drove the sword to his chest himself, grabbing MC's hands. She didn't want to. That's a relief. Still fucked, but...

My beloved was born into apocalyptic terror. People cursed his existence, fabricated his sins, and celebrated his death. Only one person ever gazed into his jewel-like eyes, embraced his burning soul, and sang to him in the night wind. He had already etched the traces of his existence deep into my life... Yet his retaliation against fate pierces my chest like a sword. MC: Sylus... I curse your soul... He says the best way to punish someone is to let them live forever. MC: I curse your soul... To never fade away... You'll always be tied to me. Forever. This is my curse... Only I can... Grant you true death. [...] I feel something sprouting from my head like tender branches. Sharp pain pierces my spine as a dragon's tails replaces my tailbone.

- So... That's how he is alive in the present, and it's also the explanation for the Evol Linkage, I believe? It's really cool that she actually turned into a dragon, as sad as the scene is.

And of course, as always, my favorite voicelines:

[abxssalwrites]

his curse

short sylus angst story

851 words, very short angst where sylus finds himself unable to save you from dying multiple times over. nothing graphic, might not even make you cry, just thinking a lot about the sylus myth and how mc was the one to name him, so this plays off of if sylus and his dragon counterpart were separate entities

hope you enjoy! I've slowly been getting back in the mood to write, and am continuing Curse of Kitty Cards (18+ smut Cat!Sylus story) on AO3, it's finals week as of posting this, don't lose hope on me. this short story was a filler for me after being devastated from the myth <3

okay, here's the story now, enjoy!

He had watched the life slowly drain from your eyes over and over. Each time it chipped away at his mental, having to see your chest stop rising and falling as you drew your last breath.

It was like the world was playing a sick game with him.

And it never fails, it doesn't matter how happy he is to see you again in a different lifetime... it never felt the same as the first time he met you. The first time he loved you, wanted you. Desired you.

A distant man who has chains and claws around his own heart, preventing him from feeling much of anything remotely pleasant. But then you came. You wrapped your hand around his heart and opened him up. You understood. Listened. Didn't judge or hate on him for being him.

From that moment on, he knew that he had to have you.

But this isn't some fairy tale where he can live happily ever after with you. Giving you everything you've ever wanted. Spoiling you, holding you close so you never have a chance to let go.

This was his reality. His curse just for finally letting himself love.

And just to add another knife in his heart, every time you came back into his life, you didn't recognize him. For the few months he spent cherishing every single second with you... it was all taken away as you died. Your memory was wiped clean of him. Every time he falls into your life, you ask, "who are you?" And you swear you see hurt flash in his crimson reds. Yet he masks it, only to give you a facade so you don't see how much he's hurting.

He keeps telling himself he's strong enough to protect you. He knows he's strong enough. He knows he can protect you, save from anything that would even consider the mere thought to harm you.

Yet he has yet to do so.

Yet another world, where Sylus failed to rescue you. Keep you from harm. He held you in his arms, his empty crimson eyes filled with a sadness he could no longer describe. Anger? Grief? Pain? All of it. He wasn't a man to cry, yet he felt tears welling in his eyes as he clutched your body close to his chest. He silently begged to hear your heartbeat, silently asking you to come back to him. His tears fall on your clothes that occupy your limp body.

"You're... you're not allowed to close your eyes... open them." He mumbles to you, even though your eyes had been sealed for a while. You've told him this before. In a world where you accidently injured him and told him to stay awake. A world that still exists somewhere deep in not only his soul but yours as well.

With a hard shutter of his cold body, he stands up with you in his arms. You should be awake. Alive, while he does this. Wake up, he tells you in his head, forcing through the surge of other thoughts that go through his head.

But you're gone. Again.

"You got what we wanted. You should be proud this time."

"This... I never wanted this. I never wanted this...curse that you have."

"Then stop trying to love her, knowing how it'll end. Should I remind you again how it was her who killed us? The greedy soul of that sorceress exists within her. Either she kills you... or you kill her."

The restless soul that still resides within him, the soul of a dragon that never truly died. Stayrus. He would never allow himself to become that... fiend again. Never in front of you. He'd never hurt you, no matter how much that voice tried to lure him in to doing so.

"The descendent of my soul and body is nothing but a mere coward, holding my great power to only be considered a joke in his own mind." The fiendish, reverbed voice echoed across Sylus' conscious as he walked to bring you to your final resting place yet again. The taunting, eerily evil chuckle Sylus had grown to hate, even if it was his own voice.

What a sick game.

Stayrus never used to be such a thorn in his descendent's side. He only went rogue since Sylus found himself constantly unfortunate. the dragon's rage that yearns for the soul within you grew rampant. It never forgot you, his arch nemesis, yet his beloved. What Stayrus would give to see her. The real her again.

"No love is purer than mine." He told you. He was right. Nothing was purer than what he wanted to give you. He would burn a town, a state, the country, an entire world for you in a heartbeat.

Sylus never wanted to let you go. Neither did Stayrus, even if the bitterness in his voice showed falsely. You... it's always been you. Despite everything, it's still you.

You are his never-ending curse. You are his beginning, and his end. And no matter how much he tried...

You would never be truly his.

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 10: Eclipsing Shadows

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.6K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

64.media.tumblr.com

Please note:

There are mentions of Astarion's trauma in this chapter.

Mr. Blackwell’s green eyes look like murky poison puddles that drip with corrosive contempt. His burgundy garb is wrinkled, creased and stained, clearly unchanged for some time. Whatever remains of his sparse, dingy-grey hair is slick with grease, dishevelled, and unkempt. He’s in a plight of disrepair not often seen in the noble class, eliciting wide-eyed stares and snickers from the crowd in the ballroom.

Guards are warily observing the onset of the altercation with avid attention. Their hands instinctively drift and sit precariously on the hilts of their weapons. You can hear the clinking of metal amour as they inch closer, ready to spring into action. From what you know of Mr. Blackwell, he is well-connected and an influential figure in Waterdeep. If you allow the quarrel to escalate, the guards will likely take heed of his requests and pay little attention to yours. You must tread carefully, a daunting prospect as your palms heat and your temper bubbles under your skin like an overboiling cauldron.

Your eyes scan the mob roving through the ballroom, subtly looking for Astarion. Aldous spoke to his father about the pale Elf with red eyes. You cannot allow Mr. Blackwell to gleam a view of Astarion. Quick and practiced, you take inventory of all possible exits and escapes while you count the guards.

Your neglect to answer him only irritates Mr. Blackwell further, and he crams himself into your line of sight. He is not a small man and towers over you. “Did you hear me, girl?” He squalls, gruff and strident. His hands slam into the wall beside your head with an ear-splitting boom as he barricades you in. “What have you done with my son, you fucking miscreant!”

Girl? Miscreant?! Why did I tell Astarion that murder was off the table?

His fetid breath feathers over your face. An inhuman, snake-like grin splits your lips as your adrenaline spikes. You’ve rivalled devils in the Hells, eradicated a vampire lord, euthanized countless fiends, and rained death down on hordes of shadow-cursed creatures. You will not be intimidated by the likes of this cretin.

“Mr. Blackwell,” you purr unenthusiastically, straightening your back, squaring your shoulders, and bedecking your face with a saintly visage. “Welcome home. It’s good to see you. What’s this about your son? Is Aldous missing?”

“Don’t play stupid, sorceress.” Mr. Blackwell roars. His face reddens further as he descends deeper into his fit of rage. Blue-hued veins pop from his forehead and neck as he snarls in your face with bared teeth. Your palms heat until blisteringly hot, and you resist the urge to shove him. “I know it was you. Where is he? Where is my boy?!”

Dead, and rightfully so.

The guards are getting antsy, shuffling from foot to foot, and the other patrons gape at the dispute before them. A crowd of onlookers is starting to form behind Mr. Blackwell. They stare and laugh with gleeful tittering as the show plays out. Your heart crashes against your sternum, playing your ribs like a drum. Your blood is broiling in your veins, and your fingers twitch with the urge to incinerate the threat.

Where in the Hells is Astarion? He would have heard this as soon as it started. You’re surprised and infinitely relieved that a dagger has not skewered Mr. Blackwell yet, but his absence is starting to make you uneasy. Have the guards already apprehended him? Did Mr. Blackwell recognize and have him arrested? Astarion would not go quietly, and you haven’t heard or seen any evidence of a struggle elsewhere. Astarion is far from stupid. He may know that his presence will only magnify the issue, but it’s unlikely to stop him from stepping in. You grumble under your breath at the thought. No matter what he’s seen you do or how powerful you are, Astarion protects you as if you’re a fragile wildflower, but you are not fragile like a flower; you’re fragile like an unstable explosive.

I protect him with the same ferocity, and I will never stop. Perhaps we are even.

You lean close to Mr. Blackwell, almost nose to nose, and growl under your breath, “You would do well to get out of my face lest I introduce you to the fire of my ancestors.”

Mr. Blackwell gnashes his teeth, narrowing his eyes as his forehead pinches, “You dare to threaten me?!”

Oh, yes. I dare.

Your temper is getting away with you. A hand clasps Mr. Blackwell’s shoulder, and you almost lurch forward, preparing for the fight that is sure to ensue, until you see Gale, wearing an elegant and regal mauve suit with one arm behind his back. You’ve never been so damn relieved not to see Astarion.

Gale’s face is composed with a cordial smile, and he laughs kindly as if nothing is amiss. You see the pink current of the Weave wash over Mr. Blackwell and recognize Charm Person as Gale casts imperceptibly with naught but a murmur.

“Of course not, Mr. Blackwell,” Gale assures in a charitable tenor. “Such a thing would be crass. Isn’t that right, my friend?” Gale prompts you. Gale is skilled, but his charisma is not nearly as honed as yours, and you recognize the petition for assistance charming the man.

Cloaking your voice in an alluring baritone, you put your silver tongue to work, “Quite right, Gale. I would never dare utter such ill-portent to our very good friend here.”

Mr. Blackwell’s eyes glass over as the spell and your charm ensnare him, dousing his rage like water to flame. Mr. Blackwell leans back, tottering on his legs, and mumbles through numb lips, “Of course not. I must have been mistaken. Please, forgive the outburst.”

“All is forgiven,” you shrug while revelling in the influence you have over feeble minds and continue your coercion. “Mr. Blackwell was just telling me he was on his way home. He is ever so weary from his travels. We should not retain him, Gale.”

“Yes.” Mr. Blackwell stammers, blinking hard as your suggestion plants and grows roots. “Yes, I was just about to retire for the night.”

Gale nods curtly to Mr. Blackwell while offering you his arm, “Get some rest. We should be going as well. It’s getting quite late. Dawn is almost upon us, after all.”

Taking Gale’s offered arm, he leads you away from the onlookers ogling you. The guards have relaxed as tensions decrease, but they still watch you with a keen eye. Gale’s warning starts to sink in.

Dawn? Fuck! Where is Astarion? He must get home.

Your grip slips from Gale, but he catches it and pats your arm, “Keep calm. Your panic will only further alarm the guards, and I fear they will not be as easily swayed as Mr. Blackwell. We are quite a team, but we cannot charm them all without someone taking notice. Astarion is waiting for us outside, just beyond the grounds.”

“Astarion is outside?” You query with an arched brow.

Gale nods, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with people who take notice of him. Once he’s managed to excuse himself from the tedious small talk, he leans close. “I sought him out as soon as I arrived. He is ever so antagonistic and easily provoked when it comes to you. The man would brave the sun if he thought you were in danger. It was considerably difficult to convince him it was best to leave it to me. I apologize I did not come to your aid first. I know you have more sense than he and would a keep cool-head. When I found him, the idiot had already drawn his damn weapons. Always violence first with him, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard and keep your mouth firmly shut. Gale knows you, but perhaps not as well as he thinks. You would have incinerated that man as soon as he stuck his face in yours, guards and onlookers be damned. You do not take life unnecessarily, but you take it without guilt when there is a threat to your friends. Mr. Blackwell is a danger to Astarion, and you can be impetuous when it comes to him.

“Thank you, Gale.” You breathe a long sigh as relief sates your nerves. “How did you know?”

“Mr. Blackwell came to the manor looking for you. I tried to appease him, but I am neither as intimidating nor convincing as you are, and he stormed off before I could get more than a word or two in. I knew he would go scouring the parties for Aldous and more than likely come across you.” Gale chuckles, “I’ve been through several of these celebrations tonight. I should have known to go to the most extravagant one first.”

“Mr. Blackwell will be back.” You point out, mouth twisting into a grimace as your mind tries to piece together some semblance of a plan. “We have not heard the last of this.”

“No,” Gale murmurs. “We most definitely have not. It is my hope that he doesn’t realize I charmed him tonight. If he does, it will only compound his fervour. We will have to tread these waters carefully. If this reaches the Masked Lords of Waterdeep…” Gale trails off with a sullen shake of his head, “May the dice roll in our favour.”

Your eyes bulge. You don’t know much about the government of Waterdeep, but everyone has heard of the masked lords. A ruling council whose identities were well hidden and carefully guarded.

“Could he really do that? Take it to that height?” You wheeze breathlessly as an invisible hand grips your lungs and clenches, “The Lords of Waterdeep surely wouldn’t concern themselves with such a trivial matter of a missing boy. Would they?”

Gale shrugs, “I wish I could say. Mr. Blackwell is exceptionally renowned. It’s plausible that he will go to great lengths, and I’m unsure how far his reach extends. I will do what I can to protect you and Astarion, but even my influence has limits.”

The brisk air bristles against your skin, giving you goosebumps or perhaps that’s due to Gale’s mention of the lords, as you and Gale continue your hastened retreat. Gale takes long strides, making you trot beside him to keep pace since you are considerably shorter than he. What is with men and walking as fast as they can? You would ask Gale to slow down, but you’re in a hurry to get away. The rapid click, click, click of your heels on the stone makes you uneasy, as it sounds like a clock counting down your final moments.

There’s an eerie reticence in the courtyard this evening, as silent as the sheeted dead, as if the city beyond these stone walls has ceased to exist. A ghostly wind causes your modest steel-silver dress to flutter around your knees. The scent of incoming rain hangs thick in the air while drab clouds swarm the sky as a storm coming off the ocean makes landfall, and the weather fronts interact.

Magic glows in your eyes and fingertips as you practice the various spells in your repertoire. Your fingers are a spectacular florid ballet, the Weave tiptoeing over the pads as you rehearse the movements for Sunbeam, Chain Lightning, Cloudkill, and Blight and recite the incantations in your mind like a sermon without ultimately casting as you drill yourself. Weaving the intricate web of the Weave is ingrained in your soul, and this is not an exercise you need to practice, but the recent events and Gale’s mention of the Masked Lords have caused anxiety to breed in your muscles. You need to make sure you’re ready for war. You’re an incredibly gifted sorceress with the ferocity of your draconic ancestors dwelling in your blood. You can be death incarnate, and you will be if it comes to it. You will raze this damn city to the ground if it means to harm Astarion. No one will hurt him again if your lungs still draw breath.

You’re glowing so brightly, the Weave shimmering around you like an aurora, that you don’t notice that day has fallen victim to night when Astarion breezes into the courtyard. He looks at you, brandishes his dagger with a finesse that never fails to impress and descends into a defensive stance. He observes the surroundings with an acute eye and gives you a questioning look after he’s assessed there’s no danger.

With a quick step you learned from him, you pivot and toss a very weak Fire Bolt straight toward him. Astarion whirls, his propensity for dexterity evident in his movement, avoiding the spell.

“Impressive agility. I’m glad I taught you something at least, but what in the Hells was that for?” He smirks with a tsk and clicks his tongue. “At least, I ask before I bite. I am civil - unlike you.”

“Just making sure you’re not getting sloppy,” you giggle with a virtuous shrug.

“If that would have hit me, I would have deserved it,” he chuckles and glowers at you with an amused grin. “That was far too slow and weak. I did not even feel the heat from it. You can do infinitely better than that. Even I can cast that cantrip. Come on, darling. If you’re going to spar with me, you could at least give me the decency of a challenge.”

“A challenge, hm?” You smirk wickedly. Sparring with him isn’t a new activity. When you lived with him, you two would often spar long into the night until you were both sweating and tired. He craves thrill and danger as much as you, and you keep each other on your toes. “As you wish.”

Astarion’s rapscallion smile and the way he bends lightly at the knees indicate that he welcomes this exchange. The Weave brightens around you, and you cast Fire Bolt repeatedly in quick succession with a little more power and speed behind it with lithe steps. Astarion swings his body, nimbly ducking, dodging and avoiding everything you throw at him as he advances toward your position until he’s in front of you and takes you into his arms while he laughs.

“You caught me once. It tickled.” He glances toward a small burn mark on his shirt, “If anyone has gotten sloppy, it’s you.”

“What you call sloppy, I call careful casting,” you giggle.

“Sloppy,” he corrects, narrowing those scarlet eyes glinting vibrantly with excitement and adrenaline. “You’re already a veritable sovereign when it comes to magic. How about we work on expanding your skillset?” He twirls a dagger at his side without so much as looking at it, catches the blade between his fingers, and settles the hilt in your hand with a devious grin. Astarion takes a few steps backward and motions you forward, “Come on. Attack me.”

You stare at the dagger, your fingers sliding over the metal hilt, “You want me to come at you with a knife? Have you gone completely mad? There are training dummies right there.”

“Oh yes, those will surely help you.” Astarion rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue with audible disapproval of your reluctance. “I am positive your attacker will stand stationary for you so you can stab them - if you ask nicely enough. You will learn nothing from those.”

It’s unlikely that you’ll hurt him. Hells, if you did somehow manage to so much as nick him, Astarion would probably be proud of you, but you stare at the shiny steel with trepidation, “What if I cut you?”

Astarion’s head tilts back, and he laughs loudly, “Oh, you are adorable. Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, I will be fine. You’re more likely to hurt yourself, and if you somehow do cut me, what does it matter? It’s not like you can kill me further.” He giggles, “Now, remember your footwork and keep the sharp pointy end directed toward me and not yourself, love.”

Well, multiclassing never hurts.

Slipping off your sandals, you recall everything he’s ever taught you or tried to, at least. Bending your knees and rolling your weight into your heels for balance, you lunge toward him. You and he spar while he deflects your attacks with an ease that vexes you, and he barks various instructions - straighten your back, keep your weight centred, don’t lean forward, and use your momentum until your heart beats hard, a prisoner in a cage constructed of bone. Exhausted, you sit on the ground, gulping down ragged breaths.

Astarion crosses his arms with a chuckle, “Done, are you? Well, I’ve certainly seen worse - from a babe. Do not go getting into any knife fights without me. You will surely get yourself run through.”

“Astarion,” you throw your head backward exaggeratedly with the back of your hand against your forehead, “you wound me. I think I could rival you with one or two more lessons.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “One or two centuries of lessons, perhaps. You stick to magic. I will happily do any required stabbing.”

The man doesn’t need to breathe, and you know it, but he’s not even sweating. You frown at him while wiping your brow, “Could you please pretend to be winded at least?”

“Apologies. Where are my manners?” Astarion drops to his knees and gives you a gentle shove, sending you sprawling to your back. Crawling over you, he mimics your heavy breathing with a smug smirk, “Better?”

Rolling your eyes, you stick your tongue out at him frivolously, “Kiss me, you fool.”

“Blood running a little hot, sweetheart?” He purrs sensuously, pressing his body into you, grabbing your thigh and guiding it around his waist, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Astarion’s lips mould to yours, cool silk against your heated pout and as delightful to the senses as plunging into cool water on an arid day. His tongue traces your lower lip, enticing your mouth to part. His taste is rich and hypnotic, a firewater of desire and good Gods, it’s intoxicating. His fingers trail up the delicate skin of your upper thigh with firm pressure, leaving blazing trails of icy fire, coalescing between your legs and making you throb. Bolts of electricity amble up your spine in a slow progression, making your body shiver awkwardly as bumps rise over your skin.

Astarion wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you to your feet, tugging your dress back into place, and you give him a quizzical look.

“Gale has returned,” Astarion says, smoothing your hair down. “That man has the worst timing. Also, a bath. You smell.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you groan at his candidness. With a gentle shove, you grumble under your breath and stalk away from him to your room.

There’s a chill in the air that sinks its teeth into even his already frosty skin. Winter is drawing near. The trees have shed their leaves, preparing for dormancy, and the ground is stiff beneath his boots. He’s tired and filthy, spending much of his days lately in caves or held up in shabby barns or abandoned shacks during the day as he continues to run from the only love he has ever known. He has been lucky so far. He can often make it to the next godforsaken hovel to find shelter if he travels fast enough through the night, but as he progresses, the little towns are growing further apart. One of these days, he may not be able to find shelter before dawn, and the sun will consume him - a rather painful demise for a vampire.

Before Astarion enters the ramshackle tavern in this puny rural town in the middle of nowhere, he casts his eyes skyward and looks at the silvery moon as he does every night. If nothing else, he can take comfort in the fact that she is somewhere, under the same stars, and maybe, just maybe, she is looking at the moon, too.

The tavern is as destitute as the rest of this town, with low ceilings and lit by only a few oil lamps, giving it a gloomy atmosphere. It’s quiet. No minstrel or bard plays music here, and the only sounds that can be heard are the dragging of flagons across the rough tabletops and the grotesque gulps and burps of the few downtrodden labourers and drunks. It smells of mildew, fetid spirits and vomit. He crinkles his nose. He usually mimics breathing out of habit in public, but for this place, he will make an exception.

The floor is absurdly tacky, and even he can’t help the sound his boots make as they peel off it. He orders a pint and sits in a rickety chair that wobbles underneath him. Calling the ale rotten would be an understatement. He’s never tasted anything quite so vile in all his two centuries, and his diet once consisted of dead, putrid rats. It’s hard to say which is worse.

A pair of ne’er-do-wells attempted to extort some coin out of him by betting they could juggle more daggers than he. Fools. Even if blind drunk, his dexterity would be vastly superior to theirs. They could scarcely juggle two - child’s play for him. They left quickly with superficial lacerations to their fingers and hands. He wishes she had been here to witness this. They would have had a good laugh. She always loved watching him.

Even though the ale is terrible, the little table is starting to fill with emptied flagons. Tonight, every iota of him aches loudly in the silence of her absence. He does not need to trance, not since the tadpole no longer wriggles in his skull, but he will, if only so he can fall into a memory where they are sure to meet.

His vision is blurred, and his mind thinks of nothing but her. What would she be doing right now? Reading by the fire and sipping wine? Trying to mend her clothes and doing a terrible job now that he is no longer there to do it for her? Sleeping in their bed? Would she be alone, or would Halsin or Gale have come to console her? With him out of the picture, perhaps she could find happiness with one of them. The thought makes his very bones throb, and his fingers wrack through his hair, unsettled by the notion of any but him with her in their bed.

Astarion empties the next flagon and frowns while he grinds it across the table, clinking it against its fallen brethren.

Gale would be the most likely. Gale was a powerful wizard, but he had always been fascinated by her innate authority over the Weave. Where Gale had to read books, scrolls, practice and study spells, she could simply cast them reflexively with little effort. Early in their adventure, Gale had tried to beguile her, boasting his control of the Weave with a demonstration. Astarion watched with curiosity to see if she would reciprocate the obvious flirtation. She kept a straight face, smiling politely and copying as instructed until the foray was completed. She walked away with her arms crossed and a hard roll of her eyes in exasperation while Gale watched her all dew-eyed. It made him snicker at the time.

Despite his prowess, wealth and renown, Gale would probably bore her into an early grave. She craved excitement, risk, Hells, even danger. She needed someone not afraid to get into a little, or a lot, of trouble. She would not be satisfied sitting idle in a library for the rest of her days. She loves fiercely and deserves to be loved fiercely in return with untamed, unbridled passion.

Hot baths. Animals. Fresh fruit. Red roses. Long walks through moonlight forests at night. All the things she loves flit through his mind.

Her face appears in his blurry vision, laughing as she runs through the forest with him hot on her heels. Her modest pastel green dress waves in the wind. She casts Misty Step and disappears from his view. She is not quiet in the forest and knows it, but she pops out from behind the large trunk of a tree and yells, “Boo!” He pretends to be startled, but she doesn’t believe his facade and dissolves into adorable giggles.

She strolls up to him, smiling brightly, still laughing, and the stars themselves descend from the heavens and twinkle in her eyes. Her voice, majestic like a siren’s song, fills his ears as she says, “You’re an adorable idiot. I love you, Astarion.”

He smiles, blinks, and the memory dissipates. He tries to hold onto it, but it withdraws despite his efforts to keep her with him.

A woman’s voice catches his attention, “Stop, please. I said no.”

In Astarion’s drunken daze, he almost hears her voice, but it’s a hint too breathy and modulated. He narrows his eyes and tries to peer past the film of inebriation, mucking up his vision and making him see double. A young woman sits at the bar, and a man much older and ragged-looking pets her hair with clumsy fingers, muttering slurred, vulgar innuendos. She tries to push him away from her, but it’s futile. The man stumbles and chortles, taking another noisy sip of his ale, missing his mouth and washing his beard with it.

He cringes with a roll of his eyes. This is not his business. He does not fancy himself a hero, and he is not foolish enough to get caught up in such a quandary. He peers into his empty flagon. A deep, dark well of sorrow gazes back at him from the bottom. He should leave and return to the inn, where he can slip into his trance and be with her until the sun dips below the horizon.

“I said stop!” The woman’s voice rings out higher, making his ears twitch and grating on his nerves. It’s so close to hers that he has trouble reminding himself it’s not. It can’t possibly be because he... he left her.

He looks around the tavern, hoping someone else will step in, but no one even lifts their sagged heads to assess the situation. He leans back in his unsteady chair, and his fingers rap against the table with hard, rhythmic thumps portraying his increasing frustration.

He is no hero.

“No! I said no!” 

Is no one going to do anything? Really? He growls, clenching his jaw and grating his teeth. The woman’s voice is just too close to hers. It’s making his fingers twitch over the hilt of his dagger, and his muscles tense.

“No! Please, stop. Help!”

The woman’s shoes drag across the floor, and he’s already out of his chair, stalking toward the commotion with a haunting scowl. He ignores the itch to draw his blade. If she taught him anything, it’s that talking is often all that is necessary, but if all else fails, he has no issue with killing.

He is a little peckish.

He stands beside the woman with his practiced liar’s smile, “My friend, how lovely to see you again. Funny we should meet here of all places.”

The man glowers at him through droopy, glassy eyes, releasing the woman’s arm. The woman simply stares at him, her cheeks tear-streaked and ruddy, unsure of what to do.

Gods, these people are dull. All she must do is play along. He attempts to make his intentions plain, “Allow me to walk you home. We can catch up on the way.”

“That lady is coming home with me.” The man snarls, poking his shoulder with a finger that he can’t even keep straight.

This man would be easy pickings indeed if it came to it.

“No.” Astarion stands tall, squaring his shoulders and layering on his most intimidating intonation, “I will be taking her home. If you try to stop me, I know a thousand ways to gut you before you can so much as blink. Do not tempt me.”

“Ah Hells,” the man snickers after sizing him up and stumbles back, “She’s not worth the trouble. She’s all yours.”

He hoped the man would force his hand, but this is probably for the best. He is looking forward to resting indoors today. It has been many days since he was able to wait out the day in a room with a bed that did not smell like some form of livestock.

The woman turns to him with big, round eyes full of adoration and grabs his arm, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Astarion doesn’t quite know how to react, and he does not like the way she is eyeing him. He pulls his arm out of her grasp, “I’ll walk you home. Let’s go.”

The night feels too silent and still around him as he walks the dim streets. The woman follows on his heels, blabbering and stuttering her praises and gratitude. He doesn’t speak another word to her as he fights his mind. Emotions are stirring in his head. He's unsettled, angry even, and he doesn’t understand why. At least the walk isn’t long in a small place like this.

As soon as the woman opens her door, he turns to walk away.

“Won’t you come in?” Her eyes slink over him, and he feels revulsion. No one but her should be looking at him like that, and it only increases his discomfort further, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it,” he snaps back gruffly.

He keeps walking until he feels the woman’s hand clutch the back of his shirt, her fingernails grazing over his scars. Those old emotions flood him - fear, loathing, disgust, and he whirls with a fanged snarl.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Oh! I-I’m sorry, Astarion.” Her hand recoils from his back, and she jumps away, pressing herself to the headboard with eyes rounded in confusion. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you want me to go?”

Shit.

He let his mind wander off with him, and the memory bled into reality. Blinking hard, he reorients himself. He’s safe in Gale’s manor. He is with her. It was her touching his back - at his request, of course.

He jumps off the bed, flexing his hands as he paces the room. He needs time to get his head straight, but the raw anguish in her eyes is gnawing at him. This is why he left in the first place. He keeps hurting her when the storm sweeps him away in a flash flood, and he’s lost in it.

“I’ll go and give you some time.” She slips into her housecoat, cinching it at her waist and opens the door. Before she closes it, she turns to him, “I’m so sorry, Astarion. If you need space for the night, I understand. I will rest in my room tonight.”

He can’t get his godsdamned mouth to move or his tongue to form words. He stands idly as she closes the door behind her. He listens to her bare feet pad down the hallway at a quick trot and then the click of her door closing. His hands wrack through his hair, fingers curling into it. He knows better than to let his mind drift aimlessly, although the fact that it did roam is an interesting development. He’s used to being able to think of nothing but withstanding the sensation of her hands on his back. He’s improving, albeit slowly.

He laces his hands behind his head, arches his back and stretches his tight chest, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Astarion closes his eyes and shakes out his arms.  He feels panicked and tense. His skin squirms as if snakes are writhing below the surface. Patrolling his bedroom, he tries to mollify his unease, taking deep breaths of air he doesn’t need. The memory has agitated him for some reason that he can’t quite put his finger on.

His ears twitch as they catch suppressed weeping from her room. Fuck, he’s upset her. This was not her fault. It’s been a while since he went and fucked things up like he always does. He leans on the wall and closes his eyes. Did he make a mistake returning? For months, his singular goal was to find her, but now he wonders if this was selfish. He could not stand living without her, but she may have been better without him.

Astarion is sliding down an icy hill made of doubt, and he can’t stop his descent. Has he doomed her to a life sharing his pain? What does he have to offer her other than his unconditional love? The shadows have claimed him once more.

No.

He can’t let himself fall back into old patterns. She can handle his darkness.

The silence of this room without her heartbeat is dark and heavy. She should be here with him. A chill like an electric bolt runs down his spine at the sight of the empty room when he opens his eyes. It reminds him of when he left, a year as nightmarish as the one he spent in that tome, alone and hungry. He aches to hold her.

He takes long strides and taps on her door lightly.

“Are you okay, Astarion?” She sniffles, trying hard to confine the tears, making her eyes shine.

“I’m fine. Come here.” He wraps his arms around her, kissing her forehead and pressing his cheek against her. She hugs him awkwardly, more awkwardly than he hugged her the first time they did this. She keeps her hands off him, arms stiff at her sides. “It’s okay. You can touch me.”

She hesitates before placing her hands on his waist. He kisses her temple, gently grabs her arms and guides them around him, “A proper hug, yes? You can touch my back, love. It’s alright.”

He can feel the warmth of her hands hovering over his back, unsure, but slowly press into him, and she hugs him tightly. He’s surprised to find that it soothes the agitation. The spring coiled around his chest, constricting it, dissipates in her arms. He takes a deep breath to test how good the looseness feels.

“Come back to our room, hm? I will explain what happened.”

“You don’t have to explain,” she murmurs against him.

“I know,” he rubs her back, “but I want to - if you’re willing to hear it, of course.”

“Always.”

They sit on the bed as he describes the memory in as much detail as possible. She stays quiet as she always did, waiting patiently when he must take a moment to collect himself, offering him her hand. When something he recalls upsets him further, she squeezes his fingers, grounding him and encouraging him to take a break - when and if he needs to.

“I don’t know why it agitated me so much. It made me afraid,” he rasps faintly with a shaky breath as his brows pinch together, perplexed. It’s still troubling him. “Her touching my back was not the only reason, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

She nods with a contemplative gaze. Her beautiful doe-eyes blink as she ponders, and the candlelight scintillates in them. She grabs a blanket and pats her lap, “Do you want to put your head in my lap?”

He smiles. She always knows exactly what he needs. Astarion rests his head on her legs, and she covers him with the blanket, making sure his back and scars are entirely cloaked. Tucking it around him, like he tucks her in at night to ensure it doesn’t slip.

Rubbing his arm, she keeps her voice to a solacing whisper, “Do you want to know what I think, or would you rather I just listen?”

She has always been keenly observant and deeply perceptive. Often able to gleam the tiniest subtleties in inflection, tone or body language. It is what makes her a master at persuasion and intimidation. Her insight is as boundless as the cosmos. If anyone can help him shed light on this, it’s her. If he is to heal, he needs to know what provokes these feelings.

“I have gone over it in my mind time and time again,” he sighs. “I cannot figure it out myself. Tell me what you think.”

“Stop me at any point if you no longer wish to hear it,” she urges. “May I hug you closer?”

With the blanket covering his back and scars, he feels protected and secure. He nods, “Yes.”

She curls around him. Her warmth seeps into him, forcing back the gloom. “You said you did not like the way she looked at you. You mentioned it twice. What look did she give you, and what did it remind you of?”

Flashes of the woman’s greedy eyes play out in his mind. She stared at him as if she wanted to devour and lose herself in him. She stared at him like he was her saviour. She stared at him like they used to stare at him before he brought them to Cazador.

Hells.

Will he ever stop being astounded with how clever she is? She’s not telling him what she thinks. She’s bringing his attention to details he skimmed over so he can work it out himself.

“It… it reminded me of the way my victims used to look at me,” his voice quivers and cracks, tears spring to his eyes, rivulets rolling out the corners. Good Gods, his body is trembling as he fights to keep his emotions from giving way. “The bloody dingy tavern, the way she simply trusted me to walk her home, the quiet, dark streets and the ardent lust in her eyes… It all felt like I was back to doing his bidding as if I was the fucking rake again.”

She rescinds her pressure on him slightly. He used to hate being touched when he felt like this, but not anymore, as long as it’s her touching him. He pulls her back around him. His body shakes more violently now as he continues to fight the overwhelming emotions.

“You don’t have to fight, Astarion. Don’t be afraid to break. We all fall.” She soothes him with an almost ethereal voice like an angel whispering, “I’ve got you. For as long as you need. I’ve always got you.”

Sobs wrack his body, tears streaming down his face, and he falls to pieces in her arms. She’s not close enough like this. His body is painfully bare without her skin on his. She is the light that drives the shadows back. She is sunshine. She is his. He shrugs off the blanket with haste. She gasps at his quick movement, and his fingers find the hem of her nightdress.

She stops him with a confused look, “Astarion, what-”

“I don’t need it,” he chokes out, hoarse and urgent. “Not with you. Not anymore. I want to feel you. Will you let me?”

She removes her nightdress and opens her arms with a smile, tears streaming down her face. She wraps her arms around him, limbs cocooning his body, and pulls him securely to her, his bare back against her warm chest, choking away the fear.

With her, he is seen. He is understood. He is safe.

“I love you, Kamena. Ai armiel telere maenen hir.” He speaks to her through sobs in Elven, their mother tongue, meaning “You hold my heart forever.”

“I love you too, Astarion. Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” she chimes with a featherlight kiss to his shoulder.

Safe in her arms, he shatters and breaks.  

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I've loved writing since I was a child but have never been confident enough to post anything for others to read. The encouragement I've received has been positively incredible, and it's been helping me through some hard times in my life - sincerely thank you so much! :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

We did name Tav in this chapter. I apologize if it's not well received but I think it will make senes going forward. I did try to do it in a natural-ish way.

[maevesque]

a/n: Hurt. With slight comfort, if you squint. (jk, it's fabricated)

My dragon is gone.

She sits on her knees, her arms positioned like it was when she was holding him.

Sylus, her dragon. The Fiend she had fallen in love with. The time it took for the feelings to blossom suddenly felt too short. 

Emptiness. 

She stares at the empty space that once was filled with the presence of him. Now all that was left were the flowers that floated around her, as if they didn't want to leave the place just yet.

Or perhaps, this was a way for Sylus to say he didn't want to leave her yet.

She closes her eyes, the wind howling with a sense of anguish and longing. It caresses her body, and she swears she can feel the touch of claws, sharp enough to leave a deep wound, yet was nothing but gentle when holding her, carding through her hair. 

"You must press on…" 

There it is again. His voice. Only he wasn't kneeled in front of her, his claws wrapped around hers, ensuring she doesn't let go of the handle of the claymore, ready to help her commit the final act.

No, she feels him behind her, the warmth of his chest against her back, the soft brush of his lips against her ear, and the gentle curl of his dragon tail wrapping around her waist. And tears fall down her cheeks, dampening the soft skin he once brushed his claws gently against. 

She refuses to open her eyes, even when the wind that carries his voice tries to coax her to open them, she refuses to. She wants to commit those garnet-like eyes to memory, so that she'll never forget about them. How they look at her with so much softness, like a gentle touch.

She doesn't want to face the reality that she's alone. That he's… Gone.

"You'll never be alone, O' Great Sorceress… For I will always be with you." 

Her eyes open, the field scattered in ashes from the angry flames drawn by The Fiend. The sky is an angry mixture of reds and grays from the fire and smoke. Everything was crumbling to ruins and she didn't care about any of it. The cities can continue burning as the people frantically run for any source of safety. 

Doomsday had arrived and she would make sure they all paid. 

These obsidian crystal shards that disintegrated into petals finally float away, passing through the bright red daturas, turning them black as the petals finally drift towards the clouds. 

The absence of tears was no longer there as streams fell down her cheeks, tainting her dress as she grips onto the fabric and clenches her teeth, her eyes then gaze up to the clouds and she wonders if Sylus was looking down at her. 

She laughs through the tears, the taste on her tongue a bitter taste with nothing sweet. The mark on her neck from her beloved burns and she wants nothing more for it to sear into her very soul.

"My dragon is gone."

[shatinn]

[gil-galadhwen]

Lady Of The Marred Moon [An Eskel Fic}

Chapter 7 - One Cannot Flee One's Fate

Catrin is about to head out on her first monster slaying excursion with Eskel when something unexpected happens... Who exactly is the princess with two wolves?

Read here...

< Dividers by @saradika-graphics >

[batbusiness-schooldropout]

Wild idea: Fairies like Jaskier and tend to silently watch him. So of course, some are on that mountain, see everything happen, take Great Offense to Geralt, and decide to torment a witcher.

Now, obviously, they can't physically attack a witcher. It takes a significant amount of their Luck to keep him from noticing them in the first place.

So they cause illusions and hallucinations. As Geralt walks down the mountain, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jaskier falling off the side. But every time he turns to save him, nothing is there.

He doesn't stop to rest until he's off the mountain. Every time he slows, he is overcome with the sense that he is being hunted, and his only option is to run away.

As he sets up camp, he hears Jaskier screaming, but there's no other sign of life. He hasn't smelt so much as a rabbit since he yelled at Jaskier. And when he follows the screams, there is still nothing.

He wakes to the sound of a fiend tearing flesh and the smell of Jaskier's blood. He manages to find the fiend, but there's no evidence that there was ever another person. And while eating fiend meat will make the next few days even more miserable, it's also the first somewhat digestible thing he's encountered in over a week. All the plants are either too diseased, rotted, or toxic to eat, no water source, not even morning dew, and there still being no sign of animal life.

He keeps walking, unable to see that he's walking in circles. Any time he strays from where they want him, he finds Jaskier's body in a worse state than the last time. And every time he approaches the body, it fades away.

If he tries to ignore it, the body will come alive and beg for him to please help, at least kill him himself instead of leaving him to suffer like this. No matter where Geralt goes, Fake Jaskier's cries just get louder until he complies. He's lost count of how many times he's snapped his friend's neck.

The fairies are amused in that way of theirs. They can't kill a witcher outright, but they can manipulate his senses and keep him tired, hungry, thirsty, and filled with dread for the friend he pushed away.

Maybe, if he's lucky, the bard or his sorceress will find and forgive him.

But most likely, he'll experience a witcher's retirement long before then.

[hananoami]

Event Preview

🌋[Abyssal Splendor] event is coming soon

Join him in exploring Deal in N109 Zone and looking for the Long-Lost Fiend Treasure. Participate in the event and claim 4-Star Solar Memory Pair [Sylus: Bloodnight Drift], [Sylus: Bloodnight Blaze], 3-Star Memory [Sylus: Reckless Living], [Deepspace Wish: Limited10], [Diamond500], Couple Pose, Exclusive Title and more!

💭Event Duration: Dec. 2, After Update to Dec. 16, 4:59 AM (Server Time) 💭Event Shop Expires At: Dec. 17, 4:59 AM (Server Time)

💭Gem Hunting: Unlock storyline, get 4-Star Memory and Diamonds for FREE

Investigate the trace of the gem in Charon and unlock the mini stories of you and Sylus! Complete the investigation and claim the limited 4-Star Memory [Sylus: Bloodnight Drift] and [Diamond*500]!

💭Companion Rehearsal: Fight alongside Abysm Sovereign and get 4-Star Memory for FREE

Challenge the Rehearsal Stage to fight alongside the new Companion [Sylus: Abysm Sovereign]! First-clear will grant you the limited 4-Star Memory [Sylus: Bloodnight Blaze]! *In the first update after the event, Sylus's 4-Star Memory Pair [BN] will enter [Galaxy Explorer]. You may obtain them by exploring Silver Galaxy and Radiant Galaxy.

💭Event Shop: Complete tasks and redeem rewards

Participate in the event and collect [Encrypted Keycard] to redeem: Limited 3-Star Memory [Sylus: Reckless Living], [Deepspace Wish: Limited*10] Couple Pose [Sylus: Heartseeker], Exclusive Title [Inseparable Sorceress] Chat Bubble [Night-Chasing Wings], Background Music [Dragon Vale's Song], Photo Stickers, and more!

[pen-and-umbra]

Jenova, Minerva, LOVELESS, The Queen and the Gi connection, pt. 2

Part 1 - Jenova, Minerva, LOVELESS, The Queen and the Gi connection, pt. 1

The most astounding lore connection, however, is found elsewhere, concealed within one of the mini-games. At a certain stage, Queen's Blood becomes a fully fledged side quest, and the now-deceased creator of the game, Lidrehl, contacts Cloud to relay an intriguing story behind it.

(“Once, there lived a queen of peerless beauty and compassion. She loved her people, and in turn, they loved her. But one day, a change came over the queen. In a blink of an eye, her love turned to hate, her compassion to cruelty. Fair and beauteous though she remained, her heart became black as pitch. Conquest was now her cause, her subjects mere fodder to feed her boundless ambition. And so her kingdom grew as her subjects perished. Until, that is, a ray of hope appeared – a sorceress who would be their salvation. The Emerald Witch they called her. And with her arcane powers, she led the people into rebellion, captured the queen, and put her to death. Yet from the tyrant’s body spilled blood as dark as shadow. And from this wicked ichor, the myriad fiends of the world were born. And that... is the story of the Shadowblood Queen. Some call it a parable. A myth. A fairy tale. And I wish it were! But she is as real as you and I! And she is coming. Her resurrection is nigh.”)

“In a blink of an eye, her love turned to hate, her compassion to cruelty. Fair and beauteous though she remained, her heart became black as pitch”—this passage describes the metamorphosis Sephiroth undergoes during Nibelheim flashback to a tee. The language used to depict the queen's transformation - "in a blink of an eye, her love turned to hate, her compassion to cruelty"— parallels Sephiroth's own shift from heroism to villainy. “Conquest was now her cause, her subjects mere fodder to feed her boundless ambition” — anything rings a bell?

“This planet is my birthright! [FFVII Remake & Rebirth]”, “What I want, Cloud, is to sail the darkness of the cosmos with this planet as my vessel, just as my mother did long ago. Then one day we'll find a new planet. And on its soil, we'll create a shining future [FFVII AC]”, “My dominion shall reach into infinity” [FFVII Rb], “I am the chosen one. I have been chosen to be the leader/ruler of this Planet [FFVII OG]”. Birthright, dominion, and leadership are all expressions associated with the concept of a ruler or sovereign, much like a king or queen. Similarly, the excerpt stating "her kingdom grew as her subjects perished" signals a conquest and the losses suffered by the queen's people as a consequence.

Lidrehl's story thus appears to be the first case of Jenova infestation, offering a plausible explanation for the origins of the “female” entity known as Jenova. A female ruler of an unnamed people (possibly the Cetra or the Gi) appears to have had an inexplicable change of heart and embarked on a path of destruction. It is conceivable that this entity, possibly the ruler of the Gi, descended on the planet via a meteor (“subjects perished” = perhaps the Gi old world perished as a result of their queen's conquest? This implication is discussed in pt.1) in order to pursue its “boundless ambitions”. This mirrors the plan Sephiroth outlines to Cloud before their confrontation in Advent Children, emphasizing the parallel between the two narratives. “<...> …to sail the darkness of the cosmos with this planet as my vessel <...> Then one day we'll find a new planet. And on its soil, we'll create a shining future”.

On the other hand, the ruler could be Cetran, and whatever caused her to change bore virus-like nature (think of how AC! Sephiroth released Geostigma, which infected people with Jenova's organics). It's somewhat puzzling that the Temple of Ancients makes no mention of their supposed queen when referring to the malicious “celestial adversary”. Then again, it could be reflected in the account of their “enemy” being a shape-shifter who wore the faces of their deceased to spread discord among people.

In fact, the supposed queen may have been killed by this alien entity and wound up dead (as human Sephiroth was after Nibelheim), but the alien entity was impersonating her (again, much like Jenova at various points takes the form of Sephiroth in OG and Remake). Whatever corrupted the queen came with the meteor (the Gi connection again?). Incidentally, the Northern Crater is sitting on the same continent where the Forgotten Capital is located. If there was an alien virus-like substance there, it could have potentially reached the city — a detail that also resonates with Shiva summon lore, as she allegedly froze the impact region to “staunch” the wound.

“An ice-elemental entity and ruler over the world of ice. It is said that she once saved the planet from certain destruction by staunching a great wound with a glacier.” [Loading screen description of Shiva]

Conversely, the ruler of Cetran people could have taken measures to address the disaster, and got infected or killed on site. 

“Until that is, a ray of hope appeared—a sorceress who would be their salvation. The Emerald Witch, they called her. And with her arcane powers, she led the people into rebellion, captured the queen, and put her to death”. Given that the Cetra are described as being more attuned to magic and the arcane, it is reasonable to assume the Emerald Witch was indeed a Cetra. Furthermore, the term “emerald” directly alludes to the color of Mako and the Lifestream. When Aerith pacifies the Lifestream at the Temple of Ancients, she effectively becomes a Lifestream whisperer, or a sorceress.

Therefore, it is reasonable to assume the powers the Emerald Witch possessed were likely linked to the ability to manipulate Lifestream energy on a grand scale. Not too dissimilar to what Aerith does in the original ending, huh?

“Yet from the tyrant’s body spilled blood as dark as shadow. And from this wicked ichor, the myriad fiends of the world were born”—this is highly reminiscent of the Negative Lifestream from Advent Children or the dark essence Kadaj was using to infuse water at the Forgotten Capital. Or even the Geostigma.

Viewed in a broader context, this suggests the passage is referring to the manner in which Jenova's cells spread to infect individuals and animals, potentially reflecting its virulent nature or hinting at the deliberate experiments conducted by ShinRA.

The Shadowblood Queen card bears striking resemblances to the wall depictions of Jenova in the Temple of the Ancients, including hidden eyes, flowing locks, and a hairstyle reminiscent of a meteor shape. The latter, in turn, oddly echoes Rosa's portrayal in LOVELESS, the headpiece in particular.

Conversely, the Emerald Witch card shows similarities to the Goddess Materia statue (the cowl) in Crisis Core, suggesting a possible association with Minerva. The Cetra connection is further solidified by FFVII Remake's ShinRA HQ VR tour. It highlights the traditional Cetra white robe and a cowl when touching upon the subject of harnessing Lifestream's power [through creation of Materia].

As the Planet's avatar, Minerva is an ideal candidate for being a sorceress capable of manipulating the Lifestream. This implies that Minerva may have once been a mortal Cetra, the Emerald Witch. Furthermore, the flower-garland garment on the Emerald Witch card shares surprising similarities to the one Aerith wore while performing her song in the LOVELESS play.

Interestingly, the flowers depicted on the card are of the yellow variety, which provides a nod to the flowers associated with Aerith throughout the franchise. This might hint at Omni!Aerith's new role and mission, drawing a direct parallel between the Emerald Witch card and Aerith's mission.

There's another dead giveaway that connects the Shadowblood Queen and Jenova. As Lidrehl wraps up his story, we are given a glimpse of a robed figure putting their arms threateningly over him. There's no mistake here, as the robe sleeves bear the telltale tears and tatters of “failed clones”. To highlight this, the figure vanishes with distinctive purple/magenta effects similar to those of Jenovaroth and Jenova. 

What's more, when relaying the account of Shadowblood Queen, Lidrehl uses a very specific language, used only by Aerith to describe Jenova in the first part of the Remake.

Lidrehl: “That foul thing is the source of this nightmare <...>” Aerith: [before Jenova Dreamweaver battle] “The source. Of everything.”

Lidrehl’s final words are full of grim promise. 

(“Some call it a parable. A myth. A fairy tale. And I wish it were! But she is as real as you and I! And she is coming. Her resurrection is nigh”.)

Her resurrection. Not Sephiroth's. It is Jenova who will come back.

This detail lends more weight to Sephiroth's cryptic speech about his “fragmented mother” in the Temple of Ancients.

(“My fragmented mother, these errant worlds… All shall be one again.”)

From a broader perspective, the purpose of the Reunion remains the same: to bring Jenova's cell bearers together, but this time the meeting will span across timelines to make the “fragmented mother” whole again [as extensively discussed here], thus fulfilling Lidrehl's prophetic statement of Shadowblood's Queen resurrection looming. Additionally, Sephiroth's message about creating infinity/eternity to rule all the creation forever aligns with Jenova's boundless ambition for conquest, as described by Lidrehl: "Conquest was now her cause, her subjects mere fodder to feed her boundless ambition." In fact, the godhood aspiration that Sephiroth exhibits in the original game can be seen as a reflection of Jenova's/Shadowblood's own limitless ruling ambition.

(“It shall encompass worlds unbound by fate and histories unwritten. <...> My dominion shall reach into infinity”)

In essence, the Queen's Blood game retells an ancient myth about Jenova's origins and supposedly the Cetran victory over it. Lidrehl's story also seems to reveal the original identity of Minerva, suggesting that the Emerald Witch's true identity and arcane knowledge could hold a key to defeating Jenova. Whatever the case may be, Lidrehl was unquestionably killed for this knowledge, as evidenced by the threatening presence which appeared by the end of his speech, and generally we can surmise as much from the card game quest. Based on the earlier discussion, it seems that the LOVELESS play is another aspect, a precursor, or perhaps a (human?) perspective of the same story. Although some details may have been altered or mixed up over time, the similarities remain. As such, Rosa's character prototype may have once been the Queen who became corrupted. Similarly, the character Aerith portrays during her vocal performance might have been inspired by the Emerald Witch, who I believe was the mortal form of Minerva.

Lidrehl's story also seems to point in the direction of Jenova's resurrection, with Jenova being an active, sentient and autonomous agent that has a history of mindjacking other living beings. The account of a fair and kind Queen suddenly and inexplicably becoming corrupted serves as a deliberate parallel and a precursor to Sephiroth's case of a renowned hero drastically turning wicked and cruel. FFVII Rebirth's version of Nibelheim flashback further corroborates this idea, from strongly emphasizing Jenova-esque glitches Sephiroth experiences to outright superimposing Jenova's face over his, thus conveying a sense of possession.

If Jenova was indeed once a Cetran ruler, or more accurately, if it once actually infested a Cetran body like a virus and NOT shapeshifted into one, then this brings a layer of paradoxical irony to ShinRA's early findings. They were not wrong to classify the being as an Ancient. This would also lend more weight to Jenovaroth's ability to bend and control the Whispers, as he would have some of the Ancients' blood in him, much like Omni!Aerith supposedly does with White Whispers. The “choking” and “corroding” of the Lifestream to overpower and command it does evoke the Cetran characteristic relationship with the Planet, albeit twisted in nature.

This also raises intriguing questions about Sephiroth's biological makeup and may offer a clue to defeating Jenovaroth. If the Jenova substance was foreign to the Cetra's ruler own organism, then it is equally foreign to Sephiroth. If the being we know as Jenova is merely an infected Cetra, then Sephiroth was implanted with Cetran cells harboring something else. Therefore, to eradicate the Jenovaroth threat permanently, the party may need to devise a method not only to defeat Jenovaroth in battle, but to “cleanse” the infection, thereby severing the symbiotic/parasitic grip Jenova has on living organisms. This approach echoes how Aerith purged the Geostigma infection in Advent Children.

.......

Screenshots courtesy of Mapocolops comprehensive video on Queen's Blood quest. Other reads:

Jenova, Minerva, LOVELESS, The Queen and the Gi connection, pt. 1

Jenova being awake & Was Sephiroth possessed?

Jenova resurrecting itself across timelines?

👋 @pen-and-umbra

Jul 26, 2024