#ask Shar-Pay

[thesilliestshow]

Oh, oh!

What's everyones pronouns?

oh! and I go by he/they!

[trappedinafantasy37]

There are multiple gods in the game that you can directly interact with and they all have ties to the narrative. You can interact with Shar via Shadowheart. You can interact with Mystra via Gale. You can interact with Myrkul via Ketheric when he takes on the avatar form. You can interact with Bhaal via Durge and in the fight with Orin. You can interact with Bane after killing Gortash and using "Speak with Dead" in which the soul you speak to is not Gortash, but Bane himself. I would include Vlaakith in this list but Vlaakith is not a god, she is a lich presenting herself as a god. And, of course, there is the Absolute which doesn't really become a god until it ascends into the Netherbrain (although that is debatable).

But, did you know that Lolth will also interact with you? As far as I am aware, Lolth is the only non-story related god in which you do have interactions with. One of them is only available if you are a Lolth-sworn drow, and the other is only available if you are a Cleric of Lolth (you do not need to be Lolth-sworn for it).

The first instance is in the goblin camp with the spiders in the pit. This does require that you are a Lolth-sworn drow and that you have the ability to speak with animals. When talking to the spiders, you will have the option to present yourself to the spiders as Lolth herself. If you fail the persuasion check, Lolth gets pissed off as she was listening to you and is not happy that you tried to present yourself as her. And she tells the spiders you are an imposter and they attack you. But if you succeed the check, Lolth doesn't do anything and the spiders will think you are Lolth. So, Lolth doesn't really have a problem with you pretending to be her. But if you are going to pretend to be her, you better do it right. If the spiders think you are Lolth, you can ask them about what's going on in the goblin camp and the spiders only talk about one thing. They immediately tell you that there is another drow in the camp who has forgotten her way and that she is forsaken. And, as I said, Lolth is here. She heard the spiders admit this. Lolth does nothing about it.

The second instance is in the Underdark with the Phalar Aluve. When you interact with the sword, you have two different checks, a Strength check and a Religion check. If you do the Strength check, you can just pull it out of the stone and be on your merry way. If you perform the Religion check, the narrator will tell you different things depending on certain conditions. If you are a Lolth-sworn drow and/or a Cleric of Lolth, the narrator will tell you that the religious rite to pull the blade from the stone is blasphemous as it pays honor to the weak. If you are of any other race and/or cleric of any other god, the narrator will tell you that the sword is of Eilistraee and the rite pays honor to the fallen. The religious rite is that you spill a little bit of your blood and the sword will rise out of the stone on its own. If you do this as a Cleric of Lolth (you don't need to be Lolth-sworn) you will feel hundreds of spiders crawl all over you as Lolth is warning you not to do shit like that ever again. Not only did you perform the religious rite of another god, you performed the religious rite of a god she hates. And she is letting you know how much she hated that.

These are the only two instances in the game that I have found in which Lolth interacts with the player but there are plenty of other moments in which Lolth could interact with you, but doesn't (such as with the Phase Spider, the baby spiders in Grymforge, Kar'niss, or the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar). Of these two moments where Lolth does interact with you, one of these instances is in the goblin camp, and the other is in the Underdark not too far away from the goblin camp. I don't think it is much of a coincidence that these two interactions occur in close proximity to Minthara. Almost as if Lolth has a reason to be in that area specifically to watch and monitor things, and you just so happened to be there. And the only things that compel her to interact with you is because you pissed her off. But, as long you don't piss her off, she will do nothing and she will say nothing.

When Minthara was being tortured by the Absolute, she prayed to Lolth and begged Lolth to give her the strength to fight her enemies. But Lolth does nothing and Lolth says nothing. In fact, that was the full extent of Lolth's "punishment" for Minthara, nothing. All Lolth did was not answer Minthara's prayers and not show up when Minthara needed her the most. Lolth did not torture Minthara like the Absolute did, Lolth did not turn her into a drider, nor did Lolth eat her. All she did, was nothing. And yes, Lolth is known for abandoning drow and no longer interacting with them. A drow has to do something incredibly awful in order for Lolth to just back away from them entirely. But you cannot convince me that Lolth is going to let one of her Baenre's go so easily. It's not as if Minthara has done anything truly awful either to make Lolth that mad.

According to Minthara, she herself has sinned against the Spider Queen, but it's not as if she chose to abandon Lolth, she was forced away and mind controlled into being devoted to another god. But would this make a difference to Lolth? Does it really matter if Minthara was compelled to have faith in another god besides Lolth? It isn't until Minthara is freed and feels the absence of Lolth that she chooses to no longer follow Lolth. Minthara even mentions how turning against Lolth is a big no-no in Menzoberranzan. Minthara herself at one point has hunted down and killed those who turn their backs from Lolth so she knows the same will be done to her if she were to ever return home. In fact, if you are a Lolth-sworn drow or a Cleric of Lolth, you are given unique dialogue options with Minthara to kill her because she is a traitor to Lolth and these options continue to show up until you recruit her into your party and she joins your roster. Despite all of this, Lolth does nothing. Minthara spews anti-Lolth rhetoric left and right, and Lolth does nothing. If you take Minthara to the tabernacle, she will spit on a shrine to Lolth, and Lolth does nothing.

Minthara is also able to walk through the Gauntlet of Shar, which is in the Underdark, and Lolth does nothing. Sure, you could argue that its connection to the Shadowfell and the fact that Shar is there via Shadowheart is enough to keep Lolth away. The lore of DnD does not make it quite clear what the relationship between these two goddesses are. But I am willing to bet that Lolth is smart enough not to step on Shar's toes because Shar would annihilate her. However, there is a small little section of the Gauntlet where it actually does spit you out directly into the Underdark and into Lolth's territory. Minthara can walk right out there just fine, and Lolth does nothing.

But most importantly, Minthara's default ending is her returning to the Underdark with the sole purpose of destroying House Baenre and then killing Lolth. Destroying House Baenre could lead to a chaotic and political disaster in Menzoberranzan, and Lolth does nothing. Minthara quite literally wants to kill Lolth and has intentions to do so after taking House Baenre, and Lolth. Does. Nothing!

If Minthara goes into the Underdark and destroys House Baenre, this will cause chaos and death. And the Baenre's won't be the only ones she has to destroy, but any and all allies of House Baenre in which they do have a lot. And Lolth will feed off of all the death and carnage and chaos that Minthara is about to bring to Menzoberranzan because Lolth loves chaos more than she hates traitors.

Maybe, Lolth has not abandoned her as Minthara thinks she has. Maybe, Lolth has done nothing and said nothing because Minthara has not actually upset her. Maybe, Lolth has done nothing and said nothing because Minthara is already doing everything Lolth wants her to do. And all it took, was making Minthara think that Lolth abandoned her. There was no need for Lolth to answer Minthara's prayers, because Minthara always had the strength to fight her enemies.

[fuctacles]

A tale as old as time

For @subeddieweek Day 7 | M | 2696 | cw: age gap (about 25-30y difference, Eddie's age is not stated, Steve's aligns with canon) | camboy Eddie, transmasc Eddie, kinda sugar daddy Steve?, modern AU, simp Steve, virgin Eddie, chatfic, pre-anything, gray ace Eddie | Ao3 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Ao3

"Hawkins High '86? How old is this guy?" Eddie asks himself, his eyebrows raised. There is a letterman in front of him, a gift from one of his top subscribers. Hell, his top subscriber. His number-one fan, who was responsible for about half of his revenue.

He's opened a PO box recently, with no little amount of worry about what kind of stuff he might get. He only gave the address to his top subscribers but he knew that the ones with the most money were usually the most unhinged. He went to the post office with his heart in his throat but all he got was a set of lingerie, a toy, and the letterman he was now holding.

He tried not to think about what kind of people would pay for his content. As long as he was making money he didn't care. But now he got a piece of one of them in his hands. Staring back.

1986.

Meaning the guy must be nearing 60. Double Eddie's age. 

He tries to imagine that. An older guy, with wrinkles, maybe a beer belly, a gross old t-shirt, and his hand permanently in his sweats, beating it to his photos. 

It was gross. And in a way, alluring.

Though someone with so much money to spend on a camboy must have a well-paying job. Some rich asshole, exploiting others to do the work for him. That's a more likely scenario. He tries not to think about big, rough hands on him when he puts on the jacket and takes pics for Shar.

He edits them a bit before sending them, knowing the guy will get a kick from seeing him in his jacket. The appeal of wearing your boyfriend's letterman eluded him in high school, but being claimed like that gave him a heady feeling. The fact that the guy could be his father apparently worked for him too. 

He doesn't put his phone away fast enough and sees the message that pops up.

Shar: So hot. You look like every repressed teen jock's dream

Shar: Definitely like mine

Eddie thinks a moment about his response, channeling the persona he takes on for the camera. 

PuppetOfMasters: Would I be your dirty secret?

PuppetOfMasters: Would you fuck me in the locker room behind your girlfriend's back?

Shar: I'd make YOU my girlfriend

Shar: Wait no

Shar: NOT LIKE THAT

Shar: A girlfriend but in a manly way

Eddie snorts.

You're good, he types. I know what you mean, don't worry.

He wouldn't keep around someone who didn't respect him. Besides, he made it clear he's saving for a transition with his Only Fans.

Thank god, Shar types. I respect who you are 

Shar: In fact, I spend so much money on you because of it. 

Eddie rolls onto his other side, his mood souring. One of those trans fetishists, then. That's fine, as long as he's being respectful and paying... Even if it leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth. 

Ah, a connoisseur! Well, I hope I'm your favorite tranny, then, he jokes. He waits for an answer, but it doesn't come for a long while, so he flips his phone screen down and turns away, hoping for sleep.

A response is waiting for him when he wakes up. 

Shar: I guess it sounded that way, but I'm not that kind of pervert. You're the only trans sex worker I follow, but not the only trans person I've sent money to.

Eddie sauntered to the bathroom, not taking his eyes off his phone. He wonders if continuing the conversation is even the right move. He's talked to one too many guys who thought sending him a dick pick was okay after ten minutes of small talk between a content creator and a fan.

But he's kind of curious. When he has money to spare, he sends some change to other trans folks to help out, because he knows how hard it is from his own experience. But why Shar, a seemingly loaded old guy, would spend his money on queers instead of, let's say, starving children?

PuppetOfMasters: So you're just an ally with cash? Or is there more to it? I'm curious.

He goes through his morning routine, washing his face, and brushing his teeth, not expecting Shar to get back to him any time soon. So he's surprised when he picks his phone back up and a response is waiting.

Shar: Long story short, I hope my father is rolling in his grave while I spend his inheritance on people he hated so much.

That's not what Eddie expected at all. 

PuppetOfMasters: So I'm a means of rebellion against your bigoted dead father? I'll take that. I hate rich assholes

Shar: Me too

They don't talk for the whole day after that, but when Eddie's done running errands and editing in the evening, he looks back at the letterman hanging on the door of his wardrobe. 

How is sending me your letterman an act of rebellion? he asks. Because he's a curious little shit. 

The response comes fast like the guy is glued to his Only Fans chat. Gross. Eddie wonders briefly if he's talking with other sex workers there.

Shar: A souvenir of his precious high school fetishized on a queer ssex worker? He'd die if he hadn't already

So it is a fetish thing! Eddie smiles triumphantly at his phone.

Shar: Okay, fine

Shar: Sticking it to my father is just a bonus for you being really hot. 

Shar: And I do love seeing you in my letterman, I've jerked off to it three times already

Shar: is that what you wanted to hear?

Eddie grins, rolling on his bed.

PuppetOfMasters: Yes 

Shar: So yeah, I'm an old man who peaked in high school, laugh it up

PuppetOfMasters: I'd rather you peaked in me

Shar: Insufferable

Shar: Menace

Shar: Yeah, I'd love that. A man can dream, right?

Eddie bites his lip. How far is too far? The guy seems genuine and after the amount of creeps that's been chatting him up, he thinks his creep radar is quite good. Tentatively, he starts typing.

PuppetOfMasters: I don't know. I think people would like seeing me get railed by an older guy

Shar: An old guy, you mean

Shar: You'd make a video with me?

PuppetOfMasters: I record most of the sex I have, yes

Shar: Huh. I've never seen one before, then

PuppetOfMasters: warm, warmer

Shar: ... There aren't any?

PuppetOfMasters: din ding ding! ya boy is a virgin

Shar: shit

Shar: fuck

Shar: that's so hot

Shar: you'd let me?

PuppetOfMasters: Would I let my best-paying subscriber be my first time on camera? Probably

Not necessarily to be released but he couldn't lose the possibility of such golden content in case it was watchable. 

Shar: I'd better keep my spot then. Just in case.

PuppetOfMasters: No worries, you seem the most trustworthy so far anyway.

But as he types it, a new notification appears. Shar sent him a hefty tip on one of his photos.

PuppetOfMasters: That's really not necessary

PuppetOfMasters: But I hope your father is kicking and screaming in his coffin

Shar: I fucking hope so

----

It takes Eddie another day to google Hawkins High's yearbook photos. He'd thought about it before but didn't want to break the bubble of anonymity between himself and his fan. But the thoughts of big hands on his hips, and beard rubbing against his neck, took root in his brain and were tainting his mind.

Not fully in tune with his body and distrustful of others, Eddie has been single for most of his life. And now his stupid horny brain was drooling at the thought of losing his virginity to a grandpa on the internet. 

Hoping it would help his thoughts calm down, he looks through the photos from the year 1986, in search of a Harrington. And he finds him.

Steve Harrington. Basketball captain and swim team co-captain. His hairdo was magnificent and his smile was self-confident. Eddie would hate him in high school. Should probably hate him now. So he expands his search further, beyond the Hawkins High memory lane.

He finds one single photo on a LinkedIn profile. 

The current Steve Harrington's hair is no less magnificent, just peppered with silver. He wears glasses now, which accentuate the line of his jaw and make his neatly trimmed facial hair pop out. He's wearing a yellow jacket and a white golf, which should be hideous but weirdly, works for him. Eddie doesn't get to see his eyes, unfortunately. The photo looks like a candid photo shoot take-out after someone told him a joke. His head is tilted down, eyes scrunched and lips pulled in a smile, as a bubbling laugh got immortalized on camera.

Eddie shouldn't be finding a sixty-year-old man this endearing. 

PuppetOfMasters: I like your LinkedIn photo

PuppetOfMasters: Well, I hope it's you. 

PuppetOfMasters: Steve, right?

He can't forget about this for the whole day, not as he budgets his income, and especially not when he records a short video jerking off in the shower. He tries not to look at his phone but it's his only one, so he does while trying to budget in a second one, just for sex work. Maybe then he wouldn't be feeling so insane about not getting a response from a stranger who is an old pervert spending loads of money on him. 

He tries to be normal when a chat notification finally pops up. 

Shar: If you saw the golf and yellow jacket photo, that's me

Shar: though please don't make me type my full name in here.

no worries, Eddie types back so fast he should be embarrassed. It's a good photo.

Shar: Thanks. My best friend took it 

PuppetOfMasters: Your friend has a good eye

Shar: I'll let her know

Shar: I'm surprised it took you this long to search me up

Eddie's surprised too. Usually, his curiosity would take over him sooner.

PuppetOfMasters: I tried not to pry. But I had to in case we were gonna meet up one day

Shar: So you were serious?

Shar: I've been wondering if you sweet-talk all your followers like that 

PuppetOfMasters: Only the ones that don't send me dick pics

Shar: I knew holding back would pay off

Eddie snorts at his phone. 

Though I might need one before we meet up, he types. Gotta know what I'm working with

Shar: Right. Of course

Shar: So how would that work?

Eddie hasn't thought about it this far.

PuppetOfMasters: I need to read about OF's policy on collabs. Never had to before, since I work solo. Would probably have to hire you, well, sign a commission/gig contract or something like that. So it's all legal and shit.

Shar, Steve, doesn't answer for a long while, and it might be the end of his devirginizing journey. Well, if the guy doesn't want to make this legal, put his name on some paperwork, then he isn't trustworthy, and that's the end of it.

It's half an hour later and Eddie's bitten all his nails off trying not to follow up with any messages and focus on anything else when an answer finally comes.

Shar: Sorry my friend was bothering me

Shar: this sounds more complicated than I anticipated. So I would be like, a co-creator, then?

PuppetOfMasters: Precisely

Shar: Holy shit okay

Shar: Thought I'd be you know, less involved

Though you could hit it and quit it, huh? Eddie scrunched his nose. What was he getting himself into? Gods.

Shar: If that's what you wanted I'd take it

Eddie shouldn't be blushing over this one. It's like he's throwing the man scraps and he's licking them up.

PuppetOfMasters: Simp

Shar: I am what I am

Shar: With that said, I'm willing to make it work. Do all the paperwork you need

PuppetOfMasters: Doing paperwork just to fuck me? so romantic

Shar: I suck at paperwork so my friend would be doing it anyway

Shar: If that's okay

PuppetOfMasters: I think it's best if someone looks it over, yeah

Eddie hesitates for a moment.

PuppetOfMasters: That friend doesn't happen to be your wife?

Fuck no, comes the immediate response

Shar: I'm perpetually single and she's as gay as they come. 

PuppetOfMasters: Good. Wouldn't want to be the other girl

Shar: If I had the chance you'd be the only one

PuppetOfMasters: Jesus.

Eddie squeezes his legs together unconsciously.

PuppetOfMasters: Stop sweet talking me, I've already agreed to fuck

Shar: But we haven't signed anything yet. Even then, I'll keep sweet-talking you. It's what you deserve. 

For the first time, Eddie thinks he might not survive their meeting. And not because of the possible killer scenario. Thankfully, Steve gets back to business talk.

Shar: How would this work, legal stuff aside? Do you script this?

PuppetOfMasters: Do I look like I script shit?

Shar: I'm not the one with Only Fans

PuppetOfMasters: Fair. I think we could just set up cameras and do whatever we feel like. Then decide together if the footage will be released or not. 

Shar: Sounds reasonable

Shar:When would you want to do this?

When?

Eddie hasn't thought that far. In fact, he felt like he hadn't been thinking for the past couple of days. 

I'm the sole god of my schedule so I'm open to anything, he types evasively.

Shar: I have some time off next month, could fly to wherever you need me

Next month seemed close. Extremely close. Or maybe it wasn't? He never worked with anyone before. Hell, he didn't even have that many friends to meet up with. 

Next month works I guess, he answers despite his nerves.

Shar: Wanna face time before we start the legal work?

His nerves escalate, making his mouth dry. He reminds himself he's done this before, he's on camera all the time. 

PuppetOfMasters: Like, right now?

Shar: Yeah?

PuppetOfMasters: Ok, give me five minutes.

Eddie shoots up, checks himself in the mirror, and finds a good angle for his phone to set up. He lowkey hopes Steve picks up with his dick in the frame so Eddie can block him with a clear conscience and forget about the whole thing. When six minutes from his last message pass, he hits 'call'.

"Hi," Eddie squeaks when the video connects. Steve Harrington's arms are in the frame, crossed on the desk, and toned where he's leaning on them.

"Hi," he greets him with a dazzling smile. 

It is the guy from the photo, so at least he's not being catfished. And he has none of the creepy simp energy Eddie feared. He's just... a guy. It's both a relief and a disappointment. 

"Well?" the guy asks.

"Well, what?" Eddie frowns. 

"Are you disappointed? Am I too old?"

Eddie looks at him properly. His hair is lighter on the sides, but not grey yet, and the video quality doesn't make any wrinkles stand out to him. Maybe some worry lines, crow's feet if he squints. He looks like he keeps in shape, too. Eddie wouldn't call him old. Mature, maybe. A DILF slowly transforming into a Silver Fox. 

"You look fine. Good. You look good. Attractive," Eddie fumbles with his words and barely stops himself from facepalming. This is why he mostly texts.

Steve smirks at him. And holy shit, a dude twice his age smirking at him shouldn't be doing things to his body.

"You sure? You're not gonna block me after we hang up, are you?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"I stand by our plans. You're passing my creep radar so far, but uh..." He scratches his cheek nervously. "I'd like to keep in touch in case, you know. A red flag pops up. I hope you get it."

Steve nods, his expression growing serious.

"Absolutely. We're strangers, after all."

"Yeah." Eddie nods, relieved. It would give him ample time and opportunities to back out.

On the screen, Steve leans more on his arms, closer to the camera. 

"So I think dick assessment is next on the checklist?"

Eddie might not even survive video calls with this guy, after all. 

[feyascorner]

7 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. “It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.9k words !!! this chapter took forever but somehow i managed!! thank you so much for your kind words and patience !!! he's kind of a silly guy in the chapter so pls enjoy this peace offering as the calm before a storm

“Are you sure this is the right course of action? Letting him ascend?” Shadowheart asks as you adjust one of the logs in the campfire, watching the other companions organize their tents from afar. You stop at this, turning to face her.

“It’s what he wants,” you mumble. “I won’t stop him if he’s sure this is the right thing to do.”

You’re still getting used to her hair, which’s now as white as a sheet, but you think it looks lovely against the fire. She seems calmer than she did when she was with Shar. At peace, almost. She casts you a sidelong glance. “Can we really trust his judgment of all people? He’s—I mean, well, him.”

“I know it sounds unreasonable," you say letting yourself sit down beside her on her bedroll. “But I want him to make his own decisions. He’s spent too many years having no choice of his own, and I’d be the worst person to take it away from him again.”

“I just,” her voice softens. “Astarion’s a complicated person, and I’m sure you know better than us. It’s because he couldn’t make his own choices for so long that it makes me think he’s lost his capability to make any choices anymore. Good ones, at least.”

“I trust him.”

“Gods knows how.”

You stifle a laugh, and she sips at her wine, eyes still glazing over the camp. There’s a kind of solemnness to them that makes your stomach churn. “You seem worried.”

“Not worried, per se,” she shrugs. “I just realize that I owe a debt to you for what you did for me against my lad—I mean, Shar. And I myself almost went down that dark path of becoming a Justiciar if it weren’t for you. At the time, I thought it was the best thing for me too, like Astarion believes ascension to be what will set him free.”

You nod patiently, urging her to continue.

“I only fear he might make the wrong choice if he doesn’t have the right guidance as I did.”

The words feel hesitant on her tongue. And although they make the voice in the back of your head, telling you to convince Astarion otherwise, louder, you ignore it, opting to smile at her softly instead. “Is this you caring about our companions?”

“Heavens, no,” she snorts, but there’s a joking tone behind her voice. “But like I said…I’m indebted to you all. Astarion also aided in my personal affairs with Shar, even if he didn’t have to, and even with his incessant complaining…I suppose this is my way of paying him back.”

Your chest warms. It’s soothing to know that even without you, your other companions have enough care for your lover to offer him bits of advice; in a way, it relieves a bit of weight off your shoulders. Even the companions who claim to detest his presence have grown fond of him over the months, and you’re sure it goes both ways. It helps because even if you’re gone, you know he’ll be okay.

“I never told you formally,” she sighs. “But thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me or feel indebted. I just did what I could for you.”

“Don’t be so humble. What you’ve done for me—for all of us—is something we’ll cherish for the rest of our lives,” she takes her last swig from her wine. “But from one messed up person to another, please, be careful.”

Your wrist feels sore.

Two days. It’s been two days since the incident at the Blushing Mermaid, and still, your body seems to burn whenever you see his closed door across yours from the hall, and all you can do is rub shamefully at the healing puncture wounds on your wrist. The bandages looping around the skin do a good enough job of hiding them, but you genuinely wish you could just ask Shadowheart to heal them for you because being able to see them does little to help with the constant thoughts of the vampire muddling the clarity of your mind. 

But you’d rather not let your companions know what happened between you and the vampire on the dirtied floors of the Blushing Mermaid. You’d likely die of shame for letting him drink from you, even after your mutual agreement to specifically avoid just that. What’s worse is that you expect the worst from Lae’zel, especially after her explicit advice to do the exact opposite of what you chose to do.

You tighten the bandages again.

“Did those yourself, did you?”Alfira snorts, and you almost have half a mind to glare at her if it weren’t for the crumpled sheets of paper surrounding the legs of her chair. The ink on the discarded pages now blends into mush as they lie in the puddles forming around her—an aftermath of the recent rainy weather. You don’t tell her, though. She seems frustrated enough as it is, and you fear she might snap a string of her lute if this prolongs any longer. “How’d you get hurt anyway?”

“It’s a bug bite.”

“A rather massive bug, apparently.”

The corners of your lips quirk downward, and she finally sets her lute aside, careful to avoid the puddles as she props it against the side of her stool to focus on her notepad instead. Though most of its pages have now been torn out, the remaining few have scribbles of song lyrics that even you can’t decipher with how messily the ink splatters across the page. She, however, seems perfectly fine reading its contents aside from her glaringly obvious distaste for the words themselves. You raise your brow. “Can you really read that?”

“Oh, hush. Don’t insult my penmanship.”

You snicker, eyes continuing to scan the sheets of paper that had been abandoned on Dalyria’s desk at the Blushing Mermaid. It’d taken quite some time to take apart the pages plastered on the wall and to organize the mountain of doctor’s notes lying across the lair, but you’d managed to fish out something useful eventually. The journal was one that seemed especially important, filled to the brim with Dalyria’s so-called ‘research.’ 

But if the past few days have told you anything, it’s that Dalyria is a terrible note-taker.

The pages are filled with shapes. Some are curved, and others just bend and contort into odd figures that you’re sure aren’t supposed to look like letters. Each page studies a different shape on a random part of the page, leaving them scattered and difficult to decipher.

You’re starting to think this is just some odd attempt at art rather than the studies she claims to be performing.

“And? Why are you here if you’re not here to look at those lyrics I gave you?”

“I’m trying to figure out what this journal says,” you sigh, flipping another page you don’t understand. “And if you couldn’t tell, I’m rather busy trying to find the people responsible for murders around the city, so excuse me if I haven’t had the time to glance at your song.”

“I’m plenty busy myself, you know! I just got hired to sing at this fancy party for some celebration. They even said I could dress all nice for it,” she smiles proudly, and you offer her a crooked one of your own. “It’s my first serious gig—so I’m a bit nervous with how large it is…”

“How’d you land something like that before you’ve even played at children’s birthday parties?”

“Well, I’m not doing it alone, obviously,” she reasons, scratching something on her pages again. “I’m going with one of my friends. She’s a wonderful violinist, and she managed to squeeze me into the event, which I’m so grateful for…I suppose I’m just a bit worried.”

You look up from Dalyria’s notebook. “Worried? What for?”

“That my fingers will lock up, and I’ll humiliate myself,” she admits sheepishly, tucking a portion of her hair behind her sharp ear. “Lihala used to call me silly for worrying about things that haven’t happened–but I can’t help it. It’s the before-show jitters. Pesky things. It’s a bit embarrassing, really.”

Humming in acknowledgment, you look to the murky skies overhead, where dark clouds threaten to pour down for at least another few days. A shame, you think. You’ve never seen the Summers of Baldur’s Gate feel so dreary.

It’s fitting, almost, considering the state that the city is in.

The painful sound of quill scratching against paper is all you can hear now as Alfira sighs irritably again, ripping out another sheet of paper.

“It’s not embarrassing,” you finally say.

She blinks up from her notepad. “What is?”

“Being nervous. I’ve done more performances than I can count, and my hands would still get clammy in front of a big crowd,” you laugh to yourself. “But when you see how they watch you as if you’re performing sorcery with your lute, it’s like you were never anxious in the first place. The audience is what makes it bearable.”

“Gods, I hope you’re right,” she smiles fondly as you continue to reminisce in your own memories. “It’s a rather shame we never got to perform together. Not after the last time we played at the Grove–and I don’t even count that occasion with how unstable my voice was…”

“I can watch if you’d like,” you offer. “Your performance, I mean.”

Her eyes gleam with excitement, and she reaches to clasp both your hands, beaming brightly. “Will you? I’m sure if you’re there, it’ll ease my nerves, too!-”

As you shift in your seat to follow your hands, Dalyria’s notebook slips off your lap. The simple splash beneath you tells you all you need to know as your eyes shoot down to where the notebook now lies face down into a puddle, and you don’t even have to lift it to know that its pages are soaked.

But you don’t have to pick it up yourself because Alfira’s carefully holding it in an instant, her face pale as she fans her hand in a fruitless attempt to prevent the damage already done. “Dammit, I’ve done it again! I’m truly sorry…I didn’t mean for that to happen! But I’m sure if we just put it in the sunlight for a few days, it’ll–”

You gently take it from her hands, shaking your head. Perhaps it’s because you were just deep into memories you hold dear to your heart, but there isn’t an ounce of panic in your voice. “It’s fine. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this thing anyway.”

“Still…”

The pages stick together in chunks as you flip the journal towards the pages that are at least half dry. You fear they might tear off at the slightest touch, so all you can do is stare at a page you deem to be soaking up the ink from the pages behind it. Alfira groans into her hands, and before you can spare her a glance to remind her it’s alright, you spot something in the middle of the page.

“Holy shit,” you whisper so quietly she doesn’t catch it.

“I’ll grab us a wind scroll. Or maybe that’s too strong? Surely there’s some spell that can dry off books.”

“You have no idea what you’ve just done for me, Alfira,” you blurt, already halfway to stuffing the journal into your pack. She blinks up at you with weary eyes, but you quickly clamber off the stool with no time to offer an explanation. “Let me know when the performance is. I’ll be here next week as usual.”

“Don’t you want me to dry off the pages?”

“No,” you shake your head, your heart pounding. “I need to show this to the others.”

She stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head. Still, as you rush toward the stairs leading to the city streets, she calls after you.

“Don’t forget to look at the lyrics!”

“Runes? As in the ones carved into Astarion’s back?”

“I thought they were random blots of ink, but,” you raise the notebook in your hands, and the soaked pages now show the contents of the following sheets, blending to form a larger image. The placement of the shapes were not random at all, and you internally apologize for calling Dalyria a few less-than-kind words in your mind. “They’re not. They’re parts of the runes that Cazador tried to use for the ritual. There are six sets of runes in here, and each one’s slightly altered.”

“But what purpose does that serve?” Shadowheart cocks a brow, eyeing the page questionably with crossed arms. “Cazador’s dead. There’s no ascension to be done.”

“Unfortunately, just because that haunting man is gone doesn’t mean the threat of an ascension is either.” Intrigued but clearly disturbed, Gale takes the notebook and squints at what it holds. “Cazador himself never needed to be the one to execute the ascension.”

The room goes silent, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the air that keeps you from moving. You’re not sure how many seconds pass before you hear the figure who’s been awfully quiet the past half an hour mutter something under his breath from the comfy armchair beside the fireplace.

Astarion clicks his tongue, seemingly unfazed. “Ah, I see.”

The fists at your side clench tighter. The bandages feel impossibly tight all of a sudden.

“It’s for the ascension, clearly. There’s no other plausible explanation,” his eyes remain glued to the flickering flames, swirling a chalice of wine in his hand. He doesn’t sip from it, knowing that it tastes of nothing but vinegar on his undead tongue, so why he’s poured himself a glass, you don’t understand. You also can’t be bothered to ask. “Perhaps they plan to enact it. Take a piece of all that power for themselves.”

“But they can’t do the ascension,” Shadowheart frowns, turning to you. “You said there’s only six runes in there. They don’t have the last one to enact the ascension because Astarion’s with us. Cazador’s the only one who could have done it because he’s the only one who knows what each of the runes looks like. Without Astarion’s, they can’t—”

“They wanted him,” you whisper the confession, and you swear your voice nearly cracks. “They wanted Astarion. That’s why they wanted to speak with me.”

All three of your companions whip their heads to you, and you stare down at the ground. Shame burns through you, and you can practically feel the disappointment radiating off them as it dawns on you that you lied to them. You lied to your closest companions for the sake of saving yourself the embarrassment that no matter what you do, no matter what you tell yourself, your subconscious forces you to care for the bloody vampire sitting beside the fireplace. Despite the many eyes on you, you can only feel one crimson pair that bore into you like the sun beating down on a hot summer’s day.

Even now, he’s your biggest concern, and you hate yourself for it.

“Then it’s not Astarion they need,” Gale says breathlessly. “They need the marks on his back.”

“And you didn’t tell us this, why?” Shadowheart hisses. “You said they just tried to kill you!”

You blurt. “They did! They said they’d stop killing citizens if I just tossed Astarion over to them, but when I said no, they completely flipped and–”

“You declined that deal?” Lae’zel snarls, and you unwillingly flinch at the venom in her tone. “You swore, istik. You swore you wouldn't be foolish if it came down to you or him.”

The words feel like a knife to your throat.

“Well, obviously, it worked out,” you grumble, ignoring how Lae’zel’s eyes are narrowed dangerously. No doubt, she has questions of her own that she’ll demand answers to later. “If I handed him over, they would’ve had the last key to conducting the ascension.”

“You still lied to us,” Shadowheart steps toward you, but Gale quickly clears his throat.

“I know how deceived we all feel, but must we fight? What matters is the spawns can’t conduct the ascension as of now, correct?” he attempts to calm her down, but her scowl only grows deeper. “As disappointed as we all are, we must admit that keeping Astarion here is the right decision.”

“You’re too hasty, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “A vampire’s ascension would mean ridding of all the other spawn wreaking havoc in the city. We mustn’t throw away a chance being offered without considering it.”

Shadowheart is immediately on her feet, her eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t be an idiot–a few thousand spawn is better than a nearly impenetrable being capable of creating even more spawn. That’s asking for just as bad as we are now–maybe even worse.”

They break into a simultaneous debate, one in which two room occupants do not take part. Because even as you try to focus on what the others are saying, all you can feel is the unsettling stare of the spawn in the corner of the room, his hand still swirling the wine. You wonder if his wrist ever gets tired. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of returning his stare, but you watch him from the corner of your eye as his attention shifts to your wrist.

“Are we even sure this is what they’re planning? Do a few drawings prove that they want to go through with this ritual, again, after what it nearly did to them?” Shadowheart’s attention darts to you. “This ritual would kill them. Why in the hells would all of them agree to do it if it only means one would come out alive?”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out in return. The hurt embedded into her expression is so glaringly apparent that it makes your chest squeeze uncomfortably, and all you can do is look away in shame. “...I don’t know.”

Her face hardens. “Do you? Or are you just lying to us again?”

Cheeks flaring, you shake your head. “I’m not lying, I swear it.”

Her eyes flicker with something you don’t recognize before they flit to your bandaged arm and then back to your eyes. She doesn’t miss how you try to move your arm behind you. A miscalculation on your part since your attempt at hiding it makes your secret that much more obvious. “Then what are those for? You’ve had them on since you returned from the Blushing Mermaid, and you refuse to let me heal you myself. Just what did you get injured from?”

The room is so silent you can hear your own heartbeat.

“I–” you stop, wavering. “There was a—”

Shadowheart clenches her jaw. “Don’t lie. Please.”

But still, no words are willing to leave your throat. 

Your companions await words from you that do not exist. Like a deer in headlights, you stand numbly, unsure what to do. Fortunately, and also unfortunately, before long, Lae’zel has had enough of waiting, and she begins to march toward you in a way that makes you step away.

“Give me your arm,” she demands. “If you cannot say, then show us.”

You can feel all the blood draining from your face as she draws closer. But even Gale cannot hinder her this time because everyone in the room knows what she’s capable of with that blade attached to her hip, and she’s not against wasting a few potions of healing if she has to barrel her way through. You brace yourself for the inevitable, teeth gritting together.

Just as she reaches for your arm, someone else snatches it away.

“I drank from them,” Astarion says as you bump slightly into his chest, eyes wide at his pale fingers wrapped around your wrist. He yanks the edge of the bandage down with his free hand and lifts it for the others to see. The two puncture wounds, where the skin that surrounds it is darker than the rest, make you feel naked under the eyes of others. It’s too vulnerable. Too mortifying.

Your heart hammers pathetically, and whether it’s from the expressions of your companions or the hand wrapped around the sensitive skin of your wrist, you’re not sure. You hope it’s not the latter.

Gale’s jaw drops. “We agreed that this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.” 

“If I hadn’t, I would’ve perished,” the vampire retorts in response, releasing his hold on your arm as it falls back to your side. The place where his hand had been tinges under your skin. “And there weren’t exactly a few boars lying around the damn city for me to feed on.”

You notice he fails to mention there had been more than enough bodies to satiate him, but you keep your mouth shut.

The hurt on Shadowheart’s face is no longer one that throbs your sympathy. Instead, she seems to burn with something you haven’t seen in ages.

Anger.

Her palm flickers with radiant light, and Astarion immediately flinches, hissing as he moves to hide his body behind yours. In your haste, you can’t think of anything to do besides stepping toward her, holding out your hands. Astarion releases a strained laugh from behind you. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not do anything hilarious, shall we?”

“I’ll kill you,” she growls maliciously, the glow of her palm growing brighter. “Like I should have done the second you came back to ruin everything we’ve done without you.”

You cautiously approach her, focus never leaving her eyes despite the danger festering in her hands. “You shouldn’t, Shadowheart.”

She throws daggers in your direction with just her expression, and you can’t deny how helpless you feel. “Killing him would end all of this. If we buried him somewhere, they’d never find the runes. They’d never be able to follow through with the ascension, and we won’t have to deal with his pompous ass anymore.”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that even though she’s right, you can’t agree with her methods.

“I know he’s—not exactly a friend—but he was once. And I know you considered him one as well,” you insist, inching closer. The hesitance in her motions as you come too close to the radiant light is undeniable. “I don’t want you to bear the guilt of his death.”

Because as much as you’re wrapped up in a world of your own–a world where you fight to hate the man behind you–you know that your companions feel the same way. The sentiments gathered from months of sharing the same camp, months of saving one another from multiple deaths, and months of aiding one another overcome their own pasts don’t just disappear. You know what they shared. Being the most similar amongst your companions, forced under the influence of a power they did not want to be subjected to, you know they considered themselves friends, even if they never voiced it out loud.

You know that deep down, Shadowheart’s hatred for Astarion stems from her own feeling of betrayal when he tried to kill you. When he attempted to harm the only other person who guided her to a path outside of Shar.

“Trust me, I won’t feel guilty,” she finally forces out. “You’re a fool to trust him again.”

“I don’t trust him,” you reassure her, your hands finally reaching hers as they dim and eventually vanish all traces of magic. “But if he’s to die for nearly killing me, I want it to be under my hands. Don’t sully your own for my sake when you’ve just escaped all the bloodshed.”

Shadowheart’s brows soften, but her face turns cold. Thoughts seem to run through her mind like an endless train before she decides that thinking through each one is worth more than Astarion himself is worth. She inhales deeply and nods, allowing you to finally release her hands. She shoots the others one last glance before turning to retreat upstairs.

You’re left in a pitiful silence—one that nobody in the room dares to break.

An entire day is spent with you wallowing in your shame, refusing to get out of bed.

You hope this is just a terrible nightmare, but you know better. If this were a nightmare, you’d already be dead.

You only climb out of your covers when you have to change the bandages on your wrist. It’s a painful process now since you don’t even want to look at the puncture wounds anymore, but it’s better than risking it to get infected. A knock on your door makes you stand from your bed, kicking the bandage rolls under your bed. “It’s open.”

You expect Gale or even Lae’zel, but you’re met with piercing red eyes. You contemplate begging him to leave you alone because looking at him right now only conjures up the guilt that’s been eating away at you for hours now. Instead, you build that wall between the two of you again, your face hardening. “What do you want?”

He’s never come to you willingly before. Not unless you were positively drenched in blood, and he had no choice but to follow his instincts for what he hopes to be a meal other than stale boar blood. Much less approached you in your own room.

Astarion lifts the empty glass bottle in his hand. “A charming welcome, as usual, I see.”

“You just had a full supply yesterday,” you say, brows furrowing. “I checked it myself.”

“Clearly, now I don’t,” he shrugs, and when you shoot him an intense glare, he frowns. “You can’t possibly blame me. I haven’t exerted myself as I did at that dirty tavern since the last time I had that damn parasite swimming around my head. So, unless you decide to offer yourself to me, again…”

You think he’s genuinely lost his mind. “Right now? Seriously? After what just happened yesterday, you want to ask me for blood?”

“Just a suggestion, darling. Otherwise, we always have the other option, as boring as it is.”

Perhaps you should just toss him to Lae’zel and call it a day.

Groaning in exasperation, you march past him, slapping a cloak into his chest. “There’s 15 minutes to sunset.”

He laughs, but it only makes your face turn sour.

The forest isn’t far off from the main square of Rivington. And by the time you reach it, the sun has long gone down, and you watch as Astarion takes off the hood of his cloak, breathing deeply in the moon's bask. And as he glances back at you, you don’t bother trying to walk side by side, remaining on guard and surveying his every move from three steps behind. He comments on it even though you think he doesn’t care for what you do. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“You’re not funny.” He snorts at your deadpan and continues into the deeper parts of the forest.

The entire time, your eyes remained glued to the backs of his heels, palms growing increasingly clammy as you become surrounded by nothing but the soft ambiance of the woods. His steps are as silent as they’ve always been, and it feels like following a ghost into the darkest parts of the forest. It’s becoming hard to see more than a few feet in front of you, and if your training with Lae’zel has taught you anything, you know that you don’t want to be at a disadvantage—especially when the other party is a bloody vampire.

You halt in your tracks. He does, too, turning to shoot you a questioning look. “What is it?”

“It’s too hard to see. We need to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little bit of darkness.”

You scrunch your nose at this, and he merely grins. Before you can say anything, he’s back to pacing across the dirt without a care in the world—almost too fast for your liking. “Will you at least slow down?”

“Shall I hold your hand?”

“I’d rather cut it off.”

“A pity.”

You curse his long legs as the forest becomes darker and darker, even as each time you think it can’t possibly get worse than this. You swear his steps become quicker, and a part of you wonders if this is where he attempts to run away and whether you should cast a sleep spell before he succeeds. But the most rational part of you reminds yourself that he’s had plenty of chances to escape. Hells, he could do it even now, considering how much more easily his eyes adjust to the darkness than you.

“Astarion, I swear to the Gods above, if you don’t stop walking so quickly…”

This time, you don’t get an answer.

Suspicions rising, you break into a jog and then into a gradual sprint. Every time you think you finally caught up to him, a branch whips into your face, and you barely manage to swat it away before it manages to cut your skin. You call his name a few times to no avail, and you genuinely begin to ponder if you should’ve brought your scroll for daylight.

Finally, you stumble through a tall berry bush into what you assume to be another branch.

And rather than more darkness, you’re met with a clearing. It’s only a few long strides in width and a couple more in length, but here, it doesn’t seem like nighttime at all. The moon peers down at you in all its glory, and you think this might’ve been Selune’s pocket of the forest if she were here. You blink wide when a speck of light—a firefly—flies barely past your face. And suddenly, you’re surrounded by light rising from the green grass beneath you in fragile wings. 

The tightness in your chest dissipates, if only for a moment.

Only once you’ve taken in the vast difference of your surroundings just a few moments prior do you see Astarion pulling off the clasp of his cloak. He tosses it to you, and it lands on your face before you yank it away with a scowl. “You could have just handed it to me–”

“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll return when I’ve finished hunting.”

You gawk at him. “I’m not going to let you just leave.”

“I’ve proven myself plenty,” he scoffs. “If I remember correctly, you would’ve likely perished were I not there at that tavern a few days ago. And I must remind you that I do have quite the memory. If I planned on betraying you, I would’ve done it then—at a more fashionable time.”

You don’t have much of a rebuttal to that.

While you could bring up the dozens of other times he’s made questionable decisions pertaining to his loyalty, the soothing bath under the moon’s gaze seems to calm you down. So, instead of fighting the internal urge to continue your petty quips, you drop the cloak beneath you. He cocks a brow, surely expecting more of a protest, but you just swallow your pride, plopping down on the grass with a huff. “If you don’t return in 30 minutes, I’m coming to find you.”

“40 minutes,” he tries. “30 minutes isn’t nearly enough time for anything fun.”

You scowl. “20 minutes.”

Astarion smiles wickedly just enough for his fangs to peek beneath his top lip. “Very well. I’ll expect you no later than that.”

And like a predator fading into his natural environment, he vanishes into the darkness.

Time passes slowly when all you can do is pick at pieces of grass. As beautiful as the clearing is, it’s a bit too soothing—enough to make you doze off as you lean against the trunk of a tree. Though you attempt to keep your eyes open, reminding yourself you have a responsibility to uphold, you haven’t had this sense of relaxation in ages. Especially now, in your home with an atmosphere thicker than the butter you use on your bread. It’s almost like a spell as you feel your heavy eyelids droop helplessly.

You pray you don’t dream tonight. Not when you know all you’ll think of is the betrayal you inflicted on your companions.

A rustle of leaves snaps you back awake.

And when you look up, you see two blood-red eyes staring down at you from the branches of the tree opposite of yours.

They look exactly like the spawn in the alleyway, practically a month ago now. The same ones that haunt your nightmares and the same ones that morph into your ex-lover in the ones you despise the most. And while you can’t see their face, you don’t need much more than that to break into action.

Immediately, you’re snatching the cloak and sprinting back into the forest's darkness. You don’t care about the branches flinging themselves at you anymore because you can barely breathe even without worrying about them. Twigs and thin branches flail across your cheeks as you practically barrel through the woods, your legs feeling like they could give up if you were ever to stop running. With only the cloak in one hand and a dagger in the other, you don’t even attempt to fight whoever this person is upfront–you learned your lesson well the last time you tried. So, instead, your boots crunch against whatever plants are being crushed beneath you as you frantically run from the creature chasing you.

The worst part is you can still hear leaves rustling behind you.

Your lungs hurt. Your head hurts. Everything hurts, and yet you cannot stop. You hope the forest itself swallows you whole at this point, especially as you hear the movements getting closer and closer.

Tripping over a particularly large root, you fall through a bush, bracing for impact as you curse everyone you can think of for your luck. But rather than your shoulder crashing into a pile of dirt and twigs, you plant face-first into what feels like…cloth?

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? If you wanted to touch me, you could have just asked,” Astarion teases and you instantly tear yourself away, pushing your palms against his chest with wide eyes. And as much as you hate to admit it, a flood of relief hits you. And as much as it shouldn’t, meeting his gaze makes you able to breathe again.

Gods, what is wrong with you?

“There’s something chasing me,” you say hurriedly, pointing in the direction behind you. “I think it’s another spawn, I saw his eyes–”

His face stills when you practically jump at the bushes moving in ways the wind cannot will it to. Your arm flies to push him in front of you in case something were to leap out, and while you’re sure he’d complain dramatically about this gesture on any other occasion, he’s too busy worrying about what lies behind the bush. His hand shoots to what you assume to be that blasted comb he takes everywhere while you grip your knife, and you hear both your breaths hitch when something lunges out of the shrub.

It’s a small, puny squirrel.

Astarion doesn’t even try to stifle the laugh that escapes him as he throws his head back.

“I swear there was something following me!” you hiss, slapping his arm while the squirrel scurries away back to wherever it came from. He doesn’t stop, having little care about how your face flushes with embarrassment, and instead seems to revel in it. The bastard is enjoying this.

You wish you could throw the damn squirrel at his head.

“Oh, yes, I do believe there was,” he’s barely fazed while you continue glaring daggers at him. “I’m impressed you survived an encounter with such a terrifying foe, my dear.”

“It was definitely following me...” your voice trails off, and the bloodlust that had overwhelmed your lungs is fading away, leaving nothing but the sound of Astarion and his annoyingly loud laughter. 

He stops when there’s a shrill scream from across the forest. One that wails in what is unmistakenly of excruciating pain.

The two of you slowly turn to one another, and a knowing gleam flashes behind his eyes.

“Darling, the smart decision here would be to leave–”

But you’re already rushing toward whoever this victim is, forcing him to groan loudly and trail after you, snatching up your cloak from the ground in the process. You feel him close behind as you practically fly through the forest, with little care of how exhausted you were just moments before as the screams of pain seem to fuel your determination to lend aid. 

Astarion, although displeased, only grumbles as he continues to follow your lead. “Is it necessary to be heroic now of all times? In a dark forest where there’s sure to be animals twice our size?”

You ignore him.

A leaf slaps into your face as you finally reach what’s now been reduced to soft sobs. And you’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t someone you knew.

“Berry?” you blink at the small girl, who you’re sure can barely even see you with how teary her eyes are. She watches you wearily before she gasps in recognition, and it’s then that you realize that her arm is bleeding.

“Tav!”

“You’re hurt,” you’re kneeling beside her in an instant, assessing her wounds as you reach to dig around your pockets in hopes of any medical supplies you might’ve left in there. “Did something attack you?”

“Yes,” she winces as you lift her arm to inspect it closer. “I’m not sure what it was, but it came out of nowhere, and they—-they tried to bite me.”

A lump forms in your throat. As twisted as it is, you're relieved you weren't actually imagining what you saw earlier. “Did you see if they had fangs? Did they look like a regular person?”

“I think so,” she replies in a hushed voice, wiping her tears. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do when it–”

A hand grabs her by the back of her cloak, yanking her in the air with her legs dangling helplessly as Astarion holds her just high enough to render attempts to kick at him useless. “I’d normally entertain tasteless tricks like this, but I’m in a less than forgiving mood, I’m afraid. You’ve cut into the time I have to fill my own stomach.”

You gasp, jumping to your feet. “Astarion, what the actual hells are you doing?”

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later, darling,” he sneers at the girl, hissing at him aimlessly. “Show them, you little imp.”

Having no idea what’s going on, you decide the best thing to do is de-escalate whatever misunderstanding he’s had about the poor girl tied to his hand. “You’ll hurt her. Just let her go and explain what’s going on.”

“Show them,” he pronounces each word harshly, glaring at Berry. 

And finally, she tries to bite at his hand. This prompts her to unhinge her jaw just enough for you to see the glint of sharp teeth. Ones that do not certainly belong to an innocent orphan.

Were you always this unlucky, or was the past month just a living hell for you?

“See what I mean? You can offer your thanks to me later, darling,” Astarion smiles proudly, and if you knew him any less than you did, you’d think he’s psychotic for smiling like that in this situation. But then, again, maybe he is. “How you seem to attract so many of us is beyond me, but I believe we should refrain from keeping this one alive.”

Your jaw drops. As much as you feel appalled that the innocent girl you’ve been soothing over the death of her adoptive father for the past few weeks turned out to be one of the very creatures that nearly took your life (on multiple occasions), you can’t fathom the idea of just ridding of her. She’s still a kid—at least, to the naked eye. “Are you insane? No, we’re not killing her!”

“Gods, please don’t tell me you’ll try and make this brat see sense. She’s practically feral! Look at her!” he grits through his teeth, waving his free hand to the girl in question, who’s too busy trying to snap her teeth at him. “This thing doesn’t deserve your sympathy right now.”

Berry manages to catch the tip of his finger in her teeth, and Astarion lets out a string of curses as he drops her to the dirt. It doesn’t even take another second for her to lunge toward you, fangs bared and claws ready to sink into your flesh. You barely manage to swerve out of the way, her sharp nail grazing past your cheek.

“Berry, just listen to me! I don’t want to hurt you!” you practically yell, but she only stumbles on the ground a moment before rushing at you again. You reach for your dagger, fearing you may have to use it on a child until she’s snatched into the air again.

This time, Astarion hangs her by the cloak onto a tree branch, where she screams and grasps at the air, practically throwing a tantrum.

You gawk in utter disbelief; too many things are happening simultaneously.

And Astarion doesn’t help as he slips out the damn comb again, grinning from ear to ear. You notice that this time, he seems to have taken the time to sharpen the tips of the teeth, which nearly look akin to a row of needles. 

He holds the comb in Berry’s direction. “Well? Shall I do the honors?”

As you watch him threaten a child who also happens to be a vampire, you ponder that maybe you should have just handed him over to Dalyria when you had the chance.

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[velvetdesir3s]

Tutoring sessions: Roman Godfrey x Reader (Prologue)

Summary: Reader goes to the Godfrey mansion for her first day tutoring Roman Godfrey.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: none (for now)

Author’s note: This is the first part of a little series I’m writing. Second part is out! I hope you enjoy!

As you drove up the winding, tree-lined road, the towering silhouette of Roman Godfrey’s house came into view. The mansion stood ominously at the top of the hill, its dark, gothic architecture stark against the sky. You could feel your heartbeat quicken with each turn, a mix of anticipation and unease settling in the pit of your stomach.

The iron gates creaked open as you approached, revealing a sprawling driveway that seemed to stretch endlessly towards the house. The gravel crunched under your tires, the sound echoing in the stillness of the evening. You glanced around, taking in the meticulously maintained gardens and the eerie statues that dotted the landscape, their stone faces frozen in time.

The house itself loomed larger as you neared, its windows dark and uninviting. You parked your car and sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady your nerves. The front door, massive and foreboding, seemed to beckon and warn you simultaneously. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the car, the cool air brushing against your skin, and made your way to the entrance, each step bringing you closer to the unknown that awaited within.

Olivia Godfrey, Roman's mother, hired you to tutor him. At first, you were skeptical, of course. You didn’t like him at all. You thought he was arrogant, spoiled and a pathetic excuse for a trust fund baby. But you needed the money. If you wanted to get out of Hemlock Grove, you needed to start somewhere, and she was paying you a great amount of money.

It was surprising how she managed to track you down. You hadn't advertised your services; sure, you had mulled over the idea of tutoring to make some extra cash, but you envisioned helping little kids with algebra, not Roman Godfrey. But when you got the call from her, offering a crazy amount of cash per study session, you couldn’t resist. You had to put your pride aside and get it done.

You thought of a few possibilities as to how she could’ve found you but didn’t like to dwell on it since it freaked you out. This whole family gave you weird vibes; every time you passed by the mansion or the Godfrey Institute, you got shivers down your spine. Ironic, since now you’re technically working for them.

You pushed your thoughts aside and walked up the steps to the front door. Each step seemed to echo in the stillness, amplifying your unease. As you reached the top, you paused, taking in the grandeur of the entrance. The heavy wooden door loomed before you, ornate and intimidating. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and then raised your hand to knock, the sound resonating through the silent mansion.

It didn’t take long before a butler answered the door, gesturing you to come in and wait in the living room. You made your way into the room, setting your backpack next to you on the couch before sitting down. A maid came in immediately, asking if you wanted something to drink or eat. You politely declined, concerned at her anxious expression. After she left, you took in the grand living room, with its plush furniture and elegant décor.

As you waited, you noticed a few framed family photos on the walls and a large window letting in soft, natural light. You couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances that had made the maid so uneasy.

A few minutes later, Olivia Godfrey came in. She reeked of cigarettes and floral, expensive perfume. She gave you a warm smile that seemed a bit insincere. “Hello, you must be the tutor I hired. Nice to finally meet you,” she said, extending her hand. She shook it quickly, her discomfort not so apparent, before letting go.

“I trust you’re well-prepared for this,” she said, her tone sharp and formal. “I’m somewhat out of touch with modern education, and I’m concerned about ensuring my son receives the best guidance.”

You gulped, somewhat uncomfortable with her tone. “Oh, yeah— you don’t have to worry about that. Today we’re going to start with the basics of calculus and then we’ll move on to—”

“That’s great, honey. Let me just get Roman,” she said, quickly dismissing you.

And just like that, you were all alone again. You leaned back on the couch, sighing to compose yourself.

“She’s such a cunt, isn’t she?”

Roman’s voice cut through the quiet as you stirred on the couch. You blinked awake to find him standing over you, his eyes cold and distant. He sank down beside you with a sigh, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. With a practiced flick, he lit one, the glow of the flame briefly illuminating his face as he took a long drag, the smoke curling around him.

Where the hell did he come from?

You snapped out of your thoughts when he glanced at you with a piercing gaze, removing the cigarette from between his lips with deliberate nonchalance. With a subtle, inviting gesture, he extended it toward you, offering a puff.

“Oh, I don’t smoke,” you replied awkwardly. He smirked, “Of course you don’t,” he muttered, placing the cigarette back between his lips. You rolled your eyes, thinking he hadn’t noticed, but he did and simply smiled to himself.

Then, you heard the unmistakable sound of heels clicking sharply against the floor as Olivia entered the room. She stood in the doorway with an air of poised authority, her gaze fixed on Roman. “Roman, dear, I specifically asked you to be in the living room after lunch,” she said, her tone sharp and controlled, with irritation concealed behind a carefully maintained veneer of sophistication.

“I was taking a shit; I’m here, aren’t I?” he quipped back, taking another drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke deliberately toward Olivia.

Olivia narrowed her eyes, maintaining her composed exterior. "Charming as always, Roman," she replied coolly. “Do try to behave for your tutor.” She then turned her gaze to you. “I trust you can handle things from here?”

“Uh, yeah—” Before you could continue, she turned and walked out, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.

Roman smirked, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Don’t take it personally,” he said, blowing the smoke into the air. “She’s always got a stick up her ass.” He leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly. “So, what’s this supposed to be about, anyway?”

You turn to him, your confusion evident. “I was hired to tutor you. Didn’t your mom tell you?”

Roman raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Not exactly. She said I’ve been failing my classes and she’d find a way to fix it,” he explained, taking another drag of his cigarette and flicking the ash into an ashtray. “I figured she’d bribe the school or something.”

Of course he did.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you. We should get to work—”

Roman cut you off with a casual tone, “What if we do something else instead?” His smirk suggested he had something more intriguing in mind.

“What do you mean?” You asked, a little more guarded. You knew about Roman’s reputation for being unapologetically promiscuous. It wouldn’t surprise you if he was suggesting that he wanted to sleep with you right now.

Roman raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Relax, I was just thinking of a change of scenery,” he said with a chuckle. “But if you’re really set on studying, I suppose we can stick to it.” His tone was teasing, but he made it clear he wasn’t pushing further, at least for now.

“Oh, well. Is there anywhere else we could go to start? A couch isn’t really the best place to get some studying done,” you suggested, looking for a more practical setup for your session.

Roman leaned closer, his smirk widening as he set his arm casually on the couch, resting it near your side. “What do you have in mind?” he asked with a teasing tone, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Maybe your kitchen?” you asked, trying to maintain your composure despite the closeness.

Roman leaned back, his smirk softening slightly. “Yeah, the kitchen’s fine,” he said nonchalantly as he rose from the couch and began walking towards the kitchen.

You quickly grabbed your backpack, slinging it over your shoulders, and walked briskly to catch up with him. As you followed Roman through the mansion, the opulent surroundings were hard to ignore. The grand hallway was lined with dark wood paneling and ornate, vintage portraits, casting an almost eerie glow under the soft lighting. The floors were polished marble, echoing with the sound of your footsteps as you walked briskly to keep up with him. Roman’s stride was confident and deliberate, each step resonating with a casual authority.

As you reached the kitchen, the contrast was striking: the space was modern and functional, with sleek countertops and stainless steel appliances. The ambiance was more casual from the mansion’s formal elegance.

“So, what school do you go to?” Roman asked, strolling over to the countertop where a coffee maker sat. He grabbed a cup and poured himself some coffee, then turned around, leaning casually against the counter as he looked at you with a curious expression.

You softly scoffed, incredulous that he hadn’t even paid attention to you before. “We go to the same school. I’m actually in multiple classes with you,” you replied, your tone tinged with a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

Roman raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise crossing his face. “Oh, really?” he said, his tone shifting slightly. “Guess I didn’t notice.”

You walked up to the kitchen table, setting your backpack on it with a sigh. “I guess not,” you muttered, feeling a bit exasperated. Settling down on one of the chairs, you looked up at him and said, “Let’s get to work.”

Roman took another sip of his coffee, watching you with a bemused expression. “Alright, let’s get to it then,” he said, pushing off the counter and walking over to join you at the table. “What’s first on the agenda?”

[skullhorn59]

Clouded Sensations

A/N: my first Hazbin Hotel Fanfic! this is going to be multi chaptered! and definitely smut >:), but this part is more a small sneak peak into what I'm planning rather than an actual chapter. if you wanna request anything, go for it! Tags are going to get added progressively!

Pairings: Valentino x Fem!Reader Legend: ❲☆❳ - flashback, 『♡』 = change of scenes Warnings/Promises: Valentino, Manipulation, Drugs (his smoke/saliva), flirting, alcohol, smoking

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Minors DNI 🚨🚔

Valentino is sitting comfortably on the leather seat in the booth of one of his many clubs throughout Hell. beside him are two demons, employees of his, Dia and Summer. the two girls sit on the pimps lap as he takes a long drap of his cigarette and blows out it's red smoke. the other two Vee's are sitting in the same booth, but don't pay very much attention.

You are at the bar, just another demon trying to make a living, without being put too much into the spotlight. you never wanted to be noticed by the Vee's, at least not more than necessary. yeah - just trying to survive. from time to time, you get out from the bar to bring out drinks to guests, giving them a friendly smile if they give you a tip.

as you're ordered to bring another round of drinks to the Vee's booth, you can't shake the feeling of being watched. you pick up the tray of glasses before you make your way over, already so self-conscious about yourself that you walk very stiff. you have never been the type of demon for revealing clothes, not even as you were alive. everything you own covered you good, and you always wear black, helping you blend in better - or so you thought.

as you put the glasses down, Vox regards you with a glance, and Velvette ignores you completely. relieved, you turn to leave, but then you notice the Moth Demons grin. it looks almost predatory.

you turn to leave, but your wrist is quickly grabbed by one of his hands, his skin is cool to the touch. he nearly purrs as he begins speaking. "Why don't you stay and join us, Cariño?"

you feel your face heat up, and you try to keep your voice from shaking as you answer the Overlord.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I have work to do. and besides, I'm not very fond of shar-.." your voice breaks, and you have to clear your throat before finishing your sentence, "... sharing."

you free your wrist from his grip, and hastily hurry away, into the safety of the bar. Fuck! you denied THE Valentino! for as much as you knew about him, he killed sinners for less! before panic could settle in, you take a deep breath and continue your work, trying to avoid any gazes towards the booth.

but Valentino wasn't going to give up this easily. he watches you from across the room, his eyes tracing your every movement. after a while, he stands up and with a flick of one of his wrists, gestures the two female demons to leave. he then saunters over to the bar, leaning against it casually. "Whats your poison?", he asks with a charming grin, letting his eyes roam over the array of bottles behind the counter.

as you look up from the glass you were cleaning, you freeze for a moment. no way he came here for you, right? ... Right??? you keep yourself calm and pretend not to give a single care in the world as you lower your gaze back to the glass, keeping your movements steady and casual, your voice calm as you respond.

"I'm a lightweight. a few glasses of a good Vodka Cola mix, and I'm done for. although," you tilt your head, lost in thought for a moment, your heart pounding against your chest in both fear and unwanted desire, "I've never had any hangovers. not even as I was alive. and I never have memory loss either. it's kinda cool." oh God, you have to stop telling so many details!! you're practically serving him your weaknesses on a silver platter!

The Moth Demon regards you a toothy smirk, his gold tooth reflecting the light off of it. "you have good taste, Cariño. I'll invite you on a couple of glasses.~", his voice is practically dripping with venomous honey.

you raise an eyebrow at him, but begin preparing two glasses with the mix. "you know, I'm still working my shift, so I'm not too keen on getting drunk just now." - "I know Conchita, don't worry your pretty little head about it.~" he leans forward on his elbows, his lower pair of arms resting on his hips as he grabs the glass you just finished pouring. the Overlord downs it in one gulp, before setting the glass down. as he notices your stare, he licks his lips seductively.

wait, is Valentino flirting with you?? Holy fuck. this is suuuuch a dangerous game you're playing. if you make a mistake, you're as good as dead. but at this point, you can't just stop. rather drunk at work than dead, right?...

"Right.", you say out loud, raising your own glass to your lips. you notice how his gaze lingers on you, he practically undresses you with his eyes alone. you catch yourself staring at his eyes with half lidded eyes, slowly downing your own glasses contents. May Lucifer help you, you're a lost cause...

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this snipped, leave a comment if you wanna be added to the taglist, and I'll add you right away!~ and hey, if you got any suggestions/ideas, please do tell! I'm all ears! :)

─❲♡❳▷Hazbin Masterlist ─❲♡❳▷Main List

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Second Chance - Chapter 11

Masterlist

Warning: angst with a happy ending, mention of death, Yelena struggling with her feelings and being a little dumb lol

Word Count: 3.7k

“There she is!” You giggled as the elevator doors opened, and Kate stood up to pull you into a hug. “How was DC?”

“It was a nice change of pace,” you smiled and sat down with Kate and America on the couch. “But I’m glad to be back in the city.”

“Awe, did you miss us that much?” America squeezed at your cheeks. You slapped her hands and glared at her, but there was no bite. There was something about being at the tower you didn’t have in DC. Maybe it was the simple fact they knew you for what you were now. They never saw who you were before the accident, before the Blip.

“The mission went well, I hear.” You leaned back on the couch, and your bag fell to the floor by your feet.

“Yes, it did. We kicked ass, saved the day, and looked good doing it,” Kate smirked. You rolled your eyes and flicked the girl on her forehead. The archer gasped and rubbed the spot you flicked. Her pout caused you and her girlfriend to laugh. The sound immediately died when the elevator door opened, and the Blonde Black Widow walked out. You stared at her as she stared at you - both afraid to speak to one another. Before the elevator closed, she turned around and went back in. She was not saying a single word.

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled, slumping further into the couch. I don’t even know what happened. Did I do something wrong?” The couple looked apologetic, and as Kate opened her mouth, you shook your head. You know what? I don’t have time for her,” you stood up and looked at the duo. Do you guys want to help me pack up the rest of my apartment? I know you guys just got back from a mission .”

“Yeah, of course, we’ll help,” Kate said before America could respond. The girl looked confused but shrugged and stood up.

“I mean, I was going to sit on my ass all day,” you giggled. “Might as well be an unpaid pack mule.” Kate hit her on the back of her head.

“I’ll pay you in food,” you said with a smile, but the smile wasn’t an accurate portrayal of how you were feeling. There was an ache that filled your chest. The feeling traveled across your body, making you feel numb. You understood that not everyone was going to like you. You’ve had your fair share of enemies but desperately wanted her to like you.

*

“Why do you have so many forks?” Kate asked, wrapping your silverware and putting it in the box. A moving company was stopping to gather the boxes and furniture to donate. “You are one person,” you rolled your eyes as you packed the rest of your living room.

“Just in case I had people over,” you chuckled. You heard Kate mumble, ‘That is so weird.’ You shook your head. You had extra of everything because you planned to invite your friends from DC to the city, but that never happened. Now, you were packing everything up and moving into the tower, which was still weird to wrap your head around.

Working with America and Kate was fun. They made it quick and easy and filled the time with laughter from the stories they told. Once lunchtime rolled around, you ordered Chinese food and sat on the ground because your table was gone. Still, it was fun; their laughter pushed away an ugly feeling that formed in your stomach. However, it wouldn’t stay away for long, and the couple noticed the shift in your mood when it came back.

“You can ask,” Kate said, whipping her mouth with a napkin. You wanted to ask what you did wrong. The question burned on your tongue. You felt silly for holding back, but a part of you knew you didn’t have time to dwell on people who didn’t like you. But with your scientific mind, you were curious about the sudden change. The blond seemed to scramble your brain and leave it a mess.

“Did I do something wrong?” you finally asked. We were fine before the mission, but now she is ignoring me. I don’t have—” you cut yourself off with a sigh. I don’t know what happened.” The couple shared a look. They gave you the same apologetic look as if they knew something you didn’t.

“It’s complicated,” Kate began. God, you hated that word. It was a word said when someone refused to tell you the whole truth. “It’s tough for her to open up to people with everything she’s been through.”

“I understand that,” you couldn’t image the horrors she and her sister were subjected to. “I just wish she wasn’t so hot or cold with me. I-” Again, you cut yourself off and dug into your lo mein.

“What do you almost keep saying?” America asked. You couldn’t look at them. Tony’s decision made sense. They were on a mission and needed to stay focused. The possibility of you dying would complicate the matter.

“Before you guys left, Tony told me he found a match, and I refused to use her.” You spoke slowly.

“It’s Morgan, right?” You nodded. “You are refusing to use her bone marrow even though it could save you.” You hated the way Kate said it; you even used that wording when speaking with Pepper and Tony. There was no way you were using Morgan.

“That is—” America trailed off. It was a lot of things. Crazy, insane, maybe honorable. That’s a little wild.” You laughed at the disbelief on both of their faces. “Why?” You weren’t sure how to answer that. You didn’t want someone you cared about to be in pain to save you. Or maybe you were ready for all of this to be over and to see your mom again.

“Why did you join the Avengers?” You asked them instead.

“To make a difference,” Kate said without hesitation. “To save those that need saving.” America looked at Kate with a love-sick expression that went unnoticed by the archer. You would have teased them if it wasn’t a semi-serious conversation.

“To find a family,” America said softly. I lost mine and found a new one with the team.” Kate was quick to grab her girlfriend’s hand. You nodded and closed your takeout container, no longer feeling hungry.

“In some way, Morgan and Tony are all I have left,” you began. “Now I have the team, but it’s different?” Kate nodded. I don’t want to cause them physical pain if I can avoid it.”

“Even if a little physical discomfort could save them a lifetime of emotional pain?” America questioned. There was Plan B. Plan B would save your life; if it didn’t, it was okay.

“Look, I would just talk to her,” Kate said, changing the topic. “Put your foot down and tell her the truth. It may put her out of her own head.” Or worse, it may ruin the fragile friendship you already had.

*

When you returned to the tower, you ignored your instinct to rush to the blonde’s room and demand answers. Instead, you took the elevator to the Stark’s floor. Morgan threw herself into your arms before you could step onto their floor. “Well, hello, Princess Morgan,” you chuckled and picked the girl up. Her head pushed into the crock of your neck. The beating of her heart mimicked a hummingbird.

“Morgan,” you looked at Pepper, who was sitting on the couch. You have to ask for a hug.” The young girl tightened her arms around your neck, afraid you would let her down.

“Missed her,” she mumbled. You chuckled, sat on the couch, and Morgan moved onto your lap.

“I missed you too, sweet girl,” you said, pushing her hair out of her face and kissing her forehead. She snuggled closer, and you rubbed circles onto her back.

“How was DC?” Pepper asked. Her voice was soft so she didn’t disturb her daughter, who fell asleep on your chest. You smiled as you felt her breathing and heart rate slow down.

“Good,” you whispered back. “It was strange being back. It didn’t feel like home, which was weird,” Pepper hummed and closed the laptop she was working on. She moved closer and allowed your head to rest on her shoulder, to your surprise.

“Tony said you called him in a panic after their mission,” her hand movements mimicked how you were moving your hand on Morgan’s back. “Do you want to talk about it?” You shrugged.

“I guess being in DC got me thinking about my mom, and it was my first mission, and it worried me.” You felt the CEO nod. “Does it get easier? Like, do you still worry about Tony when he leaves?” Pepper sighed.

“You find ways to distract yourself. It becomes easier to manage the worry,” she paused, but her hand never stopped drawing circles on your back. It was getting hard to fight the sleep invading everyone of your senses. Pepper was nice, felt nice too.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to fall asleep,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. You heard Pepper chuckle.

“Nothing wrong with that, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Take a nap if you need one.”

*

Tony was thankful that Friday informed him to be quiet when returning to his floor. He stepped out of the elevator and was welcomed with the sight of you cuddled up against Pepper with Morgan on your chest. All three of you were asleep. It was rare for Tony to find his wife taking a nap. She was always working - busy with meetings or putting out fires with the press. His family was here. He tried to be quiet and grabbed a throw blanket to put it over the trio, but he wasn’t as silent as he had thought, and the sudden moment caused Pepper to wake up. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to wake up.” Instead of answering, Pepper grabbed his hand and pulled him to the couch. He allowed himself to sit down behind her. The CEO rested her head against him and closed her eyes. She wasn’t asleep, just resting against him. Tony smiled and kissed her forehead. “I don’t think I’ve seen you take a nap.” Tony teased. The CEO chuckled but let out a sleepy sigh.

“Wasn’t my intention at first,” she whispered. “But I’m not sure how many more opportunities we’ll get.” It was like someone dumped ice water over Tony. The idea of how limited your time was here scared him. There was so much he wanted to do and learn. Like always, Pepper was right. With you, time was limited. Her eyes opened slightly, squinting from the harsh light. “Will you stay?” Work needed to be done - mission reports and tune-ups to his and Peter’s suit. All that could wait.

“Yeah, I’ll say,” A nap sounded perfect anyway.

*

“You are just a sore loser,” you heard Peter say as Kate had to draw eight cards in the game of Uno. You chuckled. After dinner, a card game broke out between Kate, Peter, America, Sam, Maria, and Bucky. You were pretty sure the table was going to get flipped when Maria skipped Bucky three times in a row. You weren’t in the mood to play cards. The surprise nap with Pepper brought up feelings regarding your mom. So, while the Avengers destroyed their friendship over reds, blues, and greens, you were sketching your mom.

It was a trip you and she took to the Adirondacks. She was sitting by the campfire, toasting a marshmallow for you and her. The lake you spent hours learning how to paddle board was behind her. The sun was beginning to set, and the lightning bugs were making their presence known. No matter how old you got, you loved chasing them.

You tapped your pencil on the paper. When was the last time you chased after them? You sighed and stood up from your spot on the couch. You sent a smile to Kate to tell her you were okay and walked into the kitchen. You weren’t really hungry. The idea of food turned your stomach. You filled a glass with ice and ginger ale and slowly sipped the carbonated drink.

The blonde Black Widow walked over to the counter with a plate of crackers and store-bought jello. “You didn’t eat dinner,” you stared at her and sipped on the drink. “I brought you something easy on your stomach.” She could not be serious right now. Why was she doing this? Ignoring you for one second, then showing she cared the next.

“I thought you didn’t want to speak to me,” she cringed.

“Look-”

“No,” you cut her off. “You listen to me. I don’t know what I did, but I don’t deserve it,” you dumped the rest of your drink out. “So, figure out where your head is before you speak to me again.” You grabbed your sketchbook and headed for the stairs to get to your floor so you could avoid the others, but you heard her footsteps following you.

“Hey, don’t walk away from me,” you stopped but refused to look at her. You wanted her to work for it. She walked in front of you. “Why won’t you let me explain?”

“Because I have a feeling the next word out of your mouth was going to be complicated,” you crossed your arms. “And I don’t have time for complicated, Belova. So if you want to be in my life, act like it or get out of my way.” You pumped your shoulder against hers as you walked past her.

*

“De’mo (shit),” Yelena mumbled and ran her hands through her blonde hair. That was not good, and she could only blame herself. Getting that stupid photo out of her head was so hard for her. The easiest thing was to push you away because that was what she was good at. But she had to do something when she saw that you weren’t eating. God, she was stupid.

“That was stupid.” She wasn’t sure when Natasha walked up behind her, but she wasn’t going to question it.

“I know,” she groaned, throwing her head back. Yelena heard Natasha walk over to her, place a hand on her neck, and pull her into a hug. The blonde let out a shaky breath.

“You like her, don’t you?” A slight nod was all Yelena could muster. “Then,” she was suddenly pulled out of the hug, and her sister flicked her forehead. “Get your head out of your ass and tell her.” She looked offended and rubbed the spot that was flicked.

“Why the abuse?” Natasha rolled her eyes and put her arm around her shoulders to move her away from the others.

“Look, I know how hard it is to unlearn what they taught us,” she was referring to the Red Room. “And I wouldn’t force you if you weren’t ready, but this time, it’s different.” Right. Different. It was different because of the disease that racked through your body.

“Nat,” Yelena whispered. “What do I do?” Natasha gave her sister a soft smile.

“Listen to this,” she said, placing a hand over Yelena’s heart. And no matter what happens, I’ll be right here.”

*

A knock on your door pulled you out of your simmering thoughts, and you angrily took a bite of your yogurt. You figured it was America, Kate, and maybe even Wanda to check on you. When you opened the door, the blonde was standing before you. You tried to slam the door close, but she stopped it with her arm. “Wait,” she stopped it with her arm. “Wait. Wait,” she pleaded. “Please. Just hear me out.” You sighed and leaned against the door frame. It was weird seeing the Black Widow so unsure of herself. She looked small, and you had to fight every nerve in your body to bring her in for a hug. “Can we start over?” You titled your head. She stood up straighter and held out her hand. “My name is Yelena Belova.” Your mouth dropped slightly, but you recovered and took her outstretched hand.

“Yelena,” you repeated back. A slight blush dusted her cheeks. You liked the way her name flowed off your lips. “Hi Yelena”

“Can I come in?” You stepped out of the way for her to come in. You closed the door and let out a shaky breath. Could she hear the pounding of your heart? You rested your back against the door and watched Yelena fiddle with the rings on her fingers.

“I do not know how to do this,” she said, pointing to the space between you and her. “Apologize.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “But I am sorry. I’ve treated you-”

“Like shit?” She cringed down. You took a few steps forward and shortened the distance between you and her. “Why?” It took her a moment, you and her. The silence wasn’t awkward, but your stomach was in knots.

“I also do not know how to let people into my life, but,” she closed the remaining distance between you and her. You could see every detail of her green eyes. The way the lights you had on overhead scattered across them. They reminded you of a vast, lush forest. Her eyes served as a window to her soul. Her gaze had a certain depth as if each glance revealed layers of hidden thoughts and emotions. You never saw her look so vulnerable. “But I do know I want to be in your life if you want me to be.” Her eyes glanced down to your lips but moved back to your eyes. You took a step back and created some distance between you and her. You couldn’t think clearly when she was so close. All your mind wanted to do was kiss her.

“Do you want to watch a movie together? I can make popcorn, and we can start this—” You weren’t sure what to call the relationship between you and Yelena. A friendship seemed too constricting. Besides, you weren’t sure if friends thought about kissing one another. “Over again.” Yelena smiled.

“Yeah, I would love to.”

“Go pick something to watch, and I’ll get the popcorn,” she nodded and walked over to the couch. You let out a breath that felt trapped in your lungs. You’ve never felt this flustered, this scrambled in front of someone. All of your life, you were always the one to put together. When you flirted with random girls, they were the ones that turned into a blushing mess and stumbled over their words. The sound of the microwave beeping made you jump, and you heard Yelena laugh from the couch. Her green eyes were watching you from the couch. You flipped her off and grabbed the popcorn and two water bottles. She picked Rush Hour as the movie to watch, and you happily sat down on the couch, leaving some space between you and her.

“Good?”

“Yeah, good,” you smiled. You were happily telling the truth.

It wasn’t until halfway through the movie that Yelena asked, “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” she glared at you and threw a piece of popcorn at you. “But yes, you can.” You watched her reach for the remote and pause the movie.

“You said to me that you don’t have time for complicated,” she spoke slowly as if she wanted you to understand every word. “Isn’t Stark looking for a match? Did he not find one?” She had to ask tonight. You sighed and picked up one of her rings. Once the movie started, she took them off and dove into the popcorn. This one was a fidget ring.

“He found one, but I refused.” You couldn’t look at her, placed the ring on your pointer finger, and spun it around. Morgan is a match, but I won’t subject her to that surgery. So we go to Plan B, which means they increase my dosage and the frequency of it. We’ll see what happens.” You expected her to yell, to call you crazy, and demand you change your mind.

“Okay,” was all she said instead. You gave yourself whiplash because you turned your head so fast to look at her. “What?”

“You aren’t going to try to convince me to change my mind or force me to use Morgan,” Yelena leaned back and placed her arm on the back of the couch. Her fingers played with the quilt threads that draped around your shoulders.

“It’s not my decision. You’ve chosen, and I can’t force you to do anything. I know the feeling very well,” she softly said. “What I can do is support you and help where I can.” Oh. That was unexpected, but that was Yelena; you were learning. You nodded and focused back on the ring you were playing with. You took it off and leaned forward to return it with her collection. However, Yelena stopped you, took the ring from your hand, and placed it on the finger that fit. “Keep it,” she said, looking it over on your hand. “Looks better on you anyways.” You weren’t sure if your body warmed up due to the compliment or the warmth that traveled to you through her hand. Yeah, she was surprising.

*

Yelena wasn’t sure when your body gravitated towards hers while the movie played. She tried to focus on the film that played on the screen and not the feeling of your thigh so close to hers. It became impossible when your body curled against her and rested your head on her shoulder. The quilt you were using now covered her. Her arm moved around your shoulders. “I may fall asleep,” you admitted quietly.

“Do you want me to leave so you can get some rest?” Yelena wanted you to tell her to stay, but she knew she was lucky you had given her a second chance. If you wanted her to leave, she could. You shook your head.

“You make a good pillow,” you mumbled. Yelena chuckled.

“Thanks for the compliment, Easton.”

“No problem, Yelena.” She hated how much her body reacted to you when her name fell from your lips.

_

Taglist: @likemick, @averagetmblrusser, @wandaromamoff69, @simpforyelenabelova, @cd-4848,

[mxigo]

soul sick | part 2

SERIES SYNOPSIS: It’s hard enough watching the male that holds your heart pine for another woman, one that is the definition of beauty and grace, but to watch him fall for another yet again after you feel the mating bond snap into place is its own hell. A hell that makes you dangerously ill.

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: lucien pays you a visit to ask a favor, and things come to a head with azriel

WARNINGS: angst, swearing, graphic descriptions of vomiting

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: FINALLY. oh my god i finally figured it out and was able get the plot done and chugged through the angst. as usual, please let me know if there are any errors. enjoy!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER

MINORS & AGE-LESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. YOUR AGE MUST BE SOMEWHERE IN YOUR BIO OR YOUR BYF.

Your mood improved ten-fold after having lunch with Cassian and Mor. They did everything they could to get you to forget your miserable night, and they did for the most part. Although, they caught you staring off into space once or twice, and they knew you were trying to understand where you went wrong with your relationship with the Spymaster.

The remainder of the walk consisted of the three of you talking about senseless things until they each give you a hug before they leave, Mor winnowing out of the street with a pop.

When you walk through the door, you can’t help but sigh, letting the rest of the tension fall off your shoulders. Blessed relief floods through you as you shuck your shoes off in your room near the wardrobe’s door, pushing past clothes to find a sleep set to wear.

You throw your hair up out of your face, padding into your bathroom to wash your face of the little makeup you did wear today. It doesn’t matter that the sun had just set behind the horizon. Once your pajamas were on and you took off your face, you were not stepping foot outside again today, and you planned on shutting yourself in your study to continue your work for the priestesses.

While you were not a priestess, you feel at home in the library in the House of Wind, and you loved helping them with rewriting and translating anything new or old for them. Before you had friends of your own, you had books and the stories that they told. And although you have made some friends throughout your life, your love for books has never waned.

In the kitchen, you pour yourself a glass of rosé before making your way to your study, letting the door close behind you with a soft snick. The entire room is lined with shelves upon shelves of books of just about every genre of fiction and nonfiction, organized carefully so that you know where every book was right off the top of your head. Cassian likes to poke fun at you and call you anal, but it literally drives you crazy if a book is put back in the wrong spot and then you can’t find it the next time you need it.

The dark mahogany shelves exude warmth throughout the room, pairing perfectly with the desk of the same material, gifted to you from Rhys when you bought the townhouse. This place is your safe place and has a perfect view of the dazzling lights of Velaris at night through the double glass doors leading to a balcony.

The hardwood floors are cool beneath your feet as you walk over to the desk, sending chills up your spine. You grab a blanket from the back of the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders before settling into the comfortable chair. The stack of books that you need to work on is tall, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The first book is thousands of years old and seems to be a second edition one as well. The spine is nearly falling apart, holding together by sheer will alone, like merely touching it could make it disintegrate into dust. Dust and dirt is caked into the scratches and grooves of the cover, but you can still make out the title. Orys: Prythian’s Fourth High Lord of the Night Court. A smile tugs at your lips. You’re almost excited to read about one of Rhysand’s distant relatives.

A sharp knock at your door interrupts you, pulling an annoyed sigh from you. You grab a sweater to throw on before you walk down the hall to the door, praying that it’s not Azriel. You just don’t have the strength to talk to him about last night just yet.

But you’re surprised to see Lucien at your door instead of the shadowsinger.

“Lucien? To what do I owe the pleasure,” you ask, completely taken aback.

He is noticeably distraught, his hair looking like it needs to be washed along with forming dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he has not had a good sleep in a few nights.

“I—I need some help.”

For a moment, you are speechless. There could only be one thing that he would need help with, and you are a bit afraid to confront it.

“I just opened a bottle of rosé from my favorite winery on the Sidra. Would you like a glass while we talk,” you try, earning a nod from the lordling in response.

You stand back, opening the door wider for him to step into your home, suddenly self-conscious about how you are dressed in the presence of a male that you hardly know. You wrap your sweater around you a little bit tighter at the realization.

Lucien follows you into the kitchen where you left the bottle, telling him to get comfortable while you go to retrieve your glass where you left it on your desk. When you return, Lucien is staring off at the table, a pained expression shrouding his face. His hands are curled around each other, supporting his head as they rest under his chin. Taking a deep breath, you walk over to the counter where the bottle sits and pour a generous glass for your guest before settling across from him, tucking a leg under yourself.

Neither of you speak first, and you wait so Lucien has the time to gather his thoughts and think about what he might say. After a moment, he finally unfurls his hands to rest them in his lap.

“I fear that I may be losing my mate to the shadowsinger.”

Oh dear gods. Your heart aches for the male in front of you, suddenly understanding his pain, and feeling your own at the same time. You wet your lips, shifting as you try to come up with something to say, but you suddenly feel sick, and your heart is beating too loud to hear anything.

“Could it be possible that their relationship is just platonic,” you ask, your voice airy.

You take a long draw from your glass, watching as Lucien shakes his head, finally looking up at you, and his golden eyes find your own.

“No. I catch glimpses of her emotions and feelings occasionally, especially when they’re together. It’s not platonic.”

Your eyes fall shut, attempting not to panic at the thought that Azriel might share the same feelings for the Archeron sister.

“I’m sorry this is happening. I can’t imagine the pain that you might be feeling.”

“But I think you can.” Your eyes snap open, freezing on him.

“What?”

“You have feelings for Azriel, do you not?” His straightforwardness makes your mouth drop open.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You are quite obvious about it. It’s puzzling that he hasn’t caught on yet,” Lucien says, leaning back in the chair and taking a sip from his glass.

Your face burns, undoubtedly red. This time, you take a gulp of the wine.

“I’m hoping because of it, you can try to persuade him to turn his efforts elsewhere, perhaps yourself.”

“Lucien, I understand you are upset, and rightfully so, but I think you should talk to Elain, not me.” You shake your head, unbelieving of what he is asking of you.

“Then try to talk to Azriel and explain what he is doing, even if he doesn’t realize it,” he fights, his desperation seeping through. “He is taking what is supposed to be my moments with her.”

Neither of you speak, the tension having peaked.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit much,” he whispers, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s ok. I’ll try to talk to him the next time I see him. Although, we’re not really on good terms right now.”

“For the same reason?” You nod.

“Hm. Well, thank you for listening to me, but I should get going. Mother knows that Rhysand will start to wonder where I slinked off to.” He stands, knocking back the rest of the rosé. “Thank you for the drink. You have lovely taste,” he adds with a smile, which you return.

“You’re welcome, Lucien. My door is open whenever you need me.”

He nods once before winnowing out of the house, leaving you to think about his proposal.

Just the very thought of talking to Azriel about relationship with Elain makes your stomach roll, and there is a very good chance that Azriel won’t take your advice the right way either. Historically, he is not one for getting over someone that he cannot have.

A knock from behind you makes you jump, nearly screaming when you see a shadowed figure outside your home, but you sigh when you see a pair of great leathery wings. Your heart thunders in your ears as you try to decide whether to go out and talk to him or ignore him and send him away. You decide on the former.

Taking a blanket from the living room, you walk out the door and onto the patio, allowing yourself to lean against the wall. The night has quickly turned brisk, a sharp wind ripping through the balcony, and you pull your blanket tighter. It’s silent for a moment, waiting for him to speak first.

He is dressed casually tonight, the swirls of his tattoos spilling from underneath the hem of his short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of pants loose around his thighs. Not that you’re looking.

But as you look to meet his eyes, you blink in surprise at their seriousness, staring at you with a look that you can only describe as distraught.

“Why was Lucien here?”

You blink again, not quite sure of what you heard.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did Lucien come to you at this time of day?”

“What? Can a friend not come for a visit?” you ask defensively, crossing your arms.

“We both know that he’s not a friend, Y/N. There’s a reason that he came here, and I need to know what it was.”

You stare at him, mouth agape in disbelief. Is this really happening right now?

“He came to me for help.”

“Help for what?”

You take a breath. “Az, I think you should take a step back from Elain for a while.”

His face screws up instantly, offended by what you have said.

“Is that what he came here for? Because he’s jealous?”

“Azriel, think about what you are doing. Regardless of what the two of you think, there is a reason they are mates.”

A feeling of unease is palpable from him as he switches his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“You know that Rhys’ parents were mates and look how that turned out.”

“But Lucien is not Rhys’ father, Az. He is so far from that, or Feyre wouldn’t have brought her with him to Velaris. He is a good male, and you are actively standing in the way of their relationship.”

Azriel’s mouth is agape, at a loss for words, but he quickly turns to gather himself.

“I’m just trying to help her assimilate into our life, Y/N. She lost a lot when she was Made, and I’m helping her understand that there’s a whole new world that she can explore now.”

A weightless feeling begins to overshadow you, not believing the words that are coming out of his mouth.

“That is Feyre’s job as her sister to do that. She is also mated to someone that happens to be living with us and is dying to get to know her, Az, and you’re taking that away from him and stealing those moments that are meant for him for yourself.”

Azriel scoffs, his gaze sour.

“A mate that had a hand in having her kidnapped from her home. Of course she doesn’t want anything to do with him, Y/N, and she doesn’t have to.”

Silence stretches between the both of you as you allow the gravity of his words sink in, a cold terror gripping you.

With a blank face, you ask, “what do you mean by that?”

He just shakes his head, letting his wings unfurl. In a desperate attempt to get him to stay, you grab his hand, and your eyes meet once again. Then, suddenly, you feel it. You feel the bond snap into place as your soul realizes that male in front of you is your mate, and your heart breaks for the second time tonight. Your eyes go wide, breath catching in your throat as your skin erupts into chills. Hope fills you as you wait for any recognition from him, but there’s nothing, only his face screwing up.

He shrugs your hand off, just as you did to him. Your heart is thundering in your ears, and you struggle to figure out what to do next over the onslaught of emotions, both yours and glimpses of Azriel’s.

“Az, wait—”

“I love her, Y/N.”

Everything goes numb, your hearing cutting out. There is no possible way you heard him right. He can’t be in love with her because he’s your mate, it can’t be right.

You must look pitiful, staring unbelieving at him, waiting for him to say something different, but he only looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says before launching off of the patio and into the sky, disappearing into a black spec in the night, leaving you alone to unravel the fresh bond that will never be returned.

†

Sleep evaded you the entire night, having left you to your thoughts and to relive how your mate essentially rejected you without actually knowing what he was doing. All because you didn’t have the guts to tell him how you felt, and now he is no longer yours in any sense of the word. You had centuries to tell him but waited too long, and he took the opportunity that opened for him to have someone of his own, despite her already having a mate.

A headache sprung up as well, bursting right behind your eyes, throbbing with intensity. You haven’t had a headache spring up like this since before Rhys was Under the Mountain, but the stress of the past few days could definitely have caused it, especially from last night. The morning brings no relief, as you remain curled up in bed with the blinds pulled shut to prevent the harsh light from attacking your eyes. You managed to make yourself a cup of tea to sit on your bedside to drink, but you are so exhausted that you have not been able to muster the strength to sit up and drink it.

A groan slips from you as you roll over to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but as you do, your stomach turns, and your mouth suddenly fills with saliva. Eyes snapping open, you scramble up from your bed, bolting to the bathroom to make it to the toilet just in time for your stomach to reject everything that was in it. You grip onto the cool porcelain, choking on the painful onslaught. The rejection is so strong that after each contraction, you sag against the seat, heaving. Even after there is nothing left to come up, your body keeps rejecting, causing you to gag and cough until you are gasping for air like a fish out of water. After an eternity, your stomach finally lets you rest, allowing you to sag to the floor, sighing against the cool tile upon your flushed cheek.

This continues the entire day, waking for bouts of dry heaving until tears leak from your eyes, and your chin trembles as you fight back a sob. You have no clue as to what time it could be, surely deep into the day, but you are confined to the bathroom in fear that your stomach will revolt again. You finally submit to whatever has a hold of you, deciding that you will sleep in the bathroom, you carefully pull your duvet from your bed to drag it into the bathroom to have some kind of comfort on the hard tile floor. Finally, sleep peacefully takes you.

†

A soft touch pulls you from your dreamless sleep, your eyes peeling open to look blearily at whoever is kneeling in front of you. The headache persists, and the light causes you to clamp your eyes shut again, hissing at the light.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Cassian’s voice whispers in your ear. You nod but don’t open your eyes again.

“Rhys has been sending you notes all day inviting you to dinner, but you never answered them. Have you been here all day?” Another nod. “What has you so messed up, sweetheart?”

“I dunno. Just woke up like this. Can’t stop throwing up.” Your voice is scratchy from the abuse it has suffered, and it hurts to swallow. “Just put me in bed and set a bucket next to it. I wanna sleep.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the House?”

“No, no House. I’ll sleep it off. It’ll be fine, just stressed out,” you insist, still not opening your eyes.

Despite his better judgment, Cassian carries you back to bed, tucking you in and replacing your cup of tea with a glass of water and brings the bucket that you wanted. You haven’t moved from how he laid you in bed, and his eyebrows furrow in concern. It’s not often that fae get sick, especially with whatever you have.

He kneels next to the side of the bed you are on, letting a hand run itself over your head.

“I’m going to get going. If we don’t hear from you in a few hours, I’m bringing you to the House and we’ll get Madja. Do you understand?” Yet another nod.

Cassian sighs, registering that you have a slight fever. He stands up, leaning over to tuck you in before he leaves. With a last once over of your room and leaving a scrap of paper and a quill on your bedside, Cassian leaves.

He still doesn’t feel right about leaving you at your home, but he will be going back if you don’t write back within a few hours to check on you.

Everyone has moved to the sitting room by the time he gets back, each with a drink in hand. He notes that Elain is sitting in a chair next to Azriel but refrains from saying something. He settles into a seat next to Rhys, and Feyre notices that Cassian is back, but without her friend in tow.

“Did you see her?”

“Mhmm. She’s sick. Found her asleep on the bathroom floor in front of the toilet, all wrapped up in her sheets. She refused to be brought here, so I told her I would be back if we didn’t hear from her.”

“Oh Mother. We just saw her yesterday, Cas. How could she have gotten sick so quick?” Mor asks, face warped with concern as she leans forward.

“She said it’s from stress, but I don’t know how stress could make her throw up so much that she had to sleep on the bathroom floor,” he sighs.

Across the room, the Spymaster listens intently to Cassian’s words, his heart dropping as he realizes that he is the “stress” that has physically manifested as a sickness.

TAGLIST: @positivewitch @brekkershadowsinger @baebeepeach @toobsessedsstuff @lucyysthings @marigold-morelli

[sailorgundam308]

One thing that always puts me off the game immersion and comes across as immediately OOC for Karlach is when she asks you to say “I’m yours”.

It just doesn’t seem like something SHE would demand, imo. She’s always, consistently, against any type of ownership over others. She abhors hierarchies (especially that are forced upon others), and doesn’t believe in authority figures. She was owned by someone else and it was literally hell for her. She hates when others are treated as if they belong to another being (she hates Cazador, Mystra, Mizora, Vlaakith, Shar).

Why would she suddenly, out of nowhere, request that the person she loves the most declares they are owned by her?

It’s absurd to me. But considering her writing is all over the place and full of plot holes, probably there wasn’t anyone there paying too close attention to check if she remained in character. Probably someone just quickly thought “yeah that will sound kinda hot” and that’s it.

Ugh.

[galebrainrot2024]

Gale x Tav Enemies to Lovers Part 15

Tav's POV - with a slow build, comes the promise of a massive, angsty pay off. Shout out to @thelittlepinkwitchblog and @stuffforthestash for helping me in the brain room and with the lore! Getting back into the rhythm after being away for a week. Had a little block because I'm excited to get to the meat, and in order to enjoy we must savor the build. Enjoy! Content Warning: death/suicide

“Farewell, my friend,” Elminster said, the seriousness in his eyes unmistakable. Tav’s eyes jolted back and forth between the two, heat pricking her cheeks. She felt dizzy, unbalanced by what Elminster was asking - what Mystra, their Goddess was asking. 

Had Tav not been studied in magic perhaps the news would have felt less jarring. To use Magic and to be studied in the art was to know lMystra. To be an extension of her. Seeing this knowledge dropped on Gale like his life was frivolous and replaceable repulsed her. It made Tav’s stomach rot. It made her feel the slow creep of a gag at the back of her throat. 

Tav looked Gale up and down as he bid his friend, “Fairwell, Elminster. I’m glad she chose you.” 

Tav stood, dumbfounded. Just like that - Gale was sending him on his way. As if the message wasn’t what it was from his ex-lover. 

Ex-lover. Even the idea of it made her skin creep, it felt like she was covered in black tentacles. She wasn’t naive - it wasn’t unheard of for Gods to have sexual affairs with their devotees. But Gale spoke of his relationship with her as if it was mutual, as if she could see him in the way he saw her, with the same reverence and appreciation. 

Thinking about the imbalance of power made Tav grow tight at her seams. Was his naivety invisible to him? Why did Gale give so much of himself to Mystra when she would never do the same? Would never see him as he seemed to need her to. 

Tav wondered if Gale had ever felt superior, to have bedded a Goddess. The emotion that broiled within her felt quite the opposite. It felt cold, and lonely.

Tav felt her muscles twitch as the adrenaline surged in full force. Her hair stood on edge. They’d been so vested in finding a cure - in getting to the heart of the Absolute - Tav realized she understood very little about how complicated his relationship with Magic must be. 

When he explained his folly about the orb, he had a heavy air about him. A weight that seemed to suffocate him underneath the lie of being unworthy. Tav felt guilt wrap her, remembering how her initial thought was thinking he deserved such a punishment for thinking he knew better than a God. Gale was reaching for an impossible goal. Instead of looking on solid ground he looked above for escape. 

Tav couldn’t blame him for that. 

In all of their lectures of Gods of course she learned they had dealings with mortals - blessing their chosen with extended life, clerical abilities and that to harness unique powers. Gods taking on mortals as lovers, though was thoroughly glossed over. 

Tav finally understood what her father had been saying from the moment she discovered her abilities. He had no magic in his blood, as far as she they knew, so her abilities were a surprise to them both. He rarely spoke about her mother but he didn’t indicate she was gifted. 

He told Tav humans were puppets to the Gods. Trifles. Children’s amusements. That if she were to study magic to stay grounded in everything that made her mortal lest she lose herself in the process. 

The Gods had no vested interest in individual mortals. Tav had seen it already: Shar and Vlaakith proved as much with Shadowheart and Lae’zel. It was one thing to read about in textbooks, it was another thing entirely to experience. The Gods had as much a vested interest in mortals as the people Wyll tried to polity flirt with along their journey. 

Mystra was asking - expecting - Gale to end his life like he was nothing. Tav needed to lie down.

The feelings hit her and splintered through her core like icicles. It made her skin clammy and cold. Often Tav felt it - unworthiness, the same self-deprecation she recognized in Gale. No Wizard in the realms would touch her after her final Blackstaff demonstration, a wound that still wept on occasion. It was so mortifying that Tav sought refuge in anonymity.

Tav gritted her teeth. To Gale, Mystra had been and was everything. Would be everything until his last breath. Even if Mystra the Goddess was nothing to him, Mystra was the Weave, and they were inextricable. Tav began tapping the tips of her fingers together and realized she was standing where the conversation had just been taking place, now alone. Shadowheart and Astarion were whispering, their bodies tilted towards Tav and their eyes shooting away from her when they caught her staring. 

“You can’t seriously be considering what he just said?” Tav ignored them and approached Gale, not quite able to match his pace as he started to walk away as if avoiding her and she clasped his arm.

Gale stopped and turned, his eyes dropping to where her fingers gripped, and she felt his muscles tense. “For Mystra to have sent him, the severity of her bidding could not be clearer or weigh more heavily on me.” Gale put a hand on his hip, the other running across his jaw and mouth. “Time seems so infinite when you’re young. A month is an age. A year is a lifetime… it is a strange feeling to realize how little of it one might have left.” He paused for what felt like eternity. “Of course I have to consider it.” Tav felt his body pull closer to hers as he whispered this, his tone laced with solemn regret. “She’s offered the clearest solution to our problem. All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes and let go.” Tav searched Gale’s eyes and they did not meet hers. They seemed to focus beyond on and yet into her all at once. His eyes traced her lips, her hair, but not to meet hers. “The slate will be clean. Wrongs will be righted. The Absolute will be gone.” Tav shuddered, “And I along with it.” 

Tav’s breath stuck like glue in her throat and her knees buckled. Sure, she’d be annoyed, angry with Gale even at times.. yet, the possibility of the world no longer including him felt incomprehensible. “We’ll find another way - I’m not going to let you blow yourself up. She can’t ask you to do this - it’s insane!” 

Gale’s nostrils flared and he tilted his head to the side and when his gaze met Tav’s she sank into his pupil’s black abyss and saw herself reflected in their severity. “Let’s save such certainties for later. I need time - to process. To think. Excuse me…” Gale sighed and lifted his hand as if to touch her and dropped it as abruptly and turned to walk to his tent. 

** 

As they sat around the fire, midday turned to late afternoon and soon the sun dusted the horizon with streaks of mellow purple. They were restless, no one yet confident enough to broach the glaring bulette in the room.

Tav was standing off to the side, chewing on her lip and pulling her amulet back and forth. Tav jumped when she felt the fingers tap her shoulders. “I know that Gale just received some difficult news..” Shadowheart began her long fingers resting delicately on Tav’s shoulder. “We were wondering if we should set up camp. It feels unwise to travel much farther late as it is and I’m afraid we’ve all had quite a bit of wine between us.”

The rest of the companions waved a bit dramatically as Tav glanced over. Ah. They must have nominated Shadowheart to ask for the plan. Tav knew they didn’t have an infinite amount of time. Every hour they wasted was a moment closer to becoming a mindflayer.  

“I think it’d be best if we camped for the night. Maybe ask Wyll if he can make dinner… practice for his future dates.” Tav tried to force a smile that didn’t come, her joke landing flat. Shadowheart flipped her hair with a nod, Tav assumed she was glad to escape cooking duty again. 

Gale did not emerge from his tent for dinner. Tav didn’t know if she should leave him or check on him. For the rest of the companions the choice would have been easy. With him she questioned every word, every action, mulled it over like an overly complex problem. 

Despite the fire before her, Tav shook. Shadowheart leaned forward on her knees, holding her hands up to the heat. Her eyes danced beneath her dark curtains. “I can’t believe Mystra actually expects Gale to just sacrifice himself like that. It seems like a waste of a fine mind if you ask me.” 

Murmurs of agreement swept through them and Karlach paced behind those seated, swinging her axe. “Mystra asking Gale to end his life… I mean this is a lot to take in. What do you think he’s going to do?” 

Karlach looked expectantly at Tav and Tav shook her head and shrugged quickly, looking away. “Oh… I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s of two minds.”

Karlach groaned and swung her axe into the dirt. It landed with a thud and she pulled it out like a knife into cake. “Well, tell him to pick the right one.” Tav felt her cheeks redden. 

“He won’t listen to me.” Tav said, pulling at her fingers. 

“He doesn’t listen to anyone,” Astation tossed, only mildly interested in the conversation. 

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Karlach said, “Fucking wizard’s, man they always need help picking the simple, obvious option. If Mystra can’t think of another way to stop the absolute other than sacrificing Gale, she is no God worth worshipping. I’ll say that to Gale in, you know, gentle terms. Lae’zel, you’re one of our resident experts - what do you think?” 

Lae’zel stepped away from sharpening her sword, even she compelled by the visitor in their camp and news to Gale. “Even the Githyanki have heard tell of the sage of Shadowdale. Some of his works have been translated to tir’su.” Lae’zel came to sit by the fire and Shadowheart bristled. “That doesn’t mean his every word carries wisdom. Near as I can tell, Mystra demands Gale’s faith but holds no faith in him.” 

“That’s what I’m saying!” Karlach waved her arms towards Lae’zel, her eyes widening as if to say ‘see?’ 

Lae’zel continued, “Why else would she demand Gale sacrifice himself and  perhaps so many others? Does she not think he can destroy the Absolute with his own immense talents?” 

“Well I wouldn’t call them immense…” Astarion mumbled under his breath and Tav shot him a nasty look that made even him wither. 

“Does she not know the mighty company he keeps?” Lae’zel said, undeterred, “Demanding as Vlaakith may be, she acts for the good of the Gythanki people. Mystra is concerned only for herself. Perhaps he can find forgiveness in a fiery death… but I cannot help but wonder why he’d want it at all.” 

Everyone was silent for a moment and Tav stared into the fire as if scrying. “To suffer on the Wall of the Faithless is no fate anyone should want.” Her voice was a whistle that brushed through them. “It’s cruel to ask it of him because she knows he’ll say yes. It’s wicked.” 

“I can’t believe Mystra is asking Gale to sacrifice himself,” Astarion agreed, scooting closer to Tav and putting a hand on her knee. She flinched but did not pull away. “It’s just a perfectly good waste of a cult we could be controlling!” Before Tav could scoot away she felt him lurch, Shadowheart nudging him. “And a perfectly good Gale, I suppose.” He said the final part with poorly disguised ambivalence. 

Anger simmered in her and Wyll’s calming voice placated her, if marginally. “Listen, I might invoke the triade from time to time and appeal to Helm, but I’m no man of faith. Not like Gale.” Wyll looked at the fire, tossing a stick into it. “I don’t know what drives a man to consider his own death to be an appropriate exchange for his goddesses forgiveness. To me, it all sounds like nonsense.” 

“To some of us it’s important.” Shadowheart interjected but Wyll shrugged. 

“The faith that matters most is that which you hold in yourself and the ones that most matter to you.” Wyll pointed to his chest and stood, “Big bomb be damned. He’s got everything he needs to defeat the Absolute already. Nerve, and powerful allies at his side. I hope he’ll come to his senses and see that.” 

Tav wondered if Gale heard how they spoke of him, how the others seemed to revere him - would they be able to convince him to spare his life even if she could not? The heaviest weight was one of knowing a future she began to see unfold might never come. One that built over years and was reignited by the parasites. Like a planet and moon, destined to be within one another's orbit.

She looked towards Gale's tent and saw him in the darkness, looking directly at her. If she hadn't been looking for him he would have blended into the night. When she spotted him, he held up a hand and offered a half-hearted smile. Although it had yet to pass, she knew then the waters of their relationship threatened to surge violently if they continued to be unaddressed. 

[thesilliestshow]

4!!

[bardic-inspo]

Thanks for the follow, we're mutuals now :3 It's always nice to meet a fellow bard. Also, Karlach/Shadowheart? NEED!

Yeeeeaaaaah, new moots, high five!!!

(Also, I forgot I had started this in my drafts my apologies 😭 Thank you so much for sending this in <3 <3)

[Ask me about a fic on my WIP List]

My Karlach/Shadowheart ditty is still mostly brackets and bullet points in my WIPs folder, but I'm looking forward into making more words out of it one day soon! I'll ramble about it a little in the meantime.

Working title is "Absence", Shadowheart POV. Set in Act 2, just after Karlach's gotten her touch-enabling engine tune-up, but before Shadowheart's completed the Gauntlet of Shar. (Technically set in the same universe as my Astarion/Tav longfic, but they're busy off in the background, hehe). Shadowheart has gradually come out of her shell, and finds herself often acting on instincts that run contrary to Sharran teachings as she grows closer to the other tadfools. She's reprimanded by the sharp pain in the scar on her hand each time, but that hasn't stopped her from forming those friendships.

Those feelings grow stronger even as the Gauntlet of Shar and everything she's ever wanted/trained for sits just on the horizon. She finds herself acting on another want, another instinct, without thinking: when Karlach can finally touch again, Shadowheart pays her a nighttime visit.

And after, when Shadowheart is alone again, it's a whole war inside her head :( Here's a little snippet from a (very) rough draft of the angsty afterwards piece:

Shadowheart’s braid is loose where Karlach’s claws knotted in it. It weighs against her back, suddenly heavy as an anchor. Frantically, she wrenches the chain free, knuckling through the snarls until dark, tangled waves hang past her shoulders. But Shadowheart still wants to cut it. All of it. Every inch Karlach clutched.  Maybe then, she’d be free of this chill setting in where there was heat on her skin only moments ago. She would wear the day’s sweat instead of budding gooseflesh. Maybe then, she’d smell only of spent effort and not of smokey sweetness mingled in her mouth with the taste of dry wine. Maybe the only pain would be in the scar hissing against her hand. There would be no tender ache between her thighs. There would be no loss of what she never had.  It’s a gift, the old mantra echoes faintly in her mind. Absence is a gift. Shadowheart’s fingernails scrape her own scalp. Harder than the feathered flame of Karlach’s fingertips. Hard enough to wet her lashes and set a tear free down her cheek. So gentle. Why was she gentle? Shadowheart thinks desperately. Why couldn’t it have hurt then, so it didn’t have to now?

[its-jaytothemee]

Until I Met You - Chapter 31

Chapter 31: A Promise Kept

Pairings: Halsin x Tav

Word count: 5,467

Rating: Currently M, will be Explicit in later chapters.

Read on AO3

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Summary: Halsin shares his plan to rescue Thaniel from the Shadowfell. Part 31 of the slow burn fic. Tav and Halsin POVs.

Tags: Slow burn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual love confessions, eventual smut, angst, implied past rape/non-con and abuse, graphic description of injuries, brief suicidal thoughts.

A/N: More drama incoming!! I hope you enjoy my take on Halsin's time in the Shadowfell :)

Thanks for reading, as always! It might be a hot minute before the next chapter comes out while I get ready to go back to school full time. But I really hope to be back soon!!

Tav fought the tears welling in her eyes. All this time, Komira and Locke hadn’t been captured and tortured by the cult. They had somehow survived in the shadows, only to be cut down in the place that used to serve as a sanctum for healing, for refuge.

The undead woman spun around to greet them after hearing their gasps.

“Oh! Terribly sorry,” her quiet, rasping voice didn’t come off as hostile, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for a moment if you’re in need of help. You see, I have my two patients that require my undivided attention.”

She gave them a small bow of the head before walking back to their bedsides. Tav was startled and jumped away when she saw the woman pull out a scalpel and cut into their flesh once more.

“Why do you continue to torture them?” Tav asked, disgusted. “They’re already dead.”

“Dead?” She turned around and cocked her head to the side. “No, not dead. Merely resting. I would never torture; I am trying to soothe them. Now please, I must concentrate. If you are in dire need of assistance, please make your way to the doctor in the central chamber.”

She gave them another cordial nod before turning back to the two tieflings.

What am I going to tell Arabella?

Tav shook the thought away for now, trying to keep herself from spiraling again.

“Shit, what now?” Karlach hissed behind her.

“It sounds like we need to pay this doctor a visit,” Tav sighed.

Sparing one last look at Komira and Locke, she led her companions out of the room once more. She did her best to harden her mind to allow her to concentrate on the task ahead.

You can grieve later. For now, we need to find a way to rid this land of Shar’s wicked influence once and for all.

***

Halsin did what he could to keep Art Cullagh from succumbing to the lingering effects of the Shadowfell. Every now and then, he could feel him start to fade away, but with no small amount of effort from Halsin and the powers granted to him by Silvanus, he was able to bring him back each time.

He would catch a glimpse of Shadowheart out of the corner of his eye from time to time. She was pacing around the inn, muttering under her breath, a scowl twisting her face.

Despite her words of devotion, Halsin had sensed a small waver in her voice earlier, but he knew very little about Shadowheart. He hadn’t taken the time or energy to get to know her better in their time traveling, nor had he wanted to.

Regardless, he had theorized that the wound on her hand only flared up when she went against Shar’s teachings. Anytime a seed of doubt was sowed in her mind by the words of her companions or others around her, she was punished. What he couldn’t decide was why she continued to allow herself to be punished so regularly. Shadowheart recited prayers to Shar and her commitment to the goddess each morning and night, as well as throughout the day. If she was such an ardent pupil, why did she seem to pull away from Shar so often?

A sharp groan from Art pulled him from his thoughts. His legs had started to spasm and his breathing became more ragged.

The other Flaming Fist in the room ran over to his bedside.

“What’s happening?” she asked, panic evident in her expression.

“A seizure. His mind is fractured and exhausted from his time in the Shadowfell, it’s starting to have physiological consequences.” Halsin had to push his own panic down at the thought.

“Well, is there anything we can do?” She started to reach out for Art, but Halsin held out a hand to stop her.

“No, we must wait for it to pass, don’t try and restrain him.” Halsin reached out and enveloped the man with a spell, hoping it would help him to fight off the seizure. The simple cantrip could at least help buy him some time until the others returned.

He let out his held breath once Art stopped spasming a few moments later. Halsin could feel the fatigue settling in the man’s mind, so much so that his body was starting to feel the effects as well.

“I can’t say I’ve seen a Resistance spell used in that manner.” Shadowheart was now standing at the foot of the bed.

“You’d be surprised by how many spells can be applied to healing,” Halsin responded before turning back to Art.

“I have to say I’m impressed,” she continued, “to hold out this long against Lady Shar’s magic requires a strong mind.”

“That it does,” he said. “I can only pray it is strong enough to last until we find a way to wake him.” As he finished speaking, Halsin started a healing spell to help Art’s muscles recover.

“Even if you do, what difference will it make? He may have the answers you need, or he may not. These shadows were born of Lady Shar’s wrath. You’d have to be a fool to take her on alone.”

“Perhaps I am a fool,” Halsin faced her, “but I also know that a dear friend of mine has been held captive, kept away from his home for a century. I will do whatever it takes to have him returned to me. If that means clinging to a sliver of hope when I find it, so be it.”

Shadowheart’s eyes landed on Art Cullagh once more.

“The Lady of Loss teaches us that hope is a poison, a most effective one at that. It makes for a slow, agonizing death, yet you don’t even realize you’re dying. Not until it’s too late and you’re welcomed by the darkness of Lady Shar’s embrace.” She recited the words with flawless dictation, but there was little feeling behind them. Her eyes had glazed over while she spoke, devoid of any emotion.

“It’s all a matter of choice, Shadowheart. You can choose to look to the void to ease your pain, but eventually there is a price to be paid for that choice. I hope you’ve pondered what that sacrifice means before that time comes. I hope you’ve truly prepared yourself to lose everything in Shar’s name.” He kept his voice gentle and quiet.

“I’ve been preparing my entire life, of course I’ll be ready.” She tried to hide the crack in her voice with a scoff. “I’ve dedicated my life to her, sworn to spread her holy darkness where I tread.”

“And I have been preparing for this,” Halsin gestured to Art, “for the last one hundred years, since before you were born. So, I’m sure you can understand why it’s important that I follow through to the end.”

She pursed her lips and shifted her gaze to the floor.

“I do not ask that you help us, it would go against every belief you claim to hold dear. At the very least I can understand what your faith means to you, even if I do not condone it. We all need some sense of purpose to keep us moving forward. If this is the purpose you have chosen, there is little I could say to convince you otherwise.

“I do hope you can understand that this is the purpose I have chosen. I serve nature, when it is out of balance, I do what I can to tip the scales in its favor once more. Unfortunately for the two of us in this moment, that means going against Shar.”

Shadowheart looked pensive for a moment, as if she was considering his words. Halsin’s eyes fell on the small, circular wound on her hand, waiting to see if he had perhaps swayed her in any way.

Nothing.

A small commotion outside drew his attention away from her. Enthusiastic greetings rang from refugees and Harpers alike. A moment later, Tav appeared in the doorway, once again bloodied and looking just a tad more exhausted than before.

“Welcome back, my friend.” He gave her a relieved smile but saw a concerning sadness in all of their expressions. “What happened?”

“We can talk about it later,” the tears gathering in her eyes told him it wasn’t good news, “for now I think we found something of Art’s.”

Tav pulled a lute from her back. The neck of the instrument had the Fist’s name carved into it. Another swell of hope caused his heart to beat faster.

“Well done. Try playing a little, perhaps it will be enough to snap him from his trance.”

Halsin waited with bated breath as she strummed along the strings. She didn’t play a specific melody, just a few light notes that drifted away into thin air. They waited for a moment, waiting for any response or reaction.

Nothing from Art Cullagh.

He let his head hang low as his mind started to race again. Tears burned in his eyes.

So, the lute didn’t work, what else could we find that–

“THANIEL!” Art shot up in the bed, his frantic eyes darting between all the people gathered around watching him. Tav let out a startled squeak.

“He’s still trapped there – he needs help!” He continued to yell as his eyes searched the room.

“Calm. Breathe.” Halsin knelt next to the bed, keeping his voice low so as to not alarm him. “You’ve been trapped in the Shadowfell for a century – take a moment to clear your mind.”

“A century…” Art pressed a hand to his temple. “You-you’re Halsin. He said to find you.”

He felt his eyes sting again at the man’s words. Thaniel had been looking for him too.

Art suddenly gripped his arm, disrupting his thoughts. “Thaniel’s in trouble, you must help him – please.”

“I will, but first I need to know where to look.” Halsin kept a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “If I go charging in with nothing to go on, I’ll be lost myself.”

“I…I don’t know,” Art shook his head lightly, “the landscape in the Shadowfell shifts and changes…”

“There must have been something that remained constant.” Tav now knelt on the other side of the bed as she spoke. “Something that you only saw with Thaniel?”

Halsin paused for a moment to let him think. His heart pounded against the walls of his chest. He was so close…

Oak Father, please, help him remember.

“Lavender,” Art said. “Whenever I saw Thaniel, I always smelled Lavender.”

Lavender. Large fields of the flowers used to grow not far from Last Light. Perhaps even now Thaniel tried to preserve their sweet scent…they were always his favorite.

“I can work with that,” Halsin assured him, “rest now. We’ll take it from here.”

Tav was looking at him expectedly as he stood up.

“Meet me by the lake shore when you’re ready. I believe I may know where to find him.”

“Ready when you are.” She walked around to stand next to him.

“I can’t let you do this.”

Both Halsin and Tav whipped around to see Shadowheart standing in the doorway. Tav bristled beside him, her anger and grief hanging heavy in the air.

“Get out of the way, Shadowheart.” Tav’s voice was cold and threatening.

“The Shadowfell is Lady Shar’s domain. I cannot stand by and allow you to go and steal a prisoner from her!” Shadowheart’s voice rose with each word.

“Get out of the way, or I’ll move you myself,” Tav shot back. Halsin caught the subtle twitch her hand made for the bow on her back.

He forced himself to take a calming breath. Shadowheart stood between him and Thaniel and he didn’t fully trust his emotions at the moment. But if their conversation from earlier was any indication, perhaps he could at least convince her to stand aside.

“Shadowheart,” he started with a hand held out, “Thaniel does not belong in the Shadowfell, he’s just–”

“He belongs there if my Lady says he belongs there. If he was taken, she had her reasons, and I am not one to question them,” she hissed back.

“And isn’t that the problem?” Halsin asked, still keeping one hand up in a truce. “You are unwilling to question why Shar would steal away the very life of this land? Thaniel was not sworn to Selûne or Shar, he was simply the spirit that watched over these woods. She tore him from his home before cursing the land to eternal darkness, she has no claim to him.”

Her glare wavered for a moment before she cried out in pain and gripped her hand. Halsin’s heart continued to beat harder and harder in his chest. Though it was far from his first choice, he would fight their companion to fulfill his duty.

“As far as you know.” Shadowheart’s hateful stare returned once she recovered. “One of the key tenets of Shar’s doctrine is embracing loss. Perhaps the two of you could learn a lesson or two from her.”

Her words were Tav’s undoing. She snatched the bow from her back with a growl and aimed an arrow at Shadowheart.

“One last chance, Shadowheart,” her voice remained low and cold, but the tears gathering in her eyes had given her pause, “move out of the way, or I step over your corpse.”

“Tav! What are you doing?!” Karlach yelled as she started to reach for Tav. Halsin turned and waved her off, if anyone interfered too quickly, he worried she would kill Shadowheart where she stood.

He could see Tav’s hands shaking as she held the feathered end of her arrow by her cheek. Her lower lip trembled as she glared back at Shadowheart. Grief and guilt had blocked all thought and reason. Her eyes, usually pink as spring cherry blossoms, almost appeared red from the anger clouding them.

He placed a hand on her shoulder which caused the dam to break and her tears to spill over. Her arms continued to tremble with the effort it took to hold the arrow drawn and ready to fire.

“Tav, it’s alright. Put the bow down.”

“You heard her! She wants us to embrace Shar’s wicked creed?” she cried back at him in a broken voice that made his heart ache before turning her rage back to Shadowheart. “You think that we do not know loss? That we could never understand what it’s like to stare into the void and want more than anything for it to drag us down so we can forget?!”

Once again, Shadowheart’s glare wavered at Tav’s words.

“These shadows stole my brother from me. The only person I’ve ever loved in my long life. Even now, the weight of his death threatens to drag me down into the nine hells with every passing moment.”

A deafening silence seized the room around them as Tav’s arm continued to shake at the effort of holding the arrow’s aim.

Then, she finally dropped the weapon to her side.

“But I would rather live the next six centuries carrying it with me than allow Shar to take a single precious memory of him.”

Not a sound was made in Last Light Inn. Everyone witnessing the fight had gathered around, staring on in strained anticipation.

“Shadowheart, please,” Halsin begged as he willed his own tears to remain in his eyes, “should Thaniel remain imprisoned, this land will be encased in shadow forever more. In his eyes, he is nothing more than a child. A lost, scared child who was ripped from his home and locked away from nature, where he belongs. I have spent the last one hundred years preparing to rescue him. I truly do not wish to harm you, but I cannot, I will not, let you stand in my way.”

She clenched her jaw as she considered his words. Tav kept her fingers curled tight around her bow, an arrow still resting on the string and ready to fire.

“I will not aid you in this.” She held her glare steady.

“I do not ask you to,” Halsin replied flatly.

“Fine,” she said the words through gritted teeth, “but do not expect me to speak on your behalf should Lady Shar turn her wrath to you.”

Tav relaxed and dropped her bow to her side.

“Let’s go, Tav.” Halsin took slow, careful steps out of the room. His eyes remained locked on Shadowheart who now had a just a shimmer of guilt clouding her expression.

Once Tav was out the door, he turned back to Shadowheart, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She looked down at his hand before jerking her arm away and storming back into the room.

Fair enough.

“Ngh, it hurts.” He heard her hiss the words as he jogged after Tav.

The rest of their companions filed after them slowly, dragging their feet and sharing uncomfortable looks. All except for Gale and Karlach, who had remained in the room a little longer.

Tav stood in the entryway of Last Light, staring down at the bow in her hands with a disgusted look on her face.

“Tav?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice before wiping away a few stray tears.

“Are you ready?” he asked gently.

“Of course. I’ll wait for Gale and Karlach to catch up.” Tav’s eyes were watching the doorway of the they had just passed through.

“Then I will go start the preparations.” He took a deep breath. “Meet me by the lake shore once you’ve gathered everyone.

***

Tav and her companions found Halsin standing on a large rock formation overlooking the lake. His face a hard mask of concentration, his entire body tensed. They had passed just beyond the edge of the moon shield, and shadows swirled around their limbs, repelled only by the pixie blessing they received. The eerie lack of sound out by the water set her nerves on edge.

Tav motioned for Astarion, Lae’zel and Karlach to stay on the ground, Wyll and Gale followed her up the rocky steps to Halsin. Lunari sat down at the base of the small overlook.

“You’re here, good. Now we can begin.” His voice was level and commanding.

“First, I’d like to know what to expect.” Tav grabbed her bow from her back, ready for anything.

“Thaniel is trapped in the Shadowfell. Thanks to your efforts in waking up the Flaming Fist, I finally know where to look. Now, I must go there – alone.” His tone suggested this was not a detail up for discussion, Tav just didn’t care.

“Hold on…alone? Into the Shadowfell? No fucking way, I’m coming with you.” Tav took a step towards him, but he held a hand out to stop her.

“No, Tav. This opportunity has been a hundred years in the making. It has to be me. Only me.” His commanding aura dropped slightly as he looked into her eyes.

“You were the one that told me no one can endure these hardships alone, yet here you are charging into the Shadowfell…alone.” Her voice rose with the panic she felt taking over her body.

“And I meant it.” He closed the distance between them to take her shaking hands in his. “But you’ve already lifted the veil for me. Something I could not have done alone. But this…this is something only I can control. It must be only me, please, Tav. Have faith in me.”

His last words caused her breath to catch. So close to the code phrase she had with Tev. Few people in her long life made the list of those she would trust, no questions asked.

Today she realized Halsin’s name had been added to that list.

“I do, Halsin.” She relaxed slightly as he pressed his forehead against hers.

“Thank you,” he whispered before continuing to address the others as well. “Besides, I didn’t just bring you here to witness an old druid’s grandstanding. I will need help from this plane if I am to return.” He let her hands drop from his.

Tav took a deep breath. She still wasn’t okay with Halsin going into the Shadowfell with no backup, but she trusted him. If he said he must go alone then she would believe that it needed to be done.

“Anything. What do you need?”

“Time. As much as you can give me. With Silvanus’ aid, I have learned a ritual that will allow me to open a portal to the Shadowfell. One that can lead me to Thaniel.” Halsin gestured eagerly as he spoke.

“Entering the Shadowfell will sap my strength. You must stay here and defend the portal at all costs. Keep it open until I return.”

“You can count on me,” she responded, anxiety seeping into her voice.

“I know I can.” He smiled softly before turning his back to begin the ritual.

“This took me years of study and seeking the Oak Father’s favor. Pray that it works.” He took a deep breath before starting.

The warm, golden hum that Tav had come to associate with Halsin’s magic swirled in the air around them, pushing some of the shadows aside. She heard him pleading with Silvanus to allow him passage, saw his hands trembling at the effort. Suddenly, a beautiful portal burst into existence before them. Energy teemed at its edges, the dancing lights cut through the shadows around them, bathing Halsin in their glow.

“It’s ready,” he said, almost in disbelief. “I’ll return as soon as I have Thaniel. Stay close, defend the portal in any way you can.”

Tav watched as he took slow, deliberate steps toward the portal, striding towards their lone chance to rid this land of the curse. He was the only person alive who could possibly do this, yet her selfish desires ached to keep him here with her. The Shadowfell could consume a person much quicker than these lands ever could. She had to trust that he would return, so long as she could do her duty here.

Just before stepping into the portal, Halsin turned over his shoulder to meet Tav’s gaze. He gave her a small nod and smiled before disappearing beyond the magical barrier.

Not a moment later, a mass of shadows and cursed, reanimated corpses descended upon them. Their focus was fixed on the portal swirling at the top of the rocky overlook.

Tav drew her bow, took a deep breath, and fired the first shot.

***

Whatever darkness choked the land around Reithwin and Moonrise was nothing compared to the cold, hollow despair Halsin felt the second he crossed into the Shadowfell. A shivering fatigue already gnawed at him, like all the warmth had been drawn from his body. Just as it was the day the curse was unleashed.

Everything felt dull, numb. No life flourished here, darkness and shadow gripped every fiber of the surrounding land. What few trees and foliage could be seen were empty and lifeless, devoid of all connection to the Oak Father. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this severed from his guiding presence.

How had Thaniel managed to survive in this desolate place for so long?

He forced himself to keep moving forward across the fractured landscape.

A sharp pain pierced his chest – the portal had taken a hit. He trusted that his new friends would defend the other side with their lives, he just needed to find Thaniel.

Open your heart, hear nature’s symphony. You know the way.

Halsin’s breath caught as he heard Silvanus’s voice drift into his thoughts. Even here in the darkness of the Shadowfell, the Oak Father’s eyes cut through Shar’s foul veil to watch over him.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, searching for anything that could lead him to his old friend. There was the ever-present scent of death in the air. The scent that seemed to follow Shar wherever she resided. But there was something else as well, he was so close to identifying the sweet smell…

Lavender.

The moment he picked up the trail, a small, golden tendril of magical light ripped through the Shadowfell to find him. A pure, incredible magic as familiar to him as his own.

Thaniel.

His strength came back to him, invigorating his muscles and propelling him through the dark plane. Running as fast as his legs would allow, he followed the winding light further into Shar’s domain. The last one hundred years of his life had led to this moment.

He would rescue Thaniel from this cursed place, or he would die trying.

***

Wave after wave of shadow beings challenged their party. Tav stood near the portal, picking off enemies along the shore from her rocky perch. She said a silent thanks to the traders at Last Light Inn who had equipped her with so many special arrowheads. The arrows she fired into the advancing enemies came alive with all kinds of magic. Fire, lightning, thunder…she had even found arrows that sought out multiple targets at a time.

Wyll and Gale were desperately repelling any enemies that had broken through their defenses away from the portal. Gale was switching between hurling balls of fire at far away shadows and conjuring powerful gusts of wind to knock closer enemies off of the ledge.

Wyll had given up on casting spells and instead danced between enemies with his rapier.

Karlach, Lae’zel and Astarion were ripping through undead flesh down below. Lunari stayed close to the steps and lunged at any enemies that managed to make it past the fighters on the ground. The clang of their weapons rang through the darkness as they dispelled a large group of cursed Harpers. However, just as the last enemy fell, a whole new set of reinforcements arrived that included Githyanki warriors.

The portal behind them had taken too many hits, the energy surrounding it was now crackling wildly instead of humming pleasantly.

“The portal can’t take much more!” Tav yelled at the others. “Fall back and defend it!”

Just as their companions reached their side, Gale brought forth a massive wall of flames to scorch the cursed corpses. The smell of burning flesh mixed with the decaying scent of the shadow curse made Tav’s stomach churn.

A soothing feeling suddenly came over her, strange in the midst of this battle. It took her a moment to register its meaning.

Halsin.

“Halsin’s close, I can feel him. Just a bit longer.” Tav shot an arrow tipped with fire into the advancing Githyanki.

An arrow came flying back at her and impaled one of her wrists. She cried out in pain, dropping her bow.

Karlach hurled a smokepowder bomb into the mix, taking down all but one of the advancing githyanki.

Of course, it was the archer that was left.

It’s always the fucking archers.

It aimed its crossbow just past her, trying to destroy the portal. Out of time and with no weapon in hand, she watched with a careful eye for the moment just before it pulled the trigger.

Easily able to determine the enemy’s aim, she dove at the last second and let the arrow pierce her shoulder.

***

Clutching Thaniel against his chest, Halsin had finally made his way back to the portal. He could feel that he was running out of time, it was close to disappearing.

“We’re almost there, Thaniel, I can see our way out now.” Halsin took panting breaths as he forced his legs to keep moving forward.

Shadows and wraiths were close on his trail. He had evaded them thus far, but they had finally sensed his presence once he plucked Thaniel from the web of cursed vines that had been holding him in place.

His strength was fading fast. He kept Thaniel held tight in his arms despite his fatigue.

Try as he might, he found himself too weak to cast any spells. No vines to deter his relentless pursuers, no healing magic to reinvigorate his exhausted muscles, no warm, radiant light to keep the darkness at bay.

At least they were close enough to the portal now that he could feel the warmth of the magical lights on his skin.

Almost there, please Tav…hold on just a little longer…

Suddenly, an icy hand wrapped itself around his arm, its fingers long freezing tendrils trying to loosen his grip on the boy in his arms. He hugged Thaniel tighter to his chest, desperate to keep him close.

Another hand grabbed his shoulder. Their touch was so unfathomably cold that it burnt his skin. They pulled at him, trying to drag him away from the portal to remain in the Shadowfell forever more.

Their hands worked their way forward to wrap around Thaniel – his arms, his torso, his throat – trying to wrest him from Halsin’s grasp. He fought and pushed to no avail, the energy around the portal waning with every passing second. A small, pained whine from Thaniel brought tears to his eyes and every horrible thought from the last one hundred years bubbling to the surface.

We’re not going to make it…

He could hear the wicked, unnatural cackle of the shadows as he felt the portal start to fade away. Thaniel let out another rasping whimper as the shadowy fingers around his throat tightened their grip.

No, I didn’t come this far to fail now.

Halsin let out a scream, pouring every ounce of rage, sorrow, and guilt he had felt over the last century into the sound. He used every last bit of strength he had left to push the darkness away.

A massive bubble of daylight was conjured around him and Thaniel, causing the shadows to relinquish their grip and fade away into the Shadowfell with a chorus of hissing shrieks.

With one final push, he leaped through the barrier back into the shadow cursed lands. As soon as he returned to the material plane, he felt his strength return to him.

“It’s done. I have him.” He was still breathing heavily. “But someth–”

He looked up just in time to see Tav launching herself in front of an arrow that was heading for the portal. The head of the arrow pierced straight through her shoulder, pushing a small splatter of blood out behind her. His heart dropped as she cried out in pain and her body landed with a hard thud on the ground. The last enemy on the lake shore was quickly taken down by their other companions.

“Tav!” Halsin yelled, running to kneel next to her, still cradling Thaniel in his arms.

“Oh good, you made it.” She smiled up at him as the portal behind them closed with a soft whooshing sound. He couldn’t help but let out a relieved laugh. Her eyes moved to the small boy in his clutches.

“Is that Thaniel?”

“Yes…but something’s wrong. Dreadfully wrong,” he whispered, tears burning his eyes. “There’s a part of him that’s…that’s missing.”

Tav slowly reached for Thaniel, resting her hand on one of his. She winced at the pain in her shoulder. Halsin saw that another arrow was protruding from her other wrist.

Guilt crashed over him in harsh waves. He was perhaps too late. All his years of study, risking the lives of his new friends, risking Tav’s life…was all for nothing. What little hope he had left when they came here began to dwindle away.

No, not yet. He can still be brought back.

“I need to get him somewhere safe. Maybe I can examine him at camp.” He looked at Thaniel, and then back to Tav. A few tears fell down his face.

“Go.” She let her hand drop from him. “Get him to safety. We’ll meet you there. I can take care of this.”

Tav’s face twisted in pain before him. How could he leave her there after she just took an arrow for him, for Thaniel? Karlach and Wyll came over to sit next to Tav. Lunari shuffled up behind them, lying next to her with a soft whine.

“We’ll look over her, Halsin. You go, we’ll bring her back to camp as soon as she can move. Gale and Astarion will go with you,” Karlach assured him.

He took one of Tav’s hands, giving it a light squeeze. She smiled at the touch. Sparing one last look at her, he turned to hurry away to their camp, Gale and Astarion following close behind him. He heard Wyll give a quick countdown followed by another cry of pain from Tav as he removed the arrows from her body. The sound was like a shard of ice in his heart, but he had to keep moving.

The fate of the entire region depended on bringing Thaniel back.

[sorcerous-caress]

Do u think other BG3 companions could have a human kink? Lae’zel Astarion Karlach etc. Would Shadowheart have one or be treated more as a human as a half-elf??

For Shadowheart, depends on who you ask. I think the elves would reject her as part of them and because she lacks a lot of their traits. Like there is a certain criteria you need to cross off to be considered a full elf to them.

For the humans, I think they'd fully embrace her as a human. There isn't a criteria on how to be a human nor a requirement list. We ourselves always burst out of the box of expectations we set for our own kind. Humans are unpredictable and versatile.

But I don't think Shadowheart would like either. No matter how much the humans are welcoming and are quick to label her as one of them, she still doesn't feel like she fits in, like there are extra parts of her that all other humans clearly don't have. There are certain intense feelings exclusive to elves that humans can't relate to.

She can't fit with the elves either because she is so clearly human. The human part always shines through the stubborn hope, the ego and pride, the endless potential, and impatience. She is simply too much for the elves who never bothered to even make a space for her out of fear she might disturb their youngs with her unnatural growth.

That's why half-elves seek human colonies to live in, humans are the only one willing to look past everything and accept them. Humans' colonies are known for taking any "strays" unwelcomed by their own colony, be it half-human or fully something else. Sure, there are racists everywhere, but I like to think that most humans have tolerance and keep an open mind.

She is still a half-elf, tho, not a human, not an elf. And she will hate being mistaken as either of these things. Shadowheart seems to take pride in her heritage, and so does Jaheira! Saying how it doesn't matter which one of her parents was the elf, what matters is that they were two people in love.

Half-elves aren't always born stable. Sometimes, the genetics mix in conflicting ways, and they end up with mental issues or the inability to reproduce. Shadowheart is lucky in the sense that she is fully functional and healthy.

I actually headcanon that the reason the other kids in Shar temple picked up on her was because she is a half-elf. Long ago, I wrote a piece about companions opening up about struggles for their own race but never shared it.

Here is the part I wrote for Shadowheart about her being a half elf.

Shadowheart

"Was it a struggle growing up as a half-elf?"

"Maybe. I didn't pay it much attention." Her reply came quickly. She seemed unphased by your sudden question as if it's something she's been asked a hundred times before.

"Did no one bring it up? Back at Shar's temple."

"Oh, they did a lot." Her eyes meet yours, the defiant fire of humanity in them, the pride of fey in the lift of her chin. "Until they couldn't utter a single word, what an easy solution it was."

The scar in the middle of her face stands out to you more than ever now. It only took a single scar.

"Like i said." She continued, "I didn't pay it much attention. Mother superior claimed that my heritage should bring me closer to Lady Shar. All children of the night are outcasts."

"Did it?"

"I tried to, but no, not really. I've always felt whole, despite what others claimed. I never felt the need to fit into either culture." Despite her hairstyle, she never once covered her short pointy ears, "what, disappointed that my experience isn't what you were looking for?"

A half smile stretched a bit too thin as she met your gaze again.

"Not at all," you replied.

Sorry for making this just about Shadowheart, I have been dying to talk about her being a half-elf and how it fits in the human kink universe. If you wanna then resent the Lae'zel and other bg3 companions ask separately again and I will answer it then!

[wellthebardsdead]

Devil prince Falûne (Bad End)

———

Raphael: *steps into the house of hope, drenched in blood and placing the crown of karsus on the pedestal it had been stolen from originally, and next to it, the nether stones, and netherese orb still coated in blood*

Korrilla: *steps into the room and sighs with relief* thank the gods you’re back- *pauses taking in his appearance* …Made them pay huh?

Raphael: He gave them everything they wanted without so much as asking for a thank you in return… He gave Karlach her heart, burned Wylls contract, saved shadowhearts parents and cured her from shars curse, and even offered to remove the orb from gales chest… and what did they do?… bludgeoned him over the head and left him to drown with the nether brain while they took off with the crown. *sighs* how ironic that the most morally questionable ones of their group stayed by the shore waiting for him.

Korrilla: Astarion?

Raphael: Lae’zel and Minthara too. Along with Halsin though, he seemed more focused on tending to the survivors who had surfaced… *clenches his jaw as he places the dome back over the relics* has he awoken yet?

Korrilla: yes. He’s been asking for you… please be gentle boss. He’s not-

Raphael: *snaps his fingers cleaning himself of the blood* I know… I know… *sighs and walks from the room, down the hall and to his nephews bedroom, already hearing soft sad cries from behind the door* … *steps in and sighs taking in the sight*

Falûne: *head wrapped in a bandage, one horn broken, and a wing torn. Sitting upright in his bed sobbing quietly* u-uncle?

Raphael: *walks to his bedside and sits down* … *opens his arms*

Falûne: *leans into his embrace and weeps openly* y-you were right, I should have listened- I just wanted friends, I thought they were my friends- *chokes on his own sobs* I- I was going to give g-Gale the crown- and he- they-

Raphael: *gently strokes his hair being mindful of his wounds* shhhh. Don’t fret, I retrieved it before he could get away with destroying it. All is as it should be. *sighs* at least they revealed their true colours before it was too late.

*meanwhile, down in the dungeon*

Hope: *staring at the bodies of almost all of Lûnes ‘friends’* … *sighs and starts dragging them out to clean up the mess*

[eldritchelfwriter]

One Hundred Years of Anger

First chapter of the crossover work just released!

Starring my other bestie, Dame Aylin!

I decided to post the first chapter today, to celebrate the 3 month anniversary of starting to write Shadowheart Begins.

Here's a preview:

She must have died.

Returning to her body has the same sensation as always, as though she is speeding down a beam of light back into that celestial body. Rushing headfirst into what, she does not yet remember.

It is only when she re-enters that body, feels the slow knitting of itself back together that it starts to come back to her.

Ketheric Thorm. The father of her one, true love.

“Isobel,” Aylin whispers, the grief returning as strong as ever. She tries to rise to her feet, but she is still, ironically, mortally wounded, for all that her immortal regeneration is beginning the slow work of returning her to full health.

“Don’t you dare speak my daughter’s name,” a voice snarls.

Slap.

Her head snaps to the side, jarring her neck from the strength of the blow.

“Where – ?”

She sees the jagged rocks going on for eternity, feels the thick emptiness and darkness but for flashes of purple lightning, hears the constant, ominous rolls of thunder, and remembers.

She is in the Shadowfell. Someone is in trouble and needs her help! Only … that wasn’t true, was it? It was a trick, and the very person who led her into the Shadowfell to help, killed her.

Her vision, temporarily fuzzy from the blow, comes back into focus and she sees Ketheric Thorm smirking at her, triumphant. And then he ignores her as he lifts his eyes up in worship.

“I have done as you asked, Dark Lady,” he says reverently. “Accept this gift from your most loyal servant.”

Something hums in the dark of the Shadowfell, Shar herself speaking to her disciple, though Aylin cannot hear what she says. How did she not see that he had turned from her mother Selune to wicked Shar in his grief?

“What have you done, Ketheric!” Aylin demands, ignoring her injuries and rising to stride across and seize him by the neck to demand answers. She makes it no further than two steps before she is stopped, her arms stretching uselessly forward, blocked from advancing further by an invisible barrier. She searches for the source; sickly sigils glow beneath her, through a pool of blood on the ground that she knows is her own.

And she suddenly realises: she has no armour, no weapons. Her wounds leak freely into the tunic she wears beneath her armour. She, Dame Aylin, has been imprisoned in a cage built from dark magic.

But she is a celestial daughter of Selune, not a helpless mortal. She calls upon her power – the power of Selune, her blessed and most holy gift to wield. And …

… Nothing …

“It cannot be …” she murmurs, perturbed, but by no means disheartened. She reaches out for her mother and discovers, with a realisation that cuts into her very heart, her very soul, that their connection has been weakened to the thinnest of threads.

“Oh, I assure you, it can be,” an oily voice says. “And thank you, Aylin, for your fine donation to my collection. I’m sure it will be used well, in time.”

Balthazar.

She whips her head around and sees a hooded figure dragging away a pair of white angel’s wings, dripping with blood and leaving streaks of red across the ground.

“No! NO!”

“Shall we?” Balthazar says to Ketheric, ignoring Aylin completely.

And now the terror is real. She is trapped in the Shadowfell without power, without sword, without her wings. Her beautiful wings – gone. Cut away.

She, a daughter of Selune, has been tricked like a common mortal. Ketheric has no idea of the enemy he has made and the vengeance she will shower upon him and his disgusting pet wizard.

“Release me!” she demands. “I swear upon my oath –”

“Yes, yes,” Ketheric interrupts. “I’ve heard it all before. All that quaint paladin nonsense. But don’t forget, Aylin, you stole from me first, and now you will pay the price. Forever.”

“This is not over Ketheric! I will hunt you down and tear you limb from limb! I will smash your head in until your skull is nothing more than shards like glitter –”

She rages at them, even as they walk through a portal Balthazar has created, and then they are gone.

Alone in the Shadowfell, she screams, and screams.

Only Shar hears her.

Shar loves the sound of her of screams.

And so she stops. And paces her new cage, panicked and frightened.

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