#cozy tiefling for today

[scorchedcandy]

Day 6 - Sweater Weather

[poetryvampire]

You know what makes me nuts? You know what makes me kick my feet around like a little weirdo?

Beautiful strong and/or magical men with lil glasses.

Like former hellrider, tiefling commander Zevlor pulling out some reading glasses to settle back with a cozy book after a long day

Or Rolan trying to decipher an old text with tiny glasses on the end of his nose, holding the parchment almost an arms length away.

Like??? It's terribly mundane but it's so adorable? Like yee you could totally wreck me on the battlefield or with your powerful magics or any other way they wanted 👀 but also you need glass to see loser

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Once upon a time in a tavern

@sofasoap @eenochian and @nrdmssgs are bleeding this out of me, so blame them (thank you)

Fantasy AU masterlist / First

In any other town, a tiefling, an elf and a goat sitting at an inn together maybe would have raised some eyebrows.

But in Tharbad, the population was so diverse that one could cross paths with a halfling, a genasi, or a lizardfolk, and not bat an eye.

Once, that very inn had been the foundation of a tiny village on the coast, at a crossroad of the three main roads in the continent that grew until it became a bustling commerce stronghold and one of the most important ports.

The local temples thrived with the crowds of travelers that spent the night while on route to some other place and donated great sums for their safe travels. Local commerce and artisan workshops thrived as well, because there was always someone needing something repaired or made from scratch.

Ruled by a council of nobles and rich merchants, the city was staunchly independent, denying loyalty to any of the Kingdoms around. Said Kingdoms didn’t want any of their rivals to own such a rich city, and thus, Tharbad lived comfortably in a precarious balance.

Loved by everyone, desired by all.

‘‘What do you have to do in this place to get served?’’ Calliara grumbled, leaning back in her chair, with Sebastian on her lap. She was still eyeing up and down the furry creature suspiciously as the kid slept peacefully. That very morning when they woke up in the hay cart, the kid that had been brown the previous day, now had big white splotches on its fur.

And to top it off, when she asked Ol’kha about it, the tiefling had shrugged and said she didn’t see any difference.

‘‘Just being patient’’ Ol’kha smiled, filling her smoking pipe parsimoniusly. ‘‘It’s slow at this hour, and surely the kitchen is busy’’

As if summoned, a bubbly redhead half-elf appeared from the kitchen with a full tray, gliding with grace among the tables, placing meals or drinks and avoiding the grabby hands of some of the patrons. A tall, burly man that seemed to have some orc blood in him stood guard next to the bar counter, eyeing everything, and promptly marched over there to knock some sense into some heads.

‘‘I’m so sorry, serah. Your order will be out shortly, messeres’’ The tavern maid apologized to the tables that were still waiting, and stopped right in front of the tiefling and the elf. ‘‘My ladies, I apologize for the delay, the cook had some problems in the kitchen and needed my help’’

‘‘It’s fine, no need to apologize for being busy’’ Ol’kha waved a hand to disperse the smoke from her pipe. ‘‘When you have time, I’ll have mead, thank you’’

‘‘Same’’ Calliara muttered, looking around while rubbing a finger absently between Sebastian’s little horns. The furry creature’s fluffy tail wiggled happily. ‘‘And something to eat’’

‘‘We have a delicious fowl stew that is almost done, cheese and bread today’’ The bubbly maid smiled widely, ignoring two men that were seated at a nearby table with empty plates and that were whistling at her. ‘‘I’ll bring your drinks shortly, and then your food. Will your little friend want anything?’’

Calliara looked at Ol’kha, raising an eyebrow, and the tiefling shrugged.

‘‘Just water’’

‘‘Right away! If you need to call me, my name is Florrie!’’ The maid practically pranced back to the kitchen.

Calliara leaned back in her chair again, studying the room methodically. Exits, where the stairs were, the windows, what tables were occupied and what tables were free. There was an empty table, big enough for several people, right next to the small stage where a willowy human with chesnut hair was quietly tuning her lute.

‘‘Cozy’’

Ol’kha snorted when she heard the pleased grunt coming from her new friend, and took another puff of her pipe, chuckling.

‘‘Not used to taverns?’’

Two tankards, full to the brim with delicious looking mead were placed on the table along with a bowl with water, and the busy maid disappeared once again.

‘‘Not used to not being gawked at’’ Calliara shrugged, with a sheepish smile, seemingly relaxed with the small kid curled on her lap. She grabbed one of the tankards and brought it to her lips, to taste the golden liquid.

‘‘Gawked at why? It’s not like there aren’t more elves around’’ The tiefling tilted her head in the direction of a noble elven woman, elegant and ethereal, sitting at a table close to the stage and that was now conversing with the minstrel. Next to her, a really tall elven man was trying very hard to look busy with a book, but the red ears betrayed him each time he tried not to look at the pretty human. ‘‘See? There are two there, the lady that owns the alchemy shop and…’’

Her trained eyes noticed something before her rational mind did, and she looked back at Calliara, only to find an understanding smile.

‘‘You noticed’’

Ol’kha frowned, looking at the elven folk again, and back to the one sitting next to her.

‘‘Your ears aren’t as long’’

‘‘But they look the part don’t they’’ Calliara sighed, still smiling. ‘‘Well, I promised I’d tell you at a decent inn. Guess this is as decent as we’ll get’’

The tiefling leaned forward until she rested her elbows on the table, and her chin on her hands, with the pipe in her mouth. The elf, or not so elf, rolled her eyes.

‘‘Well, you know, when a father and a mother love each other very much…’’

‘‘Calliara!’’ Ol’kha nudged her companion’s side repeteadly with the tip of her tail, and Calliara tried to push it away without moving the sleeping goat on her lap.

‘‘Ugh, alright, alright…’’ Sighing again, she left the tankard on the table. ‘‘I’m… mostly elf’’

‘‘What do you mean, mostly’’

‘‘I was raised by humans, up in the North, among the tribes, but my mother was… is a half elf. My grandmother was an elven healer that decided to settle with the tribes, and married my grandfather… Oh, you woke up, little rascal’’

Calliara lifted Sebastian from her lap and set him on the table so he could drink from the water bowl, trying to avoid the wiggling tail on her face. Ol’kha moved dutifully both of their tankards so the kid wouldn’t kick them off the table in his excitement.

‘‘Ok but that would make you a quarter elf… unless your father wasn’t from the tribes?’’

‘‘My father was another traveling elven healer that decided to stay for a couple of seasons. Seems some of them are really fond of saving the savages’’ The elf snorted, dragging her chair on the floor so she could escape the wiggling tail. ‘‘At the end of the first summer since he arrived, poof, there I was. So that makes me, hum… mostly elf. Three parts elf and one part human’’

‘‘And were you born an elf or a little cub?’’ Ol’kha chuckled, making her friend roll her eyes with a smile while they tasted their mead.

‘‘I didn’t change into a wolf until I was almost five, after I got so angry I couldn’t see straight. But don’t ask me why, I don’t remember’’ Calliara shrugged. ‘‘By then my parents had decided to leave the tribes as errand healers, following armies to battle or going to lands ravaged by disease and famine’’

‘‘And they left you with your grandparents?’’ The tiefling raised her eyebrows when her friend nodded, and huffed a muffled laugh. ‘‘A mostly elf living among humans… and your elven grandmother, I hope’’

‘‘She passed shortly after my mother left. I guess from a broken heart’’ Calliara left the empty tankard on the table, and passed Sebastian’s water bowl to Ol’kha when Florrie appeared with their meal. Two fragrant, steaming bowls with a delicious looking fowl stew, that smelled heavenly, especially after being on the road for so long.

‘‘I guess it wasn’t easy’’ The tiefling mentioned, tasting the stew and keeping Sebastian on her lap so he wouldn’t get his hooves inside the bowl.

‘‘I was born there, but I was an outsider. And the second my grandfather died, I was very kindly made aware that I was unwelcome to keep living among them’’

‘‘Bastards’’

‘‘I don’t blame them. I’m not human. I’m not elf. I didn’t owe the tribes any allegiance once my bloodkin had passed away. I can change at will into a wild animal, that I keep under control most of the time. I’m a wild card’’ Calliara shrugged, taking a moment to chew what she had in her mouth. Still gliding among the tables, serving drinks or collecting empty dishes, Florrie appeared from behind the counter to refill their tankards with more mead, before disappearing again with a bubbly laugh.

‘‘Ok, so the wolf thing…’’ Ol’kha made a vague gesture with her hand, pointing at her. ‘‘You said you started being able to change at five’’

‘‘Correct’’

‘‘So… is it a spell? … A curse?’’

‘‘No idea. It’s useful to travel big distances, and my senses are very sharp even when I’m not in wolf form. But if I change too fast, too many times, or for a long time, it gets harder and harder to change back’’ Calliara shrugged, focused on her food, which was almost finished by then while Ol’kha still had half of it. ‘‘My grandfather said my father could do it too, but I don’t remember it’’

‘‘So… what are you?’’ The tiefling smiled, scratching Sebastian’s belly to keep him happy, while the furry creature drooled on her shoulder, asleep again.

Calliara let out a genuine laugh, shaking her head.

‘‘Complicated’’

‘‘You don’t say’’ Ol’kha laughed as well. ‘‘I guess you told me yours, I’ll have to tell you mine’’

‘‘That’s be nice…’’ Calliara stopped talking seconds before the main door opened, looking in that direction. If it wasn’t impossible, Ol’kha would have sworn that her friend’s pointy ears had perked up. ‘‘Ol’kha, that is a…’’

‘‘That is a what?’’ The tiefling turned her head to look at the door too, and smiled. ‘‘Oh, yes. That’s a dragon’’

Calliara stared with wide eyes at the imposing frame of what seemed like a big, muscled man, with short unruly brown hair and muttonchops, enter the tavern as if it was his home. Once he trespassed the treshold, big, green, dragonlike wings stretched wide for a moment before folding again at his back, while a long, muscular tail with green scales moved sinously. He waved a big hand, more like a paw with his sharp, dark claws, at the barmaid and the man guarding the bar counter, before heading for the big empty table next to the stage,

Next to him, a young looking half elf, with beautiful dark skin and dark eyes that glimmered with intelligence and wisdom in spite of his young appearance. Those eyes lit up when looking in their direction, and he raised a hand, gesture that Ol’kha reciprocated with a smile. He was chatting with a human just as tall as him but slightly bulkier, with a long braided mohawk and mischievous blue eyes, and infectious smile. His features looked similar to those of the minstrel.

‘‘Ol’kha, that’s a dragon’’ Calliara’s voice was low, almost reverent. The wolf inside her was shaking, howling at her to flee.

‘‘Oh, yes, isn’t he majestic? That’s… Price, or that’s the name he uses. Nobody knows his real name, of course.’’ The tiefling smiled, admiring the dragon’s wings, whose scales glittered lightly with the light of the candles. ‘‘And the half elf with him is my friend Gaz’’

Calliara nodded slowly. It was well known that one’s birthname was the key to the ownership or your soul and will, especially in the case of sentient mytical beasts with the ability to speak like dragons or sphynxes, in the case of demons or in the case of magical users like wizards and sorcerers.

‘‘I don’t know who’s the human but I think that’s Freya’s brother…’’ Ol’kha continued explaining, and laughed when Calliara looked back at her quizzically. ‘‘The minstrel. Her name is Freya, she’s quite notorious here in Tharbad and along the coast.’’

The mostly-elf-but-not was about to say something else when the main door opened again, to reveal another man, who was so tall that he had to duck to cross the treshold. He seemed to be just a tad taller than Price was, but just as broad or more, or maybe it was just the impression his dark clothes gave. His face was covered with a skull mask, and his heavy steps echoed in the suddenly silent room while he headed for the same table as Price and the other two.

‘‘And that’s… I don’t know who that is’’

‘‘People call him Ghost’’ Florrie appeared from nowhere again, holding a tray full of empty tankars and bowls, still with her wide smile. ‘‘Nobody knows who he is or where he comes from. It is said that Price made a deal with a demon to keep him as his bodyguard’’

‘‘Why would a dragon need a bodyguard?’’ Calliara looked up at the maid, who shrugged without losing her smile.

‘‘I’ve heard tons of stories. That he is a construct. That he is a demon, shackled to Price’s will. That he is a deserter from another Kingdom’’ Sighing, Florrie shrugged once again. ‘‘All I know is that Price appeared with him on his back four years ago, and nursed him back from the death. Since then, he is his shadow’’

Calliara and Ol’kha looked at each other while the maid left for the kitchen, and then looked back again at the group while they shook hands with each other, sitting down. The dragon in human form roared with laughter at something that the human with the mohawk said, while Ol’kha’s friend seemed trying not to laugh as well.

Ghost sat down with his back to the wall, able to look at everything and control where everyone was, and calmly took his skull mask off to place it on the table. Dark brown eyes swept all over the room, until they stopped at the table where a pretty tiefling with dark hair and elegant horns was sitting next to an elf with hair so fair that it looked almost white under the light of the candles.

‘‘Oh’’ Calliara muttered, and Ol’kha looked at her.

‘‘What?’’

The elf seemingly didn’t hear her, while she stared right back at Price’s shadow. Ghost’s scarred face seemeed to soften for a second, or maybe it was just an illusion thanks to the candles, and he looked away. Calliara averted her gaze too, and grabbed her tankard to pretend she wasn’t flustered.

‘‘Are you… blushing?’’

‘‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’’

Ol’kha laughed incredulously, and was about to tease her friend further when the main door opened for the third time.

This time, two men crossed the treshold, talking among themselves while they walked towards the big table by the stage too.

A tall, muscular man with a skintone that suggested there was drow blood in him. In what amounth, it wasn’t clear.

And a big, enormous, burly half orc with a wide smile that showed his lower tusks, golden chains dangling from his neck and over his open shirt, and that greeted Price with a thunderous laugh and a slap on the back that would have thrown to the floor a weaker man.

The men at the table shuffled their chairs to make space for the newcomers, except Ghost, who didn’t move an inch from where he was, listening to something that Gaz was telling him.

The half orc looked around the room as he sat down beside Price, without losing the dashing smile, and that smile widened when his dark eyes fell on the tiefling.

Ol’kha sank in her chair, and Calliara looked at her, surprised.

‘‘Crap’’

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 48

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Y/n goes a little apeshit at JojaMart lmao

Author’s Note: *Crawls out of a pit covered in dirt and blood. Slaps this chapter down in front of you, on a SUNDAY no less!*

My health situation hasn’t improved whatsoever, but I will prevail, damnit!!

I wrote most of this and posted to ao3 early this morning, and haven't had a chance to proofread really. I'll do my best to get that done soon ^.^ Sorry if there are any weird wordings. Also sorry for the complete lack of Seb and Magnus in this one, I hope the shenanigans make up for it <3

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

I hate that stupid, cryptic, blue note I got.

Ever since it came, I think about it every time I check the mailbox, without fail. I don’t want to, I kinda just want to forget it exists, but I just… I dunno. I have a bad feeling about it. A gut feeling. Like, something’s totally up with it. It’s just been sitting in my closet for safekeeping until I decide what to do, though.

For some reason, I’ve been too nervous to bring it back up to Magnus. He’s forgotten it exists, from what I can tell. I think I’ll do my best to keep it that way for now. It feels more like my burden to bear than his, and besides, he’s already got the whole region to take care of.

After today’s confirmation that I don’t have bills or anything important like that, I head inside to get ready to leave the farm. Reeeally hoping my routine will shake out my heebiejeebies.

I got the OK from Magnus to use his fancy shrine for Spirit’s Eve. Got an idea of what I think I want to make myself look like, too. Maybe a tiefling or something. If tieflings don’t really exist, I’m sure some sort of succubi, or imps, or some sort of creature that looks like one’s gotta, no? I suppose I could always fall back on just pretending I’m an elf… man, a tail and horns would be so fun though. 

Either way, tomorrow is the big day and I am so ready for it.

I mean, like, almost ready. Whatever.

Today I’m going to Magnus’ place to get some practice in. Just a precautionary measure to try not to, like, blow myself up or something.

I’m gonna keep my outfit cozy and easy to move around in, but I have half a mind to make sure I wouldn’t mind losing these clothes in particular if something goes wrong with the transformation. Just some leggings, some crew-cut socks, an old hoodie, and my favorite boots, since I won’t have my shoes on in the shrine anyway. All of it is in black. Sebastian cosplay. 

I’ll pop my red studs in too, gotta commit to the bit. I haven’t had time to talk to The Emo and see if he actually did get his shit pierced last night, but assuming he did, and assuming he was able to use these for it, I wanna go all out, baby.

Now, before I head to the tower, I’ve got some errands to run around town. I woke up a bit late so there’s gonna be more people out than I’m looking forward to, but hopefully I have no creepy Alex encounters or awkward conversations with Shane again.

I promised Sam I’d visit him at work sometime soon, so I might as well head there first. He hates it there, and it’s been a while since we’ve caught up, so I’ll hopefully be a welcome distraction. I’ll bring him a coffee too to keep his spirits high.

After it’s done brewing, I grab two foam cups and pour the coffee in. Knowing Sam, he probably needs this stuff sweet, and I’m in the mood for sweet too, so I pour in a bunch of vanilla-flavored creamer. To make the beverages ~gourmet,~ I add a little whipped cream to each, as well as a light drizzle of chocolate syrup. After securing the plastic lids and giving Cannoli some well-deserved love, I head out.

While I pass by the bus stop, I make eye contact with Pam. I’ve never spoken to her, but… I dunno. I can’t tell if I like her or not. She gives me a nasty stink eye and I can only further assume she’s as mean as she outwardly appears. Unless she was just cursed with an intense resting bitch face...

I smile Pam’s way anyway. She doesn’t smile back, but that’s okay. It doesn’t benefit anyone to be so judgemental of her.

I pass a few local moms once I make it to the town square. None really mind me, which could mean they either didn’t notice, or they don’t care. Either is fine by me. I don’t hear what they’re saying, but Caroline talks very animatedly just before the rest of the group bursts into laughter.

I turn my attention back ahead as I pass by Pierre’s and nearly bump into Marnie as she’s leaving the shop.

We both squeak out a little “Oh!” before apologizing in unison.

“I wasn’t really paying attention,” I double down. 

“Oh, that’s fine. I rarely ever am!” She then motions to the two cups in my hands and adds, laughing, “At least the coffee’s safe!”

I awkwardly nod in agreement. Then, a brief flash of myself actually spilling coffee somewhere down the road raids my mind, my necklace tingling against my skin and my fingers practically buzzing.

Great.

“Everything alright, sweetie?”

That probably looked weird. “Yeah, sorry,” I try to recover, “just sleepy today!”

I take a sip of coffee to emphasize my point. Plus, I might as well drink what I can before these puppies go down. Hopefully I’ll be able to save at least one of them when the time comes.

“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that!” She puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I need to get back to the shop, but take it easy and don’t overwork yourself, you hear?” 

I nod, thanking her and waving her off with a shy grin before I continue moving. Once I get closer to the spot I’m supposed to be spilling these drinks — just before that little bridge over the river by JojaMart — I begin to walk more cautiously. If I can just keep these steady and focus on the ground… 

A sneeze creeps up on me. Oh god. Oh god oh fuck oh no.

Just as I’m beginning to carefully place one of the cups on the side of the bridge for safe keeping, the sneeze forces its way out of me. Luckily, one beverage — the one I hadn’t drank from yet — stays safely in my hand. Unluckily, the one I was working on trying to keep safe fell to the stones at my feet, opening up and dispersing its contents fucking everywhere.

God damnit. 

“Nice one.”

God fucking damnit.

I look up to the voice. It turns out Shane’s outside having a smoke. He’s at the opposite end of the bridge watching my clumsiness unfold with an aloof look about him. He’s bent over to lean on the stone wall, his right elbow propped up and his corresponding cheek in his palm. His left forearm is flat against the structure while his left hand lazily dangles his cigarette between two fingers.

Is that pink nail polish on one of them? I wonder if that’s Jas’ doing. 

I merely groan back my response, picking up the now-empty cup to discard in the trash bin near the store. As I proceed on my walk of shame past Shane, I point out, “At least my clothes stayed safe.”

Shane follows and asks, “How many ants do you think you murdered with that accident?” 

I grin a little at his dry humor. “Oh it was a massacre,” I bounce back. “The war in Gotoro pales in comparison.”

“Ha!” Oh my god, I made Shane — the grumpiest fuck I’ve ever met — laugh?! “Right on. Seems like pointless violence anyway.” 

I turn to see if I can catch him smiling for the first time, like, ever. It’s not there anymore, but there’s a residual brightness in his features.

Shane snuffs out his cig on the ashtray built into the garbage’s lid, abandoning it there before shoving his hands in the pockets of his bright blue shorts.

“Those sons’a bitches,” he nods in the direction of my carnage, “they had it coming.”

My nose scrunches as I laugh a little, giving him a funny look. “Damn, what’d they do to you?”

There’s a playful glint in his eye, as he deadpans me. “Exist.”

I shrug and nod — I get it, they can be pretty annoying! — and follow the man as he makes his way through the white-rimmed, glass-centered automatic doors. I try not to cringe outwardly at how many self-righteous pro-Joja fliers are on them.

Shane stops a few steps into the store. Turns around. I stop too and look up, tilting my head. What’re you looking at, punk? I think to myself. Dunno if I’d be pushing my limits by trying to say it out loud. Better not.

Shane gives me a weird look too, but I can barely see it. My senses are taking their damn time getting used to the obnoxiously fluorescent lighting.

“Don’t you shop at Pierre’s?” Shane wonders out loud.

I blink a few times as I adjust to the environment and then nod. “Visiting Sam,” I explain.

“Ah.” He nods too, in understanding, and then looking the other way he continues, “Enjoy.”

Shane makes his way towards a door to the right of the manager’s office. Says “Employee’s only,” so I’m assuming it’s a break room or something. I don’t miss the incorrect apostrophe, but choose not to linger on it either.

“You too.” He looks back over his shoulder, so I pair my well wishes with a lazy salute.

“Buh.”

…Buh?

I smile. I think he’s warming up to me!

Feeling a tad lost now that I’m alone, I look around before making any advances. Should’ve asked Shane if he knew where Sam would be around now. I dunno how the shifts work around here.

The cashiers to my left — a visibly exhausted red headed woman, probably in her late 30s or early 40s; and a scrawny, scruffy looking teenager, with thick-framed glasses sitting atop his freckled nose — both look miserable.

The boy is boredly leaning against the counter, zoned out on the ground in front of it. The woman looks totally spaced out on nothing in particular. It almost seems like she’s fighting off sleep, too. Poor lady. 

The woman and I lock onto each other. She looks away from my face before I can even register it, but I notice her eyes flicker longingly to the coffee cup in my hand a few times after the fact. I peer between her and the beverage twice before I all but scurry away into the aisles. I’m too awkward for this. My only option is to retreat. Never said I wasn’t a coward.

While I venture past the boatloads of boxed, bagged and canned foods in search of the resident dog boy, I observe some of the products. Some don’t look safe for consumption, while others seem like they’d be fun to try as a one-off sort of deal. It overlaps a few times as well. I mean, why wouldn’t I want to try this cereal which very explicitly states on the box that it’s more sugar than grains? It makes me stifle a giggle. I like the brutal honesty. 

I stop and stare at it for a sec. Gnawing my lip. Wondering if I should just…

No. I shan’t.

I break away from temptation and trek on. As I reach the end of the aisle, I pan across the back of the store. More shelf-stable products, a small produce section… ah!

Sam looks like he’s supposed to be mopping the floor near the freezers. To be fair, he is holding a mop, and it is touching the floor! But instead of cleaning, he uses the tool as a microphone; singing against the end of the brown wooden handle, both hands passionately gripping it as he bends his torso to quietly belt one part in particular. Sam’s eyes are shut, his bulky black headphones are secured over his ears, and he has not a single worry in the world. 

Holding his coffee in both hands now, I stop walking and lean against a nearby shelf. Observing. Waiting. Eventually he’ll have to see me.

He does a little spin move and carelessly bumps into the bucket of soapy water he’s working with, causing it to slosh around a little. Some of it lands on the floor, and some on the pants of Sam’s jumpsuit. Doesn’t faze him in the slightest. 

He does another spin the opposite way and nearly knocks over the conveniently placed display of sprinkles that are situated right in front of the ice cream freezer.

I feel like I should probably stop him before something bad happens, but he looks so damn content and so stinkin’ cute that I can’t be assed. 

Just as I’m thinking this, he opens his eyes, completely avoiding my direction while he immediately peers over his shoulder. Sam scans around, getting a full view of the proximate areas. It seems like he’s just making sure he’s not about to get caught by his boss or something, if I had to guess.

Eventually he lands on me. We both smile wide, and I triumphantly hold up his (unspilled!!) coffee in one hand, presenting it with a small flourish of the other and a bow of my head.

“For you, my good sir.” I make sure to sound extra fancy, dropping my voice an octave and annunciating my words a bit too much.

He looks around again before meeting me in the middle with a fist bump, completely ignoring my bit. Aw man.

“Hell yeah, thanks dude!” 

I shoot some awkward finger guns at him, “You got it, bud.”

“You didn’t make yourself one?”

I sigh, lamenting, “I did…”

Sam scans my face as we share a short silence. Then, the lightbulb almost visibly goes off in his noggin. “You spilled it, didn’t you?”

Pursing my lips, I nod. “I spilled it, yeah.” 

“Buuummer, dude.” He pats my head and I sigh, leaning into his touch. I’ll be damned if I don’t still love head-pats, even if it’s been a while since I’ve gotten one. “Wanna split this one then?” he offers, palm still on my crown. At this point he’s just trying to messy me up.

“No thanks, I’ll just grab another later if I’m really craving it.” Not having noticed the trance I’ve been in as my hair gets slowly and steadily ruined — it feels nice, okay? — I finally look up at him, cheekily glaring as I manually remove his large hand from me. I add on as I try to repair the frizzy aftermath, “Sick performance, by the way!” 

“You think so?” he beams. Makes me laugh.

“Of course! It looked like you were having a lot of fun.”

Sam’s face is a bit flushed as he takes the compliment, not even trying to hide it; he has a big goofy grin on his face, too.

It drops and Sam looks behind him as a deep voice with a bit of a southern twang booms from one of the aisles nearby. “Samson?”

“Shit, here.”

Sam hurriedly places his coffee into my hand and rushes back near his water bucket, looking around for his manager as he moves. I try to make things less suspicious by pretending to look at some nearby end caps. 

I take a peek over when I hear Sam greet the man, “Hiya! What’s up, Morris?”

Crossing his arms and puffing out his chest to try and make himself look mighty, a man in a navy blue suit, a bright red bow tie, and a poorly-applied black toupee corrects him. “That’s Mr. Saxton, son.” 

I roll my eyes. Awesome to know the guy running this Joja is just as insufferable as the dudes who work on the corporate side.

Sam puts an anxious hand on the back of his neck, and halfheartedly smiles as he apologizes, his speaking patterns much more formal than before. Poor guy… it hurts to see him having to tone it down so much for this dipshit.

I turn my attention back in front of me so as to give him some privacy. Not sure he’d want me to hear him getting his ear talked off.

This display is full of holiday cards... I might as well waste some time with these bad boys. I pick up one with a cartoon beagle wearing a birthday hat on it, stealing a sip of Sam’s coffee as I read the pun on the front: “Have a doggone good birthday!” Alright, nice and cheesy start…

I flip the card open. It starts blaring Baha Men’s “Who Let The Dogs Out.” Fucking hell. Jumpscare me, why doncha! I shudder at how tinny the music sounds — likely made worse by its volume — then close the card and place it back in its spot, not bothering to read more.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I peer over my left shoulder, and see that Mr. Saxton is making his way towards me. A vein is popping in his forehead, but he has a toothy smile on his face that screams customer service. Not sure what’s going on and feeling a little anxious about the situation, I don’t answer with words — I just turn my body to him and watch him expectantly. 

My eyes flicker to Sam real quick, who’s closer to the opposite end of the freezers now. He’s looking over here though, and when his eyes catch mine, he mouths “Go!” and motions his arm towards the front end of the store. Maybe he got caught socializing or something… wouldn’t doubt that there’s probably heavy surveillance in here. Man.

I look back at Sam’s boss as he says, “I’m going to need you to discard your beverage.”

My brows furrow and I tilt my head. “Why?”

Ah, he’s the asking-questions-is-talking-back type: He huffs a deep breath and tilts his head as if to mimic me, clasping his fingers together in front of his ribs. The smile and vein are both still on his face.

“It is not only unacceptable to bring your own food into a grocery store,” he strains, “but I cannot have you spilling your drink all over our products.”

…I haven’t spilled anything. What does he think I am, some crusty little kid? 

Damn, this is bringing out a rage that I haven’t experienced since working behind a Joja desk. I didn’t know I was even capable of it anymore. Must be something about the overstimulatingly bright blues, or the blindingly white strips of lights. Same ones we had above each cubicle in the office.

My anxiety is rapidly replaced with a petty yearn to cause a ruckus as I realize that I don’t work for Joja anymore. I never have to even come here again, actually.

I don’t answer to this fucko! I don’t answer to anyone!

Screw this guy!

Feeling courageous, I put on my own customer service mask as I inquire, “Do you want me to spill this on your products?”

“E-excuse me?!”

I hover the cup near the cards, tilting it a little. Doing a little eyebrow wiggle too for good measure. “It feels like you dooo.”

“I— w-what are you doing?”

Seb would be so proud if he were here. Not sure how Magnus would react, but I’d like to imagine he’d support me too.

Completely on impulse, I bring the cup in front of me and splash a little coffee in the man’s direction instead of the cards’. The now-lukewarm liquid splatters onto the white button-down beneath his jacket and rapidly seeps into the fabric, leaving a light brown, unsightly splotch.

Sick, got him where it hurts and none got on the floor! Less work for Sam!

Making sure my voice is just as cheery as Morris was trying to keep his, I cap this off, “Stop treating your employees like crap and stop treating complete strangers like children, asshole.”

This feels so good. My heart is racing and my pits feel a little moist and I might just end up an anxious mess the second I walk away, but I’ll be damned if this isn’t cool as fuck in the moment. When Leah asked me last week if Magnus ever wanted to go apeshit, it didn’t even occur to me how badly I wanted to go apeshit.

I walk down the nearest aisle as Morris continues sputtering something about me leaving, paying for this, whatever.

Shane’s kneeled down in the middle of the aisle stocking shelves. He faces me for a moment and grins slyly. “That was cool as hell.” Why does this feel so validating? “A woman after my own heart.” 

HUH?

I blink that fucking flashbang away — seriously, the last time I saw him he was still being a dick, and today he’s treating every interaction like we’re fully acquainted, if not more, what the heck — as he turns away to scan items onto the shelf again.

“I really didn’t do much…” I really didn’t. Just kinda caused a minor inconvenience for the guy. 

My hands are shaking though, so it must be catching up to me.

“That still took some balls.” He glimpses at me briefly and adds, “Y’look like you might cry, though. Get outta here before I change my mind about you.”

I huff out a quiet laugh and steady Sam’s — well, my, now — coffee in both hands. “On it, boss.”

[smolgloves]

The Blood and The Heart

A/n: We were all thinking of it, so lets get some baulder's gate 3 G/t 💅

Tw: descriptions of blood, fearplay, mentions of death/murder attempted crushing, and dehumanizing language.

Food had grown scarce during this time, between the goblins that hunted travelers on the road and the town being inflicted with an unnatural plague; borrowers who lived on the outskirts of town could barely find enough resources to last a week. But Freya dared to be braver than most of her kind, she ventured further out past the border and collected berries. It was dangerous but it was enough for the borrower to survive better than others back home, and if she was lucky she could find the occasional traveler who would make camp nearby, that's when Freya would hit the jackpot! And today was her lucky day as a large group had set up camp tonight. It was a more diverse group, with humans, elves, a halfling, a tiefling, and even a githyanki traveling together. They all gathered together by the fire and shared stories together, some were enjoying the company more than others but all still enjoying the night together. 

~~~ 

It was the dead of night when Freya had decided to strike. She had crept around the campsite while everyone was sleeping in their tents picking up scraps that had been discarded, however, she noticed one tent remained empty; an elf had wandered out and ventured into the woods halfway through the night, he had not returned yet, Freya wondered if something happened to him but no one else seemed to be concerned. So she took the opportunity to sneak into his tent. She was greeted with a cozy area filled with satin pillows and stacks of books but a metallic stench lingered inside. As the golden haired borrower ventured further she saw a couple bottles of red wine…. But no food in sight. Strange, most travelers carried a personal stash of rations on them, where was this guy's stash? 

The sound of footsteps rumbled just outside the tent, Freya gasped and quickly dove behind a dark red pillow that laid on the ground. 

The elf had strolled back into his tent with the stench of death lingering behind him. Freya had to swallow a gag in order to keep quiet, she had to get out of here now! Peeking out from her hiding spot, she noticed him sitting on the bedroll with his back to her rummaging through a sack that reeked; that must have explained the rotting stench. Perfect time to escape! 

Freya held her breath as she tiptoed out in the open, she glanced over at the elf and saw him still preoccupied with his bag, she took another few steps and another just to test his perception before she broke out in a sprint, she was about halfway across the tent before a blood stained dagger cut down directly in her path. 

"Well well, looks like I have a pest in my tent." The Elf spoke with a cold tone. 

Dread formed inside the borrower as she dared to look up, her gray eyes widened as she stared at a pale elf with curly silver hair that tucked behind his pointed ears, intense red eyes locked onto her with a menacing glare, blood was splattered across his face, with a little bit dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, but the most terrifying thing was when he parted his lips to show pointed fangs that were sharp enough to impale Freya. 

"Vampire…" Ice coursed through her veins. 

"So the pest can speak." A cruel smile twisted upon his lips as his spender hand loomed over Freya. "I'm sure your explanation will be good." 

Adrenaline forced the tiny woman to break out in a sprint, she ducked from the ghastly fingers, twisting and turning from the maze of books that almost seem to be conspiring against her!

"I love a good hunt." He said with a purr, causing a sick knot to twist in Freya's gut. Her life was a game to this monster, if Freya didn't get out of this tent, she was as good as dead! Like a stalking cat, the vampire moved with agility, each time Freya thought she was free, he blocked her way to safety, her energy slowly drained until he had her right where he wanted her, cornered like a helpless mouse. 

"Aww, no more fight?" He clicked his tongue. "And here I thought this would be more fun."

Before Freya could even react, a swift hand came and snatched her up. She let out a shriek, long fingers curled around her body, pinning her arms to her sides. "Unhand me!" The borrower shouted as she squirmed in his grip.

"Not until you explain why you're in my tent." He spoke in a cold voice, red eyes glaring down at her. 

"I was just looking for something to eat!" Freya exclaimed. "I wasn't going to take much, I swear!" 

The pale man narrowed his eyes. "Stealing food from a vampire's tent? That doesn't seem smart for a multitude of reasons." 

"Had I known you were a vampire I wouldn't have come in, trust me." She snapped back. "Now let me go!"

"You know, we've been dealing with a lot of attacks lately," He spoke in a low tone. "And I can't shake the feeling that they always seem to figure out exactly where we are…" 

"You can't seriously think I have something to do with it?" Freya's eyes shot daggers at the vampire. 

The man scoffed. "Bounty hunters  have been after me and suddenly a borrower shows up in my tent?!" His grip shifted to where Freya laid in an open palm but his thumb pinned her down, pressing firmly on her sternum. "Little convenient, don't you think?" 

Freya gasped as he pressed down on her chest, forcing the air to slowly leave her lungs. "I have… nothing to do… with that!" 

"It wouldn't be hard, you know." A coy smile appeared on his face, his thumb pressing harder into the borrower. "To make you choke on your own blood, just a little more pressure and you'll be nothing more than a bloody mess in my hand." He pulled her in closer, a hungry look flickering in his eyes. "I suggest you start talking." 

"Please!" Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she tried using her strength to push his thumb off, but it only made him exert more. "I'm not a part of... whatever you're… dealing with!" 

"You're really going to keep this up?" He let out a sigh, as if this was some game he was growing bored with. 

Breaths became more shallow for the borrower, she looked up at him with pleading eyes as if that was her only hope to get through to him.

"Astarion?" 

Both Freya and the vampire snapped their heads over to the source of the voice. There was a halfling standing at the opening of the tent. Choppy black hair that reached their shoulders and tanned skin, they were dressed in a casual white shirt, similar to the one the vampire- or Astarion was wearing.

"Tav?" Astarion said in a much softer tone. "What are you doing here?" 

"I wanted to make sure you came back to camp safely, is that a borrower?" They asked as they walked closer to the vampire like it was no big deal. Their eyes were a bright shade of green as they looked at the captive Freya in awe. 

"More like a spy." Astarion grumbled. "Found her sneaking around my tent." 

"I'm not a fucking spy!" Freya shouted through her shallow breaths. 

"Shut up!" Astarion hissed. "You're not leaving until you tell me who sent you!"

"Astarion, I don't think she's with the bounty hunters." Tav spoke in a soft voice.

"That's what she wants you to think." Astarion said, anger lacing his voice. "I know she's with them." 

Tav stared at Astarion for a moment, as if they were reading them like a book. "You're scared of who's sending the bounty hunters…" 

"Get out of my head, Tav!" He snapped back. "You know he's the one behind this." 

"Maybe so, but…" The halfling put a hand on his wrist, giving a soft squeeze. "She's not the reason we keep finding trouble." 

Freya watched as Astarion's face twisted, as if he was debating what to do with the borrower in hand. "How can you be so sure she's not with them?" 

Tav gave a smug look and looked down at Freya. "Earlier this evening, you were hiding in the trees, watching us as we ate, right?"

Freya's eyes widened as Tav spoke, how did they know? She debated whether or not admitting that would be better for her survival.

"I spotted you earlier and thought about offering you a plate." Tav let out a chuckle before turning to the vampire. "You weren't around when I spotted her, don't you think she would have followed you into the forest when you were alone instead of waiting for all of us to go to bed?" 

It felt like an eternity, as Astarion stared at Freya, his crimson eyes froze her in place, until she was suddenly shoved into the hands of the Halfling. "Take the wretched girl." 

Pressure was finally released from Freya's sternum and she took deep breaths to make up the amount of air that was stolen from her. "You're bloody insane!" Freya choked out between breaths. 

"Bold words from someone who was trembling in my hand a second ago." He gave her a smug smile.

"Play nice." Tav warned, unlike Astarion; the halfling kept Freya cupped in their open hands, their fingers slightly curled around the borrower as if to provide a shield from the vampire. That small gesture didn't go unnoticed.

“Please, just let me go and I promise you'll never see me again.” Freya stared up at Tav, hoping her pleas could sway the more reasonable one. 

“The little one steals our food and begs to be released?” A chuckle slipped from Astarion as he stared daggers at Freya. “Not without a price, darling.” 

A panic threatened to take hold of Freya once more, her throat closed off before words could form. Then a sigh from behind broke her from her thoughts, she turned back to Tav who couldn't contain the annoyance on their face.

“Let's talk privately.” Tav said with a sweet smile. They began walking towards the exit but paused for a moment to turn their head to Astarion. “I will speak with you later.” 

The cool breeze hit Freya's skin as she was carried off to the dying embers of the campfire.

“Sorry about that,” They set Freya down on a stone. “Astarion can be a little… much sometimes.” 

“A little?!” Freya hissed out. “He nearly killed me!” 

Tav let out a chuckle. “Don't take it personally, he put a knife to my throat when we first met.” 

“And you kept him around?!” 

“Believe it or not, he's actually a good companion.” Tav gave a soft smile and glanced over at the vampire's tent. “But… he's been through a lot.”

Freya noticed Tav's gave lingered at the tent, sympathy glazed over their green eyes. It was hard to believe that such a monster would warrant sympathy from a much kinder person, if Freya didn't still feel the aches from her chest, she might have been inclined to forgive him. But vampires are always out for blood, she just hopes that Tav doesn't forget that.

Tav snapped their attention back to Freya. “Sorry, I was lost in thought, but how about I give you something to eat.” 

“I uh… already got food.” Freya spoke softly, clutching the strap of her bag. 

“Yeah, but I imagine you just grabbed some scraps off the ground.” They moved over to a supply pack on the ground. “I can get you something more fresh and filling.” 

Pride took hold of the borrower, bad enough that she had to be caught and rescued, she didn't need help being fed. “I don't need your charity.” 

Tav just flashed a grin. “Don't think of it as a charity, think of it as… compensation for dealing with Astarion.” 

Freya couldn't help but let a soft chuckle slip out, making Tav's smile broaden. 

“I knew that would ease you up.” they rummaged around their bag and pulled out some dried meat to offer it to her. 

Freya gingerly took the food with both hands and took a small nibble of it. Her eyes widened as the spices that peppered the meat danced on her tongue, it had been a while since she had something this good.

“There's more of that if you'd like.” Tav said. “Would you mind telling me your name?” 

“My name is Freya.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Freya. I'm Tav and that was Astarion back there.” Tav sat back, still keeping their gaze on Freya. “I have to ask, what is a borrower doing all the way out here? Your kind usually stays closer to civilization.” 

“Well… the town I live near is dealing with a plague and goblins.” Freya explained. “Not many merchants are wanting to go down to Skaars Hollow, so I venture out a little further.” 

“What a coincidence, we were just heading down that way!” Tav exclaimed. “We're going to be taking care of that little goblin problem, but I must say, I wasn't aware there was a plague there.” 

“I'm not surprised, it just came out of nowhere one day.” The air seemed to grow colder as Freya talked about the plague. “There's rumors that this plague is actually a curse.” 

Tav's eyes widened. “You wouldn't happen to know more about that, would you?” 

“I'm not sure how true it all is.” Freya pondered. “I overheard it while I was borrowing at our Tavern one night. This could all be drunken banter.” 

“Maybe so, but it's definitely something I'd like to look into.” Tav lost themselves in a deep thought, letting the silence hang in the air. Then they glanced back at Freya, green eyes looking her up and down. “Are you going to head back to the village soon?” 

“That was the plan.” 

Tav shot a wearily look towards the borrower. “It's awfully late to be walking back there, might I recommend you stay the night at camp and we can all head to Skaars Hollow together.” 

Freya mirrored Tav's uncertainty. “I don't think that's a good idea.” 

“I understand you borrowers don't normally seek aid from larger folks but heading back to your village at your height must be dangerous, I don't think I could live with myself if you got hurt.” Tav said softly. They weren't wrong, the road to Skaars Hollow is a rather long walk through the forest where owls stalk the night, if Freya left now she probably wouldn't get back to her colony until morning, yet pride still took hold of her. “I can handle myself!” 

“I'm sure you can but I would just feel better if I escorted you back there.” They replied. “And after tonight, I think you deserve it.”

The borrower folded her arms. “Your companion wouldn't agree, and I don't think I want to meet the rest of your group if they're anything like your vampire friend.”

“I can promise you that most of the group is nothing like Astarion.” Tav laughed. “But if it makes you feel better, I won't force you to meet the rest of the group unless you wish too.” 

“You'd do that for me?” Freya whispered, she stared at Tav as if she was expecting them to burst out laughing and reveal it to be a trick, but Tav just flashed a warm smile that made her heart flutter. 

“Of course, I understand that being around larger folks is not something you're used to, I won't reveal you to anyone you don't feel comfortable with.” The halfling said softly. “Besides, we shortys must stick together, right?” 

Freya let out a hearty chuckle, something about Tav made it so easy for her to drop her guard. “Would you mind sparing some materials for me then? Nothing much, just maybe some rags, sewing needles, scraps of food?” 

“It would be my pleasure, Freya.” They smiled.

“Alright, deal.” Freya felt her cheeks grow pink as she stared into Tav's eyes, but she quickly shied away before it became noticeable.“I will accompany you to the tavern but that's where we need to split.” 

Tav rested a hand over their heart. “Then I shall cherish the moments we will spend together.” 

[moku-and-his-madness]

SO THIS IS AN EXPERIMENTAL SONG the audio isnt complete yet and i dont have a second verse yet but i wanted a bit of feedback bc i think this is gonna be the first song im going to upload to spotify....

so lemme know your thoughts! the good/the bad/ the ugly/etc

@f4y3w00d5 @jk-fattocatto64 @ender-outlaw @n1ght1ng4le @maxiblursaystuff @26-cats-in-a-tr3nchcoat @ace-is-fuckin-dead @grindhousebarbie4mj @annotated-catastrophe @lovefromtwo @cozy-kitty-corner @goosehuman @irarelypost2 @temporaltourguide @gobodegoblin @ash-the-tiefling

the lyrics:

(VERSE 1)

this is the part where i explode... and float away this is the part where i give up on today this is the part where everything will change everything but you...

(PRECHORUS [?] )

why do you love me? im such a fool... why do you trust me? oh someone as good as you... how did you find me? someone so uncool... how do you keep me coming back to you? how do you?

(CHORUS) im still up at night (oh how do you) wondering 'am i dead or alive?' (how do you) is this a dream, is this all real? (how do you) are you two arms, a heart, someone that i can feel? are you someone that i can reach out and feel?

are you real?

[honeybummer]

NEW Chapter is up for Bloodstained! Chapter 31 "Urges Return". I'm sorry if it depresses u <3

Come check it out on A03!

Lil Snippet Below:

The library was bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sunlight, golden streaks filtering through the high arched windows. 

Books lined the shelves, worn with age, but today the space held something more precious than stories. 

Luna's giggles echoed as her tiny hands reached for Karlach, who bounced her on her knee.

"Look at you, little firecracker!" Karlach cooed, her deep laugh matching Luna's high-pitched squeals. 

The tiefling’s broad smile was infectious, her fiery red skin contrasting against the light wood of the library. “I swear, she’s going to grow up to be a fighter. I can feel it in my bones.”

Across from them, Shadowheart sat in a cozy leather armchair, her usual guarded expression softened. She held a small stuffed griffon, playfully dangling it just out of reach as Luna stretched her eager hands toward it, her face lit with excitement.

“She certainly has your energy,” Shadowheart remarked, her voice calm and warm. “But I wouldn’t be so quick to hand her a sword just yet, Karlach. Let’s give her a few more years.”

Lyra sat nearby, curled into the corner of a plush velvet settee, her legs tucked beneath her as she watched them, a soft smile playing on her lips. 

The crackling fireplace across the room created a peaceful atmosphere.

Karlach looked up from Luna, her eyes bright with nostalgia. “Remember the old days? Charging into battle, just trying to stay alive? Now it’s baby giggles instead of battle cries.”

Shadowheart snorted, amusement dancing in her gaze. "It’s definitely a change of pace. But honestly? I wouldn’t trade it for anything."

Lyra’s heart warmed at their words. It was strange to think about how far they had all come. 

She leaned back, resting her head against the arm of the settee, the weight of those days distant, yet still a part of them all.

“Do you ever miss it?” Lyra asked, her voice soft as she traced the rim of her teacup with her finger. “The fighting, I mean.”

Karlach glanced at Lyra, her expression thoughtful as she let Luna play with her hands. “Sometimes I miss the adrenaline. But I like this more—being here with you all, with this little one.” She gently brushed a tuft of Luna’s hair from her face.

Shadowheart nodded. “We had our time in battle, but we’ve earned this.” She gestured to the room. “We’ve earned this peace.”

Lyra smiled softly, watching as Luna’s tiny fingers wrapped around the griffon’s wing that Shadowheart was holding. "I suppose you're right," she said, though there was still a small part of her that worried. 

Karlach leaned back, looking at Luna with admiration. "She's gonna grow up with all these stories, you know. Daughter of the heroes who saved the world. No pressure, huh, kiddo?" She winked at Luna, who babbled happily in response.

Shadowheart smirked, her usual stoic demeanor melting in the presence of the baby. “Let’s hope she grows up with fewer near-death experiences.”

Lyra picked at her nails. Part of her didn’t want Luna to know all the blood that had been shed. 

That Lyra had—

Her breath hitched as she stared down at her hands, her heart racing. Crimson stained her pale skin, thick rivulets of blood trailing down her fingers, pooling in her palms. 

She blinked, panic rising, as the blood began to drip onto the pristine sofa beneath her, each drop a stark reminder of the lives she had taken.

“Are you alright, Lyra?” Shadowheart’s voice, soft but curious, broke through the fog. She leaned back in one of the library’s armchairs, lazily twirling a glass of wine between her fingers, watching.

Lyra blinked, glancing down again. Her hands were clean. No blood. Just smooth, unmarked skin. 

She exhaled shakily. “I’m fine,” she whispered, barely trusting her own voice. 

It was just a hall𝓾cination. 

Nothin𝓰 more. 

The crackling fire filled the silence, its warmth chasing away the last traces of her unease. 

Across the room, Karlach watched over Luna, making sure the baby didn’t knock any books from the shelves. 

The soft laughter from earlier had quieted into a peaceful lull, the evening settling into a comforting rhythm. 

Karlach rose, murmuring something about grabbing another bottle of wine, leaving the room for a moment.

As Luna finally grew tired, her eyes drooping in the warmth of the firelight, Lyra scooped her up, cradling her gently. She laid down onto the sofa with her daughter.  

It was then that Shadowheart’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something—the faint purplish marks that peeked out from under Lyra’s collar.

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk curling at the corners of her lips. “Well, well… what have we here?”

Lyra looked up, her eyes wide in confusion. “What?”

Shadowheart chuckled softly and nodded toward her neck. “Those little marks you’re trying to hide. Astarion’s been busy, hasn’t he?”

Lyra’s cheeks flushed instantly as she reflexively reached up to adjust her collar, but there was no hiding it now. “Oh,” she stammered, trying to come up with something, but Shadowheart’s smirk only deepened.

“Come on,” Shadowheart said with a teasing gleam in her eye. “You can’t leave me in the dark here. How is he?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is he as... intense in bed as he is in everything else?”

Lyra laughed softly, feeling her face burn even hotter. She gently rocked Luna, who was now dozing off in her arms, and shrugged with an embarrassed grin. “He’s... well, yes. Intense is one word for it.”

Shadowheart’s eyebrow arched higher, her expression half-amused, half-intrigued. “I imagine he’s not the gentle type,” she mused, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Especially given his past. I always thought he might be... demanding.”

Lyra’s heart skipped a beat, thinking about the previous night. The way Astarion had taken control, the way he had anticipated her every need, every desire, without a word passing between them. 

“He knows what he’s doing,” she admitted, her voice low, almost shy. “But it’s more than that. It’s like he can sense what I want, even when I don’t say it.”

Before Shadowheart could press further, Karlach burst back into the room, holding two fresh bottles of wine, her broad grin infectious. “Did I hear something juicy?” she teased, practically bouncing as she plopped down beside them. “Come on, I need to hear all the details!” She poured herself a generous glass, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know, I always had a bit of a crush on him,” she added. “Not my type, of course, but still—those cheekbones? And that swagger? Hard not to notice.”

Lyra blinked in surprise, then laughed, her blush deepening. “You? A crush on Astarion?”

Karlach shrugged, grinning unapologetically. “I mean, who wouldn’t, right? All that dark, brooding charm.” She sighed dramatically, raising her glass in a mock toast. “But you’ve got him now, and I’m dying to know—how is he in bed?”

Shadowheart leaned forward, grinning. “We were just getting to that.”

Lyra rolled her eyes playfully at Karlach's enthusiasm, grateful for the distraction. 

She took a sip of wine to buy herself some time, trying to find the right words to describe her experiences with Astarion without revealing too much. As she contemplated her response, Luna shifted in her arms, nuzzling closer to her mother as she slept soundly.

"He's... attentive," Lyra finally replied, choosing her words carefully. Her voice softened as her thoughts drifted back to the nights they’d spent together. "And passionate. It’s like he loses himself in the moment, completely focused on... pleasing." 

A warmth spread through her, memories stirring of how Astarion had made her feel—cherished, wanted, as if she were the only thing that mattered. The intensity in his eyes when he touched her, the way his hands moved over her skin, left her feeling desired in a way she hadn’t known before.

Shadowheart watched her closely, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “That sounds a little too... tame for the Astarion we know,” she teased.

Karlach huffed, lowering her voice dramatically. "Romantic, huh? You can’t fool us, Lyra. We all heard those nights in the woods all those years ago." She grinned wickedly, waving her hand as if to dismiss the more tender details. "It always sounded like a wild, rough romp—the kind where two beasts collide."

“Do you remember those nights?” Shadowheart asked curiously.

Lyra’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson, the memories of those nights broken and missing pieces, but still flashing vividly in her mind. 

The untamed passion, the raw intensity of it all. 

There were few words, little gentleness. Just a deep, primal connection that left them breathless and tangled in each other beneath the moonlit canopy. 

Lyra hesitated. “Well, there were... moments,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Moments where things got... wild.”

Karlach burst into laughter, slapping her thigh in triumph. “I knew it!” she crowed, raising her glass in victory. “Two beasts, I told you!”

Lyra shook her head, laughing along with her, though the heat in her cheeks never quite faded. “But,” she added, her voice softening again, “it’s not always like that. There’s something... deeper now. He’s still intense, but it’s different. He’s careful, thoughtful. As if he’s trying to prove that he’s more than just... the talent you imagine.”

Karlach groaned dramatically, her voice full of mock disappointment. “Lucky you. A beast and a romantic.” She refilled her glass. “If you ever need a stand-in for one of those wild nights, you know where to find me.”

The room burst into laughter, the teasing and light-hearted banter blending perfectly with the crackling warmth of the fire, while Luna stirred sleepily in Lyra’s arms.

A few hours later the girls were still resting in the library.

It was getting late, and Astarion was still not home. 

Karlach and Shadowheart were fairly drunk by now, slurring their words and passing stories back and forth. The fire had dimmed, casting flickering shadows along the walls.

Karlach was in the middle of explaining the passion and tenderness of Wyll when Shadowheart let out an exaggerated groan, waving her half-empty glass. “That sounds...incredible,” she slurred, her words dragging. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes half-lidded, staring at nothing in particular. “Wyll... what a sweetie... a real gentleman...”

Lyra raised an eyebrow, glancing over. “Shadowheart, are you okay?”

Shadowheart’s lips quirked into a tipsy grin, her eyes glazed with drink. “I’m fine... just... thinking...” Her voice softened, trailing off as she swirled her glass lazily. “I’ve never had that, you know. Someone like him... someone tender.” She hiccupped lightly.

Lyra, still holding Luna, tilted her head curiously. “Never?”

Shadowheart shook her head slowly, letting out a slow, almost dreamy sigh. “Lae'zel... gods, you know how she is. Fierce, strong, all that good stuff..." She squinted, trying to focus. "But tender? Ha!" She let out a short, humorless laugh, her voice taking on a bitter edge. “Not in the way you're talking about. It was always... raw with her. Intense. It was all about power. Control.” She waved her hand dismissively before taking another gulp of wine. “Not really the... cuddle type.”

Shadowheart had explained their relationship was on-and-off, due to Lae’zel being on the astral plane all the time.

“Do you... miss her?” Lyra asked gently, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Luna.

Shadowheart’s eyes glazed over again, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the rim of her glass. 

“More than I thought I would,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze drifted to the flickering fire, her expression distant. “I miss her strength. Her... her confidence. She never doubted anything. Always so sure of herself. Of us. I thought I hated that...” She shook her head, blinking a few times as if to clear her thoughts. “But now... gods, I relied on it. On her.”

A long silence followed, filled only by the soft crackling of the fire and Luna’s gentle breathing. Shadowheart stared into the flames, her face softened by both drink and longing.

After a moment, Shadowheart glanced back at Lyra, her gaze unsteady but sincere. “You’re lucky, you know,” she mumbled, her words slightly slurred. “Astarion... he makes you feel... seen. I can tell. And cherished... lucky ,” she repeated, her tone heavy.

Lyra smiled, though there was a bittersweet note to it now. “I am lucky,” she agreed softly. “But you deserve that too, Shadowheart. You’ll find it again.”

After a moment, Shadowheart raised her glass in a half-hearted toast. “To the good old days, then. And to... whatever comes next.”

Lyra smiled and raised her glass, despite having her hands full with Luna, and the two of them shared the quiet, comforting presence of friendship.

But as Lyra shifted, trying to adjust her hold on both Luna and the glass, her grip faltered. 

The glass slipped from her fingers, crashing against the marble floor with a sharp, echoing sound. Red wine splattered across the floor, dark stains spreading like spilled blood against the pristine surface.

Lyra’s grip tightened ever so slightly around Luna as the faint scent of blood began to fill her nostrils, sudden and sharp, like a metallic tinge in the air. 

She blinked hard, trying to shake off the sensation, but behind her eyes, she saw a flash of red—dark, violent. Her stomach twisted, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

No𝔱 again.

Shadowheart was still talking, her voice a babbling hum in the background, but Lyra could barely focus. 

Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat sounding louder, more insistent, as if something was trying to claw its way out of her chest. She swallowed hard, willing herself to stay calm, to keep the darkness at bay. 

Not here. 

Not no⍵.

The scent of blood grew stronger, almost overwhelming now, and Lyra’s vision blurred. For a moment, she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye—something dark and shifting, lurking just beyond the edges of the firelight. Her pulse raced, panic creeping up her spine.

It's not real. It's not real. It’s not 𝑟𝓮⍺𝒍 .

She repeated the words in her mind, trying to anchor herself. But Bhaal’s presence—faint, but unmistakable—lingered in the recesses of her consciousness, like a shadow she couldn’t fully escape. 

Lyra blinked rapidly, her breath coming in shallow gasps. 

She needed to stay grounded, needed to focus on something real, something tangible. Her fingers brushed through Luna’s soft curls, clinging to the feel of her daughter’s warmth, her innocence. 

She couldn't let herself slip, not when she had so much to protect.

“Lyra? You okay?” Karlach’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

Lyra stiffened, forcing another smile, but it felt weak, hollow. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice too light, too hurried. “Just... tired, I think.”

The room felt too small, too warm. 

She could still smell the blood, feel the cold fingers of Bhaal’s influence tugging at the edges of her mind. It was as if the room around her was fading, blurring into that red haze again, and she fought to stay present.

Luna stirred in her arms, her tiny face peaceful and unaware of the storm brewing inside her mother. Lyra kissed the top of her head, breathing in the sweet, calming scent of her child. 

Hold on for her. You have to hold on.

But beneath the surface, the darkness was there, waiting for a moment of weakness.

Just one slip.

廾𝓮𝒍𝒍𝚘, 𝓛𝔂𝑟⍺

No , it’s just my imagination. I control him. 

He can’t hurt me. 

The scent of blood surged through Lyra’s senses, overpowering everything. 

Her vision blurred, and a wave of darkness crept up from the depths of her mind, dragging her under. 

I control him. I control him. I control him . 

But—

𝛪 𝒄𝚘𝓷𝔱𝑟𝚘𝒍 𝓾𝐬. 

Her heart raced, her body no longer hers to control.

Without thinking—without hesitation—her hand shot out, fingers trembling as they found the hilt of the dagger strapped to Karlach’s thigh. 

The cool metal slid into her palm, heavy and sharp, as if it had been waiting for her all along.

No—

The thought flitted away, drowned beneath the pounding in her skull and the insistent pull of Bhaal’s influence. Her fingers closed around the hilt with a terrifying certainty, the dark craving consuming her.

She needed blood. 

To kill. 

To make someone suffer .

In a heartbeat, she raised the dagger, the blade glimmering in the dim light. 

It reflected the image of the small, delicate baby cradled in her arms, her heart plummeting as the world fell into a chilling silence.

A scream echoed in her mind, yet no sound escaped her lips.

“Lyra, no!” Karlach’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and filled with panic.

Shadowheart, slightly disoriented from the wine, struggled to grasp the unfolding danger, her reactions dulled by the haze of intoxication.

Before Lyra could blink, Karlach lunged at her, their bodies colliding in a blur of movement.

The blade hovered just above Luna, trembling in her grasp—

Blood spilled.

[sailorgundam308]

Trying to write a stupid thing (the original prompt is by @thepunchingbag ):

The morning sun crept into the modest wooden room, painting the floor gold and warming Karlach’s feet as she combed back dark locks of hair out of her face. She pulled her hair back between her two curled horns, into a neat ponytail, and artfully tied a leather cord to keep it all securely in place. It wouldn’t do to have stray strands block her eyes in her line of work - especially not today.

She’d been doing this for years now, so long her body could go through the motions of the morning ritual while her mind wandered. Even so, she started each day with the same excitement. She had a roof over her head, decent pay, and a job she excelled in. She got to work for her favorite - living - person, and see to his interests and well-being in the most concrete way possible: by making sure his head was still connected to his neck at the end of the day. And, sometimes, that others’ heads weren’t.

Five years had passed since the day she crossed paths with the man called Enver Gortash. Karlach had been caught up in a brawl when he happened upon her. The scrawny tiefling kid was doing what she did best in those days - scam, steal and, sometimes, get caught. But if there was something Karlach Cliffgate was really, really good at, it was fighting - and winning. So she did not really mind getting caught. Sometimes, in fact, the girl would go out itching for someone to get on her bad side so she could throw a few punches. Life wasn’t easy during the years she had to live on and off the streets of the Outer City. As a young orphan - and worse still, a tiefling - there were few places one could run to. Luck had never been on her side, it seemed, until that fateful meeting.

So, when an amused laugh cut through the grunts and painful cries of her opponents, it caught her by surprise. She looked up from the fight to see a dark haired man leaning a shoulder on the wall, arms crossed, watching her with a charming smile. One of Karlach’s foes took advantage of her lapse in focus and swept her legs from under her. She recovered faster than he could strike again, though, as Enver Gortash watched on, genuinely entertained. He never made a motion to help her. She didn’t mind. They both knew she could handle herself just fine.

Now, in front of a frameless mirror, stood a tall, visibly strong young tiefling woman. Far from scrawny, Karlach had grown into an imposing figure - broad shoulders, lean but muscular, but more importantly: proud. Her tabard displayed the dark colors of the personal guard of Enver Gortash, and she, among them, was his favorite. It all began on that day so many years ago, in that dirty alley, when an ambitious man with big plans met an ambitious girl with a big heart, and their fates would become forever intertwined.

Done reminiscing, Karlach secured her scabbard and left the small but cozy room she called home in the Silvermoon Inn in the Lower City. The slightly wonky wooden door creaked behind her until it thud itself shut. Two steps at a time, she went down the narrow stairs and soon enough was on her daily journey up the winding cobblestone alleys and stairs into the Upper City, to where her boss had recently relocated.

Karlach was still in awe that her routine led her to traverse the wide streets of Baldur’s Gate’s Upper City. It was not a place she ever expected to see for herself, growing up as she did. Yet, there she was. And there she had been going with a permit for more than a handful of tendays. It was still new, and the looks she received - she was not only a tiefling, but an unusually tall one to boot - never bothered her. Not now, that she had a home, a job and a purpose to fulfill. Gortash needed her, and she was the one he could fully trust. He was the one who rescued her from the hand life had dealt her, and had become so much more to her in the many years she’d been beside him. It still put a smirk on her face when she thought about it - how good life could be. What greatness could the both of them still achieve?

Hopping two white stone steps at a time, Karlach went up to Enver Gortash’s new abode - an impressive estate in a prime location of Baldur’s Gate. An investment, he’d said, which would bring more legitimacy to his enterprise. She could understand. Gortash had come a long way from inroads dealings outside the city, and now his merchant empire had expanded to include weapons development, commercial caravans, transportation and, more recently, investing in ‘new ventures’. Gortash was smart and smooth - certainly the smartest and smoothest man Karlach ever knew. He had a mind for tinkering and building things no one had thought of before, and with Karlach’s loyal help, he managed to always have the upper hand in his endeavors - one way or another.

The fruits of his labor were materializing, and Karlach felt pride swell in her chest knowing she had contributed to it. It was a weird feeling for sure - being so happy at the achievements of another. She couldn’t quite put words to the feeling.

Before the intricately decorated iron gates of her boss’ estate were opened for her, Karlach’s cheeks were slightly hotter than normal. Still, with a spring in her step, she crossed the front garden.

“Early morning, huh?” The tiefling shot to Yunni, who was busy trimming the very intentional thorny bushes that surrounded all the walls of the property. The halfling man just grumbled and nodded at her. Yunni was an incredible spy - and like most of Gortash’s long-term entourage, had been reassigned to a new job as the boss expanded his many businesses. Only those who had proved their loyalty to Gortash were allowed to work in close proximity to him these days. Karlach, being part of his personal guard, had proven herself more times than anyone could count.

At twenty, she had already killed her fair share of people - horrible people, mind you -, and she’d learned it didn’t really bother her. She’d barely noticed the first time it happened. Since her early teens, Karlach had been in so many street fights that ended with a downed man bleeding profusely as she ran off, that it was hard to know if they were alive or dead. Not that she cared to stay and find out. The orphaned tiefling needed to survive and defend herself - she could not afford worrying about morals. And when she did it for Gortash, it felt even more justified. If she had to put someone down now, it was for Enver Gortash’s protection. For the protection of his - their - interests. One could hardly judge her for doing her job.

And Karlach's job, more than anything, meant standing by Gortash's side. As she pushed through the wide double doors to the main entryway, she called, "Hey, Gortash!"

Even though she had only been working at the estate for little over a month, Karlach walked through the entrance hall and past the kitchen area to the left as if she was home. And she was, in a sense.

No reply. She grunted. This place was so bloody big even her voice wouldn’t carry to the second floor where his office was.

“Better shut it, Karl. He’s got a fancy ass guest or something upstairs. Told us to ‘act proper’ or some ridiculous shit.” A human woman, a few years older than Karlach, popped her head out of the open kitchen doors, auburn locks escaping through the cloth tied around her head.

Karlach could not hold back a cackle. “And what the fuck are YOU doing in the kitchen, Tesh?”

Tesh huffed, a big bowl of pale goop in her arms. “Promoted.”

Karlach tried holding back, but soon her near hysterical laughter had the other woman rolling her eyes.

“Yea, yeah. Get it out of your system, you prick.”

Karlach wiped the tears off her eyes with the back of her fingers. “Gortash pulled a good one on you. Now, honestly, how many crossbows have you hidden in the pantry…?” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial tone, a white toothy grin on her face.

“I didn’t…” Tesh started, but Karlach just tilted her head with a raised eyebrow. That’s the bloody problem with knowing someone for too long. The human let her shoulders drop and relented. “Fine. Two heavy ones in the pantry, two hand ones in the upper cabinets and six explosives in the grain sacks.”

“Gods below, Tesh. Explosives? In the fucking KITCHEN?”

Tesh glared at Karlach. Clearly, her toes had just been stepped on. “You know how to do your job, I know how to do mine. I don’t remember ever questioning how you handle those giant metal slabs of yours.”

Karlach could only raise her two hands in a pacifying gesture. Tesh was right. If there was one thing that made them work - and survive - so far, it was trusting each of them knew their stuff. And if there was one thing Tesh knew, it was how to ignite and blow up the shit out of things.

“Aye, aye, ma’am. My bad. I’ll be on my way.”

Tesh accepted the apologies, then peeked left and right before adding in a strangely worried voice, “Just be quiet. Whoever the fancy fucker is, Gortash was almost flipping on his back for him. Must be a big shot from the city. You know the type.”

Karlach’s energy escaped her a bit with a sigh, before she nodded and continued down the corridor - so wide she thought it was offensive it wasn’t a room - and up the dark wooden staircase that curved right to the mezzanine and, finally, Gortash’s office. As she closed the distance to the last decorated double door, her steps got slower and the sounds of her leather boots were softened by the deep burgundy carpet. She knew the type, yes. More and more often, Gortash had been having high society visitors, the type Karlach felt a weird combination of disgust and fascination for. She had no idea how their minds worked, and she watched it like a curious and disturbing show when she had to sit through the encounters.

Her solid knuckles knocked four times on the door, exhaling before emptying her expression as much as she possibly could.

“Ah, Karlach! Come in!” Came a familiar voice from within. He sounded quite chipper this morning, Gortash did.

As she opened the door to step inside, her golden eyes rapidly swiped the room, but it was empty aside from her boss staring at her with a wide grin and slightly open arms. She immediately relaxed her posture, stepped inside and, with no signs of hesitation, sat on the ornate sofa usually offered as a seat to distinguished guests.

“Morning, Boss! Aren’t you in a good mood? Damn, Tesh scared me, saying you had some kind of visitor with an ass made of gold or something.” With a swing of her legs, Karlach’s toned calves were resting over the armrest of the sofa.

“Oh, a most precious morning, for sure, dear Karlach! Not that mornings aren’t precious when I have you around to assist me.” His eyes were dark and deep and warm, but became cold for one second, as did his voice. “Feet.”

Almost like a scolded child, Karlach promptly un-swung her feet from over the sofa and placed them back on the ground. Gortash smiled, knowingly.

Circling his varnished oak desk, Gortash approached his trusted guard, but did not take a seat. Instead, he stopped behind the sofa where she sat and placed his hands, fingers adorned with a number of intricate gold rings, on both of her shoulders. Even through her clothing and light armor, they were clearly muscular. He squeezed slightly. Affectionately. “But today, Karlach. Today we will start something new. Something grand, you and I.”

-

One floor above Enver Gortash’s new office was a spacious room with tall, wide windows lining up the entire entire west wall, each framed by deep ochre curtains held open by golden silk knots. Sat within, with immaculate posture, was a man - a pale elf with angular features. Dressed in a long deep green tunic embroidered in silver thread, the man absentmindedly tapped his long fingers softly on the velvety surface of the sofa. His silvery eyes flicked with a hint of gold, casually scanning the room and its contents. Gortash was a Lord in the making, Astarion knew, but he could not help but feel a tinge of contempt for these self-made types. Money, after all, was not all that made a patriar.

Despite seeming relaxed, Astarion had his elf years tuned to his surroundings. He had been forced to learn to keep track of his surroundings at all times since the incident 200 years before. That, and he was no fool to trust a weapon’s dealer and slaver like Enver Gortash just because the man was now wrapped in fancy clothing. Well, the two of them might have more in common than they’d be willing to admit - but that is precisely why Astarion was so distrustful of his associate. Nevertheless, it might very well be the reason they have crossed paths.

His sensitive hearing told Astarion exactly when his host - and someone else - climbed the stairs and approached the room. By the time the double doors opened, the magistrate was standing up, positioned carefully with his profile to the door in such a way that he looked casual enough but was able to immediately see who was entering the room. Astarion’s hand opposite to the door, hidden from view, slid lower into a slit in his tunic near his belt. His fingertips brushed lightly over the handle of thin, light and exceptionally sharp dagger hidden within. Was he being overly cautious? One could hardly blame him. Enver and himself were both less than honorable men.

”My dear Astarion! What a beautiful morning, isn’t it? I haven’t kept you waiting for long, have i?” With an unsettling familiarity in his voice, Gortash crossed the threshold to the room with a wide smile and knowing dark eyes. His stride was wide and confident. Of course - this was his turf.

The elf did a perfect job of looking slightly surprised by the opening door, while his eyes quickly and effectively scanned the two figures - Gortash with his honeyed poison gestures and a big red shadow whose sharp eyes seemed to immediately scan Astarion, swipe the room, then return to her master. She seemed to gather essential information as effectively as himself. ‘Oh. A tiefling. How quaint.’ Despite the unusual presence, the elf promptly ignored her. “Beautiful indeed. And worry not, Enver. Your butler made sure to offer me this most aromatic tea from Calimshan. A treat, indeed.”

There was an almost imperceptible raise in one of the tieflings eyebrows, but that went ignored by the two men in the room. They exchanged excessively friendly pleasantries that somehow felt as sharp as daggers. Still, Enver and Astarion both took seats across from each other on two facing sofas - a low table with an untouched tea cup in a silver tray separating them.

“How are you readjusting in the city? I hear you spent 30 years away.”

“50. No reason to return earlier.” Pale fingers made flourish in the air. “Baldur’s Gate is here as it has always been. Not much to adjust to, really. I made arrangements for my return when I left.” He checked his nails. This wasn’t even the first sabbatical he had taken, though it had been the longest so far - but 50 years was a decent span of time to let some of the old guard die off.

“Oh, the perks of an elvish lifespan.” Gortash chuckled heartily, but his eyes were steel.

“Very much so.”

“I gather your arrangements have worked seamlessly.”

“Well, yes. Of course. I’m back at work as a high magistrate. Faces changed, but not so much affiliations. I made sure of it.”

“That is good to know.” Enver’s tone shifted suddenly, from amicable and warm to direct and dry. “Things will start moving within the next month. I got word that the first ships have already sailed. The Zhent are none the wiser but they will catch up quickly. Same as the Guild.”

Astarion’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t add anything. The Zhent and the Guild would not be pleased, of course. But Astarion somehow had expected Gortash to have a solution for that up his sleeve.

“Which reminds me… Have you two met?” Turning back to look up at Karlach - standing still as a red pillar by the closed door - then back to smile at the pale elf sat across from him, Gortash asked with a glint of satisfaction in his dark eyes.

That was a question Astarion was not expecting. For a moment he had to look again at the woman who had been accompanying Enver Gortash. He had quickly assessed her as a non threat at the moment they entered - female, tiefling, red, tall -, but really had not paid any mind to her beyond that. One of Gortash’s entourage he probably picked off the gutter like the rest, he quickly assumed. By the look of confusion in the woman’s face, it seemed she wasn’t prepared for that interaction either. He turned his gaze back at Gortash. “Pardon?”

“Karlach, my dear, come closer!” Gortash’s voice seemed warm, but it was a command and Karlach knew it.

She only hesitated a moment before approaching. Each step less unsure, until she stood tall to the right side of Gortash by the sofa, her arms crossed slightly behind her, looking ahead - a red marble statue of the perfect guard.

Elves weren’t really tall by nature, but as the tiefling approached them, Astarion had to bend his neck to look up at her face. He had noticed she was tall, but, well. She was really tall, it turned out. He quickly gathered a few more impressions of the woman - cat like eyes, a pretty (maybe handsome?) face, young - he turned his eyes to Gortash with a questioning look.

“Astarion, meet Karlach Cliffgate - my most trusted… employee.” Enver’s eyes glanced up at his bodyguard and a quick flash of warmth - was that pride? - crossed his face. It was gone as soon as it came, and he continued. “My dearest Karlach, meet Astarion Ancunin, high magistrate of Baldur’s Gate.”

There was a long, awkward silence. Karlach opened her mouth as if to say something but seemed to change her mind. Astarion continued looking at Gortash, his brow now furrowing visibly. ‘What on earth?’

“Karlach. Starting tomorrow, you work for him”

“…What?!”

.

It’s on Ao3 too: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57264595

[20skai]

Love Wyll Event: Wyll Week

Day 7: Morning

The soft morning sun shines its rays into a window illuminating a room and eventually waking up an occupant in the lone bed. Wyll Ravengard begins to stir trying to chase away the last of his grogginess. Doing a quick glance around the cozy room he begins to reflect on the last year. The Elder Brain defeated, fighting through Avernus, and returning to Faerun. It was all made possible by the other occupant of the bed sleeping peacefully.

Staring fondly at his love he feels a whole host of emotions: devotion, love, affection, safety. The list goes on but most of all Wyll feels so incredibly grateful to her. Before meeting Nemeia he assumed his life would be nothing but fighting fiends and dealing with the abuse from his patron. No friends, companionships, no love to speak of. But here in his arms is a woman who literally fell into his life, encouraging him to try and defy the odds and break his pact and to finally live for himself. And here they both are heroes of the Sword Coast, no pact, and living their lives in this home they’ve built together full of love and warmth.

Wyll begins to leave kisses to the neck and shoulders of Nemeia, unable and unwilling to hold back the rush of affection he feels for her. The love filled assault causes the tiefling to wake from her slumber.

“Good morning beloved. Did you sleep well?”

Ceasing his kiss-filled attack upon her body, Wyll turns her so he can see her face. Though she shyly tries to dodge a kiss due to their morning breath but gives in at his pleading look.

“I slept amazingly, love. As I always do with you.”

Even though she’s used to Wyll sweet and honeyed words they still cause her to flush and smile like a fool. Something Nemeia hopes never changes. For the next handful of minutes the lovers continue to hold one another in comfortable silence elated that they have been afforded this blessing of overwhelming joy the other brings into their lives.

“So Mr. Ravengard, what did you want to do today? Other than seeing your father, Karlach and Dammon.”

Spinning them so she is now above him with her hands on his chest. Wyll admires her in the light of the morning sun and how it shines upon her skin causing her to glow beautifully.

“I’m not sure Mrs. Ravengard but as long as I’m with you I want for nothing.”

[bladesandbhaalspawn]

Where Shadows Fade

A Halsin x Shadowheart x Tav Ficlet

for @thoughts-of-bear

Pairing: Halsin x Shadowheart x Tav (Yuloth, she/her, tiefling, monk)

Words: <1k

Rating: T

Summary: In the once-cursed land of Reithwin, Halsin, Shadowheart, and Yuloth find peace, love, and a renewed sense of home as they share a quiet evening together, reflecting on the transformation of their lives and the land they've reclaimed.

want your own? check out this post!

The sun dipped low over Reithwin, casting a golden glow over the small farm where laughter and the soft murmur of voices mingled with the sounds of animals settling for the evening. The transformation of the once-cursed land was nothing short of miraculous; where once there had been nothing but darkness and despair, there was now vibrant green, the air filled with the songs of birds and the hum of life. Fields that had once lain barren and twisted under the oppressive shadow were now fertile and lush, bursting with life, and gentle breezes carried the scent of freshly tilled earth and blooming flowers.

Yuloth stood near the edge of the fence, watching the sky. The tiefling's pink skin was kissed by the fading light, her dark horns casting long shadows across her freckled face. Her green eyes shimmered as she turned to see half of her heart approaching, a content smile playing on Shadowheart's lips. The farm animals - chickens, goats, and a few playful cats - trailed after her, each seeming to bask in her presence.

Shadowheart's hands found Yuloth's, fingers intertwining as they shared a quiet moment, the warmth of the day lingering between them. "The goats are particularly lively today," the cleric explained, smiling apologetically.

"They always are when they see you," Yuloth replied, her voice soft with affection as she playfully nudged the half-elf. "It's as if they know you have treats hidden somewhere."

Shadowheart laughed, the sound like music in the twilight. "Of course they do, I always have treats with me."

From the farmhouse, Halsin's deep, steady voice called out, beckoning them inside. "Dinner is ready, my loves!"

Yuloth and Shadowheart exchanged a look, filled with warmth, and made their way to the house after ushering the last stragglers to their enclosures. Inside, the cozy glow of the hearth greeted them, and the rich aroma of a hearty meal filled the air. Halsin stood by the table, his broad frame bathed in firelight, eyes alight with affection as he watched the two approach.

"I see the goats couldn't keep away," the druid chuckled, his voice a comforting rumble as he pulled them both into a warm embrace, plucking a few stray bits of hay off of the women's clothes. Shadowheart rested her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck, while Yuloth snuggled into his side, feeling the strength and safety of his arms around them both.

The evening unfolded in a gentle rhythm, with shared smiles, soft touches, and laughter that felt like home. As the night deepened, and the fire burned low, the trio found themselves nestled together on a pile of soft furs and blankets, the world outside forgotten.

Yuloth traced lazy patterns on Halsin's bare chest, her fingers brushing against the red swirls etched into his skin, while Shadowheart's hand rested on Yuloth's waist, holding her close. Halsin's voice, rich and soothing, filled the quiet space between them as he recounted tales of the children he cared for, the small victories, and the joy he found in their simple, shared life.

As their eyes grew heavy and the embers dimmed, the comfort of their closeness lulled them into peaceful drowsiness. Shadowheart's lips found Yuloth's, a lingering kiss filled with unspoken promises, before she turned to the elf, her touch tender and lingering. Halsin's hand cradled her cheek as he met her gaze, his thumb brushing over her lips before he kissed her with the same deep affection that filled the space around them.

Yuloth smiled as she watched, her heart swelling with the love that connected them all. "This… this is what I dreamed of, you know," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "When you said you wanted to be with me, Halsin, and to one day be with me and Shadowheart both…"

Halsin and Shadowheart turned to her, their expressions soft and full of love. "And it's only the beginning," Halsin promised, his voice warm and sure.

Shadowheart nodded, her fingers gently threading through Yuloth's dark plaits, a tender smile on her lips. "We have all the time in the world," she said softly, her words filled with the promise of many more nights like this - filled with love, warmth, and the quiet certainty that they were exactly where they were meant to be.

[tieflingfingers]

The Barbaric Feminine

What and who: Humor, Mild Fluff. Thomasin and Alfira play music. Wyll and Karlach roast Astarion. Aradin and Remira need to leave. Summary: Thomasin encourages Alfira to put on a little show for the caravan to both cure her writer’s block and encourage her peers. All the companions witness Aradin and Remira's pettiness. Astarion learns the true meaning of art. Warning/Content: Just a little fun character building and au event in the grove. I love the tieflings. Part of series. More in the realm of character study, per usual, so also a lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. And an ounce of fighting. Word Count: 3,443 Ao3 Link

Thomasin swished her skirt to and fro to the light jingling emitting from her boots. Bells hooked on straps, buckled onto her shoes for a theatrical flare. A contraption she’d made herself after inspired by another performer long ago. She tightened her finest corset, whose fabric had to be fully reupholstered upon purchase, and let it cinch the excess of her dress. Her sleeves billowed, to match every other asset, and followed every single movement she made.

With a sudden stomping of her heels, she clacked them firm onto the wooden floor boards beneath her to settle the small crowd of tieflings. 

“Well, thank you kindly for wanting to see me perform today!” she announced to the gathering, careful to make sure each word had its proper annunciation. Her hosting skills were quite rusty. “After the warmth, gifts, and open arms, how could I say no? My name is Thomasin, if we haven’t formally met, and I’m here to lift a few spirits today!”

In front of Dammon’s roost and the soup kitchen, the wooden platform where many rested their heads was reinvigorated and reinvented into a makeshift stage. Rudimentary in design and weathered by the elements over years, but that didn’t stop Alfira from proposing such camaraderie nights before. Each performer was to simply stand at the edge of the staircase and present their talent. 

Alfira had found herself confessing worries of her passing teacher’s legacy and the artistic block that coincided. How the confidence of herself and her people had been lost after such rocky migration and the nerves of the caravan were relentlessly rustled. She wished that, for one single evening, battles were of little importance. And, in her own wholesome logic, she decided that entertaining her brethren was vital. 

The tiefling would heal with the arts. She would play her lute. Someone wanted to juggle. Someone could eat an apple in two bites. No auditions, just nonsensical amusement. They had sat through scrappy children showing off their introductive cantrips. Lullabies and travel songs belted from the lungs of mothers. Sword balancing acts and flashy conjuration spells with advisory warnings. Thomasin needed no begging to be thrown into the roster.

Scattered before the staircase were horned children, parents, and tipsy friends alike. Even with little luxuries, they set out blankets in the dirt and indulge in whatever festivities they could find. Dammon’s blacksmith quarters radiated a heat that cozied the onlookers as they passed around loaves of honey bread and apples. Bottles of gin and moonshine made their way around. No fear or pain where the supply was constant, guzzled down until the last drop hit someone’s tongue. 

Behind Thomasin, Wyll, Karlach and Astarion settled near a table atop the platform, further behind the performing acts. Out of the tieflings’ eyeline, but more than participating from the comfort of a canopy. The same spot where Remira and Aradin had previously settled their claim. 

In honesty, the humans' plans to head out in search of holy artifacts and bounty riches gave Zevlor respite. Their presence was now nothing more than packed bags and distasteful comments upon passing. Remira stood a few feet away from Astarion and the others, tucked behind a sturdy support beam engraved with white naturalistic patterns. She watched Thomasin with contempt, awaiting Aradin’s return so they could leave before sunset. Going out in a flash of dramatics would give them more trouble than it was worth.

Thomasin readied herself. The half-elf lifted her violin up to her chin, tucking it comfortably, and raised her bow. A studied grace. “If you know the words to this one, please join! Nothing more beautiful than a harmony from your good graces!”

Before she knew it, she had slipped into the role. It didn’t matter how makeshift or sudden the gig was, there was tremendous relief. The connection to others in the name of mundane, if not jovial, normalcy. She was in her element. Glittering pigments collected over years sparkled on her eyelids and left iridescent streaks across her cheekbones. No more than a few hard smacks of her heel and the half-elf began to sing a common, yet classic bard ditty. Something bright and upbeat.

They all watched as Thomasin glided around the small corner of the platform, some in awe like she were an exotic bird spreading its wings. Circles, winks, keeping multiple rhythms in tact. Her ribbons were tightened and her outfit meticulously ironed by metal heated over their campfire. Like a single fraction of time where everything was in its place.

Propped against barrels under the canopy’s shade, her companions watched her perform. Karlach busied herself with fruits warming in her hands and gin she passed back and forth to Wyll. The two practiced their most enthusiastic cheers. If they were to tour this to Baldur’s Gate, their fanaticism had to be as perfect as their friend’s talents. 

Astarion opted for a subtle approach. He leaned back, arms crossed, perhaps to prove he knew how to consume art most effectively. Even if his expression settled into cynicism, there was no doubt he couldn’t help but gaze upon her. 

Thomasin swished her hips, making a spectacle out of every inch of her person. The dulcet tone of her voice. The strings of her violin. The bells shaking and whipping about with each step. Even when she stopped her flow of dancing, earning pause from the crowd, her skirt would wrap around her legs, then unravel in a swirl of cornflower blue revelry once more. 

Astarion found himself squinting at the details of her dress.

He remembered the night he and Thomasin laid under the stars and reminisced about their favorite, most prized thefts. Small trophies, but ones that lived on as fashion staples. High heeled boots from a cheating man’s wardrobe. Bolts of fabric lifted from elderly women with a storefront and unwelcoming demeanors. Beads broken from a drunk aristocrat’s necklace and confiscated with a swift scoop up into pockets.

That’s what he recognized. The hem of her dress. The glint of repurposed opalite beads sparkled against glowing faerie lights. A product of multiple late nights, pinning and picking at a dress she never wore on the road. He’d watch her fall into a quiet trance for hours around the fire, pulling at thread and pinching tiny beads, stringing them along. It was one of the few guilty pleasures she invited in. A reward after mending a hole along Wyll’s inseams or re-attaching a buckle to Karlach’s leather straps.

Astarion was getting lost in the magnetism she garnered from her act. Admired how she bounced back from days where bodies ached and brains barely functioned, now teeming with unbridled vitality. No longer in lethargic depths, free to experience the wonder of watering her like a well-pruned leafy plant. Naturally, he took the credit where he could though. His personal rations and food scraps were often gifted to Thomasin in nonchalant exchanges. If he wasn’t to eat it, at least she could be nurtured.

He noticed her growing into her softness. What he imagined she was like before the days of treacherous nature walks and feasts only composed of wine and wild lentils. The masses now got to gawk those same ample hips but jealousy was nothing he was going to voice. Their minds must’ve ventured into poetic saccharine monologues. Ones that, in his opinion, were for lust-riddled simpletons. Nothing more than idealism and viewing her beauty as a commodity. Best used to simply get you wanted and leave before the beautiful possession caught on.

“Philistines can’t even enjoy music without all the moonshine coursing through them,” Astarion muttered.

Karlach stopped in the midst of her swaying, befuddled at how he could keep still. How he was not enamored, even at the most platonic level, by the art Thomasin created. She knocked her bottle of gin into his arm, shoving his lithe frame a bit. The joy in her voice was palpable.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look at you. Can’t even enjoy yourself for a night. You upset because everyone is looking at how pretty she is all dressed up?” the large tiefling said, trying her best to keep her volume respectful.

He scowled at Karlach, knowing she wasn’t phased by such grouchiness, and snatched the gin from her hand. His eyes watered with regret immediately upon taking a swig, scrunching his nose. It burned with a fierceness down his gullet. “Ack- gods no. I’m upset by the terrible choice of alcohol in this place.” 

Astarion looked back over at the half-elf to assess his thoughts. Despite encouraging her musical endeavors, he always included a jab that undercut such complimentary words. It was natural to him. Yet, he began to realize had never heard her sing more than a well-tuned hum. Never saw her dance unless guided by Wyll’s hand.

The closest he could recall may have been during her worship of Eilistraee, but those were always witnessed from afar. Memories housed only within the context of his own selfish voyeurism. Maybe self-expression wasn’t always frivolous, he thought.

The elf caught himself staring, mind drifting between conflicting hypotheticals and amorous soliloquies. Details that he was quick to shake from his consciousness. “Thomasin is doing a just fine job,” he followed up plainly.

“Perhaps she could teach you a thing or two, Astarion. How to show that personable side hiding deep in that illustrious heart of yours,” Wyll teased, his half of the gin adding blush tones to his cheeks. “What if you’re a natural born performer?”

Astarion scoffed. “I’ve got a skillset already, thank you very much. I haven’t gotten this far just on looks, I will have you know.” His fingers pressed flat against his own chest. “Personality is half my charm. You should try it sometime.”

The sour attitude and unapologetic gumption tickled his two drunken companions, suppressing their laughter to not become interruptive. Mirth so bountiful, it leaked between the cracks of their fingers clasped over their mouths.

“I’ve gotten this far on looks alone, you should try it.” Karlach eventually said, catching her breath. She had begun to stretch her chest wide, back tightened, and presented the bend of her arms in a muscular flex. Years of pommeling through Avernus had to pay off in some capacity. “It’s versatility, ain’t it? Being hot in every sense of the word really gets the ladies going.”

Wyll clinked their shared bottle onto her bicep in agreement before gesturing to his own horns. A facet of his appearance he was still getting used to, but bonding amongst Elturel survivors made acclimation easier. “The horns are also a definite plus, I’m growing to learn. Nothing like romantic poetry penned by a horn dipped in the finest oil inks.”

“Yeah, exactly. Oily inks.” Karlach pointed to Wyll with her thumb, mouth full of fruit, mumbling her words. Juices from an apple, crisp between her pointed teeth, flew out as she spoke. Although she decided to ignore the fact, knowing she would break into a fit of laughter over Astarion vocalizing disgust. 

He did notice.

He did sneer.

“You two are insufferable. I’ll let you know I have remarkable, if not astonishing, reviews without all the tricks,” Astarion said, waving a dismissive hand. His lips, then, curled in a hint of amusement at their taunting. 

They three continued swaying their heads, clapping as stray copper coins and picked wildflowers were thrown at Thomasin’s feet. The half-elf felt herself return back into her body by the end of the song, engulfed by the rain of praise, and grinned from ear to ear. Genuine unadulterated happiness. She bowed to the small crowd.

When she rose, the sting of coins pelted against her back, followed by a familiar thud. The sound of arrowheads, two to be exact, penetrating wood behind her. She rolled her shoulders, determined to not acknowledge it. To not let it ruin her composure. At her feet, she noticed Wyll crouch to gather all the flora and tips left, whispering tipsy affirmations to her and lurching back to their spot to keep her gifts safe. 

Thanks to him, her smile never faltered, and she went onto presenting the next act. 

“Thank you! Thank you all very much, dearly,” she cheered, holding her violin idle in her arms. “This lovely evening was all brought to you by the ever so talented, Alfira.” 

Alfira ran up the far staircase where Karlach and the others stood, flashing them a sheepish delight with her lute clutched tight. Karlach felt herself blush at the sight of the feminine tiefling’s pastel whimsy, offering her own toothy grin. The bard looked overwhelmed, but particularly gorgeous that night. The way her pink and blue undertones glowed under the low sunlight.

She had to say something. Anything. 

“You’re gonna do wonderful, babe,” Karlach whispered, giving Alfira a thumbs up as she scurried down the long platform and up to the crowd. A sigh as Karlach critiqued her less than smooth demeanor.

Thomasin’s arm extended to present Alfira in all her glory. “Speaking of the delight of your travels. Please give a round of applause and your utmost attention to Alfira on the lute!” The two musicians exchanged a supportive hug before Thomsin bowed again and walked back to her companions.

As she approached the canopy, she caught the sight of Aradin and Remira. The curly-haired man had returned, hand just barely on the railing before he made eye contact with her. A face plastered with smug satisfaction and obvious inebriation on his breath. 

Remira glared at the drunken human coming up the stairs. Not only did she recognize his anger simmering, but she was pinned to the support beam by the shot of arrows through her clothes. Two, again, to be exact. Comeuppance for the fact her silly little hostile coin toss resulted in Astarion’s swift archery. Pettiness resolved by the act of more pettiness. All she could do was await for Aradin to reign terror in her honor and help her down. 

“Did you need something, darling?” Thomasin said softly, setting her violin aside and kneeling before him from her elevated height. Her fingers fiddled with the buckles on her boots, unlatching the bells from them. She felt her performative pleasantries loosening as she remembered her first day at the grove. How punching him square in the face may have not been the answer, but her tolerance for masculine pride had been long ground into oblivion. Now, she was in her brightest pigments. He was no match for her when rouge made her stronger, taller, more powerful. 

Aradin flicked a coin her direction, amused by his own taunting as it bounced off her shoulder. His eyes wandered long after though, taking a step closer, blatant and unrepentant in her objectification.

“Was gonna call you a bitch for making all this commotion by our awning, but I gotta admit you clean up pretty nicely, don’t ya?” he responded. 

The comment made her grin. Solidified her reasoning for retaliation. Her lashes fluttered in the name of feminine mystique before glancing over at Alfira at the opposite end, entertaining her peers. Dancing lights bloomed around the tiefling as she reveled in the attention. Belting out a song that would make her teacher proud. As long as the tiefling was well into her song, Aradin would be dealt with. 

To the backdrop of Alfira’s lute and nervous melody, Thomasin took a step forward, pressing the base of her heeled boot against Aradin’s chest, its thick stem situated right atop his sternum. Her shoulders pushed forward, chest enclosing in on her bent knee, and kicked him back with the force of her shifted weight.

His build hit the ground with a solid heft, blood pressure rising at such disrespect. Perched upon his elbows, back still laying in dirt below, Thomasin grabbed the bottom of her dress and walked down the steps. The human’s face contorted into a myriad of emotions. Disdain, confusion, and then reluctant enticement as she walked over him and settled in a straddle atop his lap. 

Astarion’s eyebrows rose at her sudden dominance, noticing Wyll and Karlach’s similar disbelief. They merely waited with excitement and bated breath for this was the last place they expected a bar fight. So, the elf did the honors and grabbed her instrument for protection, stepping back with no comment or snark to be heard. He respected the arts now, after all.

Thomasin grabbed Aradin’s wrists and pinned them above his head, noting the lack of struggle on his part. It was a relief. Reassurance she had the upper hand. A man that could overpower her if he wished, playing feeble in hopes of gifted flesh. She proceeded to tighten her posture, back curved and body shifting into fluidity. 

Practical, utilitarian sexuality. It was all performative in nature, far from her actual desires, but the skill set promised survival. Retribution was never a natural instinct of hers. At least not one from birth or even youth. The seed was planted over decades of unpredictable company, learning from the adults around her. Their feuds, loyalty, murder, and pacts. It bore its roots deep, granting her access to her own sadism. Sleeping, unkempt, until it thrashed out in the name of untrustworthy bandits or unsavory temporary lovers.

“Aha- not one for being on the bottom, but I’ll take one for the team,” he tittered.

Thomasin giggled back at him like she’d done to countless others before. 

Methodical and sensual, she crept closer and closer to his ear. The half-elf braced herself for whatever his reaction may be, screwed her eyes tight, and let forth a faint blue glow from her lips. Dissonant whispers. The language of her ancestors spliced with nightmares of catastrophic proportions. Threats to the nervous system, disjointed phrases, and speech so rapid, it ran his blood cold.

 They all clashed into one another, almost as painful to his biology as it was incoherent. The glowing wispy smoke crawled into Aradin’s ear canals and thrashed through every microscopic crevice of his brain. Only a few seconds, but enough to make up for the multiple stressors he inflicted on others outside the grove.

He gasped for air as his body took its time regulating itself, crawling backwards in desperation. Trying to figure out how Thomasin had shifted back from an extraplanar terror back to her unintimidating figure. Chest heaving for any semblance of comprehension.

The half-elf leaned back, palms flat and raised to allow him to scurry away. She didn’t prolong his horror. She had no need to. But, she couldn’t deny her heart raced with self-satisfaction. No matter how many times she found the drive to fight back, she knew it had a chance of ending with her demise. Of course, the thought frightened her, but she couldn’t dwell. She knelt where he left her, brushing off stains from their grassy tussle and watching his dilated pupils mellow.

“First the tieflings and now the drow. No keeping the fucking peace in these parts,” he spat at her, scrambling to his feet to scuttle off.

“Don’t be scared everyone is going to find out you’re nothing more than an impetuous noisy cuck.” she retorted, scorn riddled on her face.

Thomasin turned her head to notice the three watching her in light awe. She tried to catch her breath from the intense exertion of both her emotions and the Weave, reminding her body that she was safe. An easy assertion for a titter soon left her lips. She noticed Astartion’s foot propped up beside Remira, giving her mercy with a yank of the arrows to allow her to fall to the floor. No much grace offered, but the human wanted no pity after being strung up in humiliation.

The group watched as the two humans darted away, bickering at one another for their lack of judgment, and then focused back to Thomasin.

“Cheers to that, I suppose,” Wyll said, raising his bottle and taking a swig, then handing it off to Karlach.

“Cheers. Not going to sugarcoat it, that was kinda hot, mate.” The tiefling grabbed the gin, colored by her love of rough-housing and unfortunate touch-starvation. Her word was an objective, undebatable fact.

Astarion felt himself laugh. Unhindered and genuine for the first time that evening. 

“Praise the Dark Maiden,” he proclaimed.

[writingmaidenwarrior]

Just the usual morning

I think @flashfictionfridayofficial prompts are helping me to get a WIP lol Last week's piece lived in my head rent-free and expanded over the last days, and today's prompt gave me a good excuse to write some of the new characters. This will be some cozy slice of life fantasy thing in the long run.

Reki curled up with a small poof of fire under the pot of water for tea while Amon rummaged around to find his googles. Maud stood with her hip rested at the table and watched him run around like a cow in a thunderstorm, while the scent of the herbs and scrambled eggs slowly filled the room. It was a thankful, slow morning, and she knew to cherish them as they came. She knew visitors were coming before the knock on the door came because Reki lifted her little dragon head curiously. With the knock on the door, the faint sound of metal sounded off, giving away it was the royal guard. There were only two reasons for them to appear on her door step that early: Either one of them was hung over and didn’t want to go to their guard’s healer or Meir. The uproar outside said it was Meir. The moment she opened the door, said former royal guard hung between two of his old comrades, looking like he had a run in with Death himself, but still with this aloof smirk on his face that lit up his amber eyes under this unruly mop of black hair. They had him in a secure grip by his shoulders to make sure he wouldn’t run away, like he ever would. “Good morning, Maud, I am sorry to disturb you but…” She waved them off and motioned inside. “You know the way, guys.” They dragged him inside and threw Meir on a free chair. Reki immediately scurried over and seated herself on Meir’s lap. Love-sick little dragon. The higher-ranked guard nodded to the other one he could leave and waited for him to be out of the door before he addressed Meir. “I can’t keep doing this.” “I never asked you to, Kellen.” “We are friends, moron. That’s the least thing I can do.” “You mean beside throwing me in a cell?”, Meir asked while scratching Reki’s ear. Kellen sighed defeated. “Make sure he will stay away from a pub for one night”, he said towards Maud before he left off. She already had the small jar with salve in her hands and put it in front of him. “You know he tries to help”, Maud reminded Meir softly, and left for the last preparation of the day. “I know”, he sighed, just as defeated as Kellen moments ago, “But he has to understand it would be better for him to stop caring.” “Says the man who cares too much”, Amon teased, finally with his googles in his hands. A boyish smile was all Meir could muster as a reply as he opened the jar and started to apply the salve to his bruises. “Where is Iskra? She isn’t here yet?” Meir’s eyes scanned the room for the young tiefling bard. “Probably overdoing it again.” Amon placed the bread and eggs in front of Meir with a look that left no discussion as to eat. Maud came back with the blue vest that carried the tree emblem, identifying her as an official healer. “Another one I need to keep out of the pubs for tonight.” The door swung open and a heartily yawing Iskra stumbled inside. She barely managed to put her lute aside before she fell into the last free chair. “You are barely awake, sweets”, Meir softly admonished and grabbed the pot of tea to pour her a mug, adding extra honey for her voice. Maud and Amon shared an amused look. Ever since Iskra came to the city and became part of their unusual horde, Meir became her protector. Only he knew what he saw in her. “Thanks. The patrons just left.” “You need to take better care of yourself, sweet love”, Amon advised, “There is no use in grinding yourself to dust. Take a day off.” Iskra’s snoring was the only sound, her head in her hands.” “Go to work, I’ll carry her to her room”, Meir snickered at the sight, “And I promise no gambling tonight. It will be enough of a game of luck to keep her entertained.” “True words. A bag of fire ants is easier to handle than her when bored”, Maud laughed and patted his shoulder, “And get a bath, you stink.” Laughter erupted at Maud’s comment.

[saphirered]

Would a sweet and spicy number 11 from the autumn prompt list be possible for Molly x reader? You write my absolute favorite Molly fics!

Okay I'm really going there with these autumn requests. I think this is the most risqué piece I've written? I hope it's any good. All the sweetness , all the spice. Hope you enjoy this one as much as the others and thanks for requesting! 😘

A busy day in town leads to a crowded circus tent. Good for business. Good for the show. What a marvellous show it was. The people hung onto every word, every action. They clapped and cheered and cried for the stories told through marvellous performances. All in all that’s a good night. People stay around after the show. They partake in all sorts of games, and more individually targeted entertainment. Hours on end Molly stuck to reading cards. The sun had long since set. The moon peaked from between the clouds as the last customer leaves his tent. He goes through his usual routines, stacks his cards in the usual way, tidies up a bit to assure sleeping arrangements are ready and suitable for just that because once the patrons are gone, the real party begins and he does not want to crawl into his tent drunk, high and exhausted without a relatively comfortable surface to crash down upon. 

Molly knows you’re still out and about. You haven’t come back yet after all and so he decides to do you a solid, get your things sorted too. The intention is to join the others in the after party, and if you’re to drag him back to this tent come sunrise, it’s the least he can do. He just hopes you managed to stash away that good bottle you swindled some royal ass out of. Tonight seems like one of those nights and there’s no use in saving for a special occasion when you live every day like it’s your last. Good booze is good booze so best drink it while you can. That’s a mentality you both share. You live today, so why should you worry about tomorrow, let alone a year or several from now. No grand plans for the future. No idea where you’ll be. And that’s alright because for Mollymauk, all concerns, all doubts and question he may ever experience falls away when he looks into your eyes, when he sees you smile and laugh. He knows he’ll be alright as long as he is at your side. No matter what, you’ll take care of each other. That’s an assurance for as long as you both live; you’ll remain together. 

It’s no wonder that eventually, you stumble your way back to your tent, as ostentatiously decorated as is to be expected for the workspace of a fortune reader. The sight you are greeted with brings a smile to your face; the tiefling adjusts some pillows and gracelessly places the additional blanket on top of the makeshift bed which is just a collection of furs, pillows and blankets at the end of the day but it’s comfortable and cozy. You watch him inspect his work from the entrance. A small wave of your fingers makes the candles on the low table flicker, reflecting the light in the crystal ball on the pedestal and all the shiny and shimmery bits and baubles around. Mollymauk straightens and turns as he crosses his arms. You take some steps further into the tent until you’re face to face. You purse your lips and without a second of a doubt he graces you with his, in a tender peck. 

“You’ll miss the party if you’re going t stay in here all night.” You say as you shift around him, walking out of his grasp when he places a hand on your waist. You have another goal in mind as you reach between your belongings, finding what you’re looking for; that very bottle of booze. You hold it at the neck as you make for the exit. Molly just watches you go, especially when you move past him again. You’re still in your performance outfit and even though you look gorgeous in it, it doesn’t seem very suitable for the crisp autumn weather. 

“And you’ll be freezing if you go out like that.” He leans down and grabs your cloak from where you had previously discarded it, and holds it out to you but you make no move to take it. 

“We both know you are far more bothered by the cold than I am, but if you insist, I guess we’ll just have to keep each other warm.” You wink and that invokes a devilish grin on his part. You stretch out your hand. He drops the cloak and takes your hand instead. And so together you join the party. 

The performers are dancing and singing to their heart’s content. They share drinks and food and talk, telling extravagant stories, of their own or simply the ones they heard in passing. There is laughter and kinship. You are exactly where you ought to be. Molly feels exactly where he’s ought to be. Here you sit when the night quiets down. When legs are tired and voices hoarse. When drink has flowed and the first ones have succumbed to the effects of whatever pleasures they’ve engaged in for the night, to be awoken again come morning. The two of you had simply shared the bottle but taken it slow, together not even half way through over the course of the past hours. You’re seated between Molly’s outstretched legs, your back against his chest and slouched, held in place by his arm around your waist so you would not slide down further. Every so often he would place a kiss at your crown, and squeeze your waist just a little tighter. When you would speak and would be particularly teasing or taunting, he would nip at your neck or ear, and whisper a reply only for you to hear. Sometimes he would watch your cheeks flush but when he would get particularly provocative, and you would turn your head, to look up at him with bedroom eyes, daring him to make good on his insinuations, it took every ounce of restraint to not do so right then and there around the crackling fire, for anyone to see. 

The others decided to play a game of ‘truth and drink’ but you weren’t feeling up to it. Molly did participate, taking a swig from the bottle you offered, even though your mind seemed to have drifted elsewhere, not paying particular attention. You simply leaned your head against his chest, bent your legs at the knee and held onto the hand on your waist. Still the effortless smile on your lips was present, and you would respond to his affections, you were in your head and so after the second round, Molly decided a change of scene was in order. 

“Let’s go.” It’s more of a question, suggestion than anything else but you nod and that’s enough of a reply for him. Both arms around your waist he raises you to your feet as he does himself until you mould yourself into his side. The others give you looks and you’re no stranger to their teasing comments so you simply laugh them off, hand the remaining bottle to them and leave behind the warmth of the crackling fire, and the company that came with it. 

You’re reminded of the cold autumn air and having the tiefling at your side is no punishment. Perhaps you should have brought that cloak after all. Perhaps not. The tent is within sight but your eyes are drawn to the passage that leads into the woods at the edge of the camp. You’re not quite ready for sleep yet and some time alone together outside of the colourful confines of a circus camp doesn’t sound like the worst of choices so you redirect towards the path even though you known not where it leads. Molly gives you a look but follows along when you turn off towards the trees. He’s not one to refuse you anything, unless he’s teasing or you’ll have to earn it and to be honest, he could do with a change of scene too. Some peace and quiet away from the chaos, away from life doesn’t sound so bad to him. 

He’s followed this path before, when he grew curious. He knows it leads to a clearing not too far away from camp, but just far enough removed. He’d wanted to show it to you during the day but now is as good a time as any. Your response to the soft green grass and clusters of wildflowers is still one of bewilderment. The moon shines down upon the field basking it in silver light. You take breath and with it whatever remaining tensions from society you may have held disappeared. You remove yourself from his embrace, but instead take both his hands in yours and pull him along, to a spot of your choosing among the wild grass and splashes of vibrant colours. Satisfied with this spot Molly plops himself down, pulling on your hands to join him and you do. This time you lower yourself in his lap, your legs on either side of him, and lazily you drape your arms across his shoulders. His hands find your hips and you feel his fingers draw circles through the thin fabric of your performing costume. You shudder. 

“I told you you should have brought your cloak.” Molly simply states teasingly as you play with the hairs at the back of his neck. 

“And I told you to keep me warm instead.” The look in your eyes has his stomach do flips. It is both teasing and daring him to make a move. His fingers continue tracing circles but instead of just your hips they dare venture to the round of your behind and along your thighs. 

“Is that why you wanted to wander? To find a good spot for a fuck under in the moonlight? Could have told me so. I’d have shown you this place much sooner.” You adjust yourself on his lap, the friction enough to be bothersome but too light to be satisfying. Still it extracts some low sound from his throat and you grin victoriously.

“And give you a head start?” You chuckle. “No, no. I don’t want to make this easy on you.” 

“Oh so we’re playing games to see who gets to be in charge?” Molly squeezes your behind, making you lean closer into him as you catch yourself. You lean your forehead against his, letting your fingers run through his hair, along his ears, around the base of his horns. Such a delicious sound you extract from him, stuck in between a moan and groan. You press your lips against his, kissing him slowly and every time he goes to deepen the kiss, you hold back, or pull away entirely. When you feel his tongue press against yours, looking for but a moment of control you don’t give it to him. It’s not a fight, just the gentle testing of waters. How far are you willing to let him push you, and how far will you push him. It’s a mutual understanding, a game if anything. And one you both take satisfaction in. 

You gently urge the tiefling back, until he’s flat on the ground and your lips veer from his in favour of his neck, as your hand continue to play with his hair, pulling at the strands every time you feel his hands wander a bit further than you’ll let him. You’re moving this slowly, and excruciatingly so, teasing him and testing his restraint but if Molly knows anything it’s that the reward certainly will be worth his patience. And if anything, he’ll make sure all grounds are equal come next time. Your fingers trail along the neckline of his shirt, dipping under and teasing his skin and sending shivers down his spine. 

“Who’s shivering now?” He feels your lips curve into a smile, your breath against his skin when you speak those words. 

“I suppose you’ll have to keep me warm then. Though, if you wanted my submission, you needed only ask, darling. Anything for you.” He breathes as you grind your hips into his and your lips leave his body. You sit up, placing your hands on his chest, tracing patterns. 

“I wanted to see how long you’d hold on before I’d have you a begging mess.” Those words spur a fire in his stomach and he dares sit up, letting his fingers trace over your thigh and to your apex. You do nothing to stop him and invite the gesture, looking at him through hooded eyes, daring him to keep going. 

“And what do you want now?” You gasp at his ministration when his touch causes lighting to course through your veins. Perhaps it wasn’t his self-restraint that was faltering. Perhaps it was yours. You lean in to kiss him, and he happily obliges. One hand between your still clothed bodies, the other wanders over your chest, and leaves your short of breath so you have to pull back and breathe before you answer his question. You cup his face, as you lean more into his touch of your oversensitive parts burning for attention, burning for more. 

“Now, I want you to fuck me senseless, right here, right now.” The casual but confident bordering arrogant stare he gives you when you moan, is answer enough. Your lips go to find yours but he stops you. You’re at his mercy now. You asked and he will deliver. He watches your cheeks flush with desire, your eyes fill with love and passion. The sounds you make are music to his ears and even when your breathing labours to little gasps and pleas for satisfaction, he happily grants them to you, and more. 

As time passes, and another burst of pleasure is extracted from you you find yourself relieved of your clothes, head among the flowers looking up at the moon, when you cry out, as the tongue tracing between your thighs has no intention of stopping. You feel lips curl up against your skin and finally they offer you mercy, finally they trail up, in sloppy kisses until the view of the night’s sky is changed for the ruby eyes of the tiefling who looks at you with love and satisfaction but you haven’t had enough because as much as Molly likes pleasuring you, there’s gratification in the pleasure of a partner and you take control once more, pulling cat his clothes, which he is happy to remove for you, so slowly until you’re the one to do it for him. Your patience has run out and it shows. With a laugh you push him off you, to your side until you’re on top once more. Whatever laughter remained of his is cut short by a moan of pleasure and the purring of your name as you make good on the promise of mutual satisfaction. Tonight’s a good night.

[railroad-migraine]

hi!! Can I request a mollymauk x reader where Molly is trying to keep his cool in front of the group but as soon as they divide up into roommates at a tavern he sort of breaks down because he’s been really stressed or worried and the reader manages to calm him down and get him to lie down and runs their fingers through his hair? Thank you!!!

I miss circus man 💜 Thank you for my first Molly request x

Requests are open!

~ Poet

Molly

You all had been on the road and slumming it in forests and swamps for what felt like years at this point. It seemed that luck wasn't on the Nein's side at the time, because you were only a day away from civilisation when you were swarmed with even more enemies and pests.

Exhausted and covered in the grime of travelling and the gore of monsters, the lilac tiefling still managed to keep a smile on his face throughout it all. It unnerved you in some way, but you decided to wait until you were safe and sound in the comfort of the nearby city to confront him about it.

His shoulders were tense as the gates opened, and without a word slipped his hand into yours and let you guide him along the paths, trailing a little behind the rest of the party. We all know that Molly resembles a peacock in many ways, and normally would bask in the stares and whispers of onlookers - but not today. He lifted his hood to cover his horns and curls, leaned into your side and shied away from the attention.

Drinks were shared and gold split from a quest completed earlier in the week, but as the sun began to set, Molly was on the edge of his seat with his pint clasped tightly in his hands. Body shivering (or was he trembling?), you draped your cloak over him and gestured for Fjord to take care of the rooms for the night.

Without a word, you led your favourite Bloodhunter into one of the cozy guestrooms of the inn, setting him down on the edge of the bed as he seemed to crumble before you. Away from the gazes of the rest of his friends, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. He'd let his doubts and worries consume him for so long - it was time to just live in the present.

You lit the lantern by the window and dipped a facecloth in a small basin of water, and gently pressed it to Molly's face, soothing him and washing away any remnants of the weeks of traveling he'd put up with. You gave him space to breathe, and allowed him to talk in his own time.

His soul was now bared to you, as were his thoughts. How he cared for you. How he worried that you or the others would fall in battle. That his past life would catch up with him and declare he lives a lie, as someone who is not his true self. How helpless he can feel sometimes.

Malleable, Molly didn't resist nor comment when you nudged him to lie down on the bed, but he did sigh in relief with you held him close. Face tucked into your neck, you threaded one hand through his hair, the other cradling him against your body.

That night, he slept well for the first time in months.

[monsterywriting]

Thenerius - pt 2

word count: 5,675

male tiefling x female reader

Read Part 1 here

AN: whelp i guess this is getting (hopefully just) a third part... good luck to everyone else who’s going through finals week and don’t procrastinate your final projects/tests like i am! literally have a final today to study for and take after my 8 am and a portfolio due friday i haven’t started on lol

You were getting one last bucket-full of water for a much-needed bath from the pump around the back of the barn, too far to hear when the thundering sound of hooves on the dirt path approach the cottage. You also miss the shout of greeting and the sound of voices entering the cottage.

The sun was finally dipping below the horizon on a long day of playing catch-up around the homestead, and your only plans for the evening were to wash up and make dinner before passing out. So, when you finally reentered through the back door soaked in sweat and worn work clothes only to see your mother sitting at the small wooden table with none other than Thenerius, you were understandably shocked.

He was obviously here to kill you, getting revenge for how you humiliated him and refused his advances when he wanted you to accept them the most. You had been brave in that moment, brushed aside the fact that he was a pirate and more likely than not a killer, and now you would be paying the price.

When the tiefling saw you frozen at the doorway, his already bright demeanor seemed to reach the levels of the surface of the sun, blinding then burning when he stood up to greet you enthusiastically. You almost wish he was here to kill you, that fate infinitely better than whatever he actually had planned instead.

Pointedly ignoring him, you addressed your mother only, asking if she took her medicine yet.

“Your friend from work was keeping me company,” your mother smiled, though it was clear that she was drained from the encounter, “He brought your weekly payment from Aedan.”

Your head snapped over to Thenerius, the tiefling having the nerve to grin and hold up a pouch of coins. You were distracted, however, when your mother let out a soft cough she tried in vain to hold back. She broke out into a coughing fit, starting small and growing until they wracked her body.

Your concern grew, helping her to the bedroom and quickly getting some cough syrup into her. Once she was settled, you went back into the main room to deal with the purple menace.

He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room once you returned, the pouch sitting on the table. You stalk over and grab the pouch, shoving it into the tiefling’s chest.

“You need to leave,” you hiss, beginning to usher Thenerius towards the door.

“Wait!” The bastard had the nerve to dig his heels in, refusing to move until you give up on forcing him.

“What?” You spat, glaring up at him. Perhaps you would have found it amusing, how he had to duck his head to keep his horns from scraping the ceiling, a grizzled pirate trying to make himself fit inside the cozy cottage. No, you definitely would have found it hilarious, if said pirate wasn’t in your cottage unannounced, the location of which you never divulged during working hours, apparently trying to win your affections after your admittedly callous rejection.

“I-” Thenerius hesitated, any confidence he had that carried him all the way to your home dissipating when you weren’t as responsive to his charms as he’d come to expect from you, “I wanted to apologize. You were right, about the proposal. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You blinked, having assumed you’d be given another unwanted love confession. You’re not sure what to make of the admission, though you’re certain it wasn’t a trick, as he seemed genuinely remorseful.

“What part, that we’ve only known each other for three weeks or that it was because you were so lonely and any girl who wagged her tail at you would have had you falling for her?” You’re internally grimacing as soon as the words are out, unable to believe how cold you sound even to yourself. You didn’t want to goad him to anger if he was just here to apologize.

“If my memory serves correctly, I believe the exact phrase you used was ‘bat their eyelashes’ at me.” The attempt at humor didn’t quite reach Thenerius’ eyes, but you still allowed yourself to deflate at the opportunity of a reprieve, “but that it came too soon. I had done it thinking of all the time that had passed since I met you, the time I spent halfway across the world and all I could think about was returning to you. Your smile alone made the entire six month journey worth it, but you gave me so much more in that time - not your love. I know that, now, but… your time, and affection. Once you said  that - that we’d only been in each other’s presence for three weeks - I realized, perhaps I was rushed in my assessment of who you were. I filled the gaps of who I wanted you to be in my head.”

By the end of his faltering speech, you had shut your eyes, screwing them tightly shut in order to avoid having to look into Thenerius’ eyes, the raw emotion that swelled behind them that threatened to consume you with it. You refused to allow yourself to be caught up in the moment, to let yourself fall any deeper in than you already were entrenched from his flowery words. Just words, you told yourself.

“Is that all you needed to say?” You clear your throat, opening your eyes and looking anywhere but him, your resolve thinning with the mere awareness of his gaze upon you, feeling yourself being worn down.

Perhaps ‘worn down’ wasn’t the right verbiage, though it very much felt like it. Dragging you out into the light? Exposing you to be scrutinized, or to be known? What is the difference, if any? Either way, you felt as though Thenerius could read every passing thought darting around your head at lightening speed, projecting loud and clear your true desires no matter what you could say to the contrary.

“No, I want to know you. My feelings haven’t changed since that night, but I want you to feel the same.”

You let out a deep breath you weren’t aware you were holding. The short sentence is so simple, clear in meaning and intent. It’s… infuriating. A wave of something flowed over you in that moment, a realization like a bucket of ice water dousing you. You were shaking, your realized, but not with cold.

“You want to change my mind?” You whisper, cursing yourself for your inability to do much more in this conversation than to parrot his words, “You come to my home - unprompted, in fact, considering our last conversation, entirely unnecessarily - to what, exactly? Prove that I’m some prize to be won over by you? Come see how sorry my life is, see my sick mother and how I work my ass off at the tavern and here and think I’ll jump into your arms with some words? You must know that I wouldn’t go with you. Nor would I sit here waiting for you to return from the sea, hoping you’ll return for a few weeks every year and grace me with your presence and gold.”

You pause for air, realizing with horror that you were crying of all things. You quickly run your hands over your cheeks, glaring at Thenerius in a silent challenge, waiting for him to turn tail and run, “Now go.”

In yet another turn of seemingly endless events that should no longer have surprised you with how consistently they’ve been happening, Thenerius surprised you yet again.

“Well, this is awkward. I may have sent my men back south with my ship. I’m in need of room and board,” Thenerius said, and for the life of you, no matter how closely you examined his expression, you could not figure out what the hell he was thinking.

“Go to The Deep, then. I happen to be of the inside knowledge that there’s plenty of vacancies this time of year,” you said, brushing past the tiefling on your way back to your forgotten bucket of water, ready to escape this suffocating atmosphere.

“I don’t have enough gold for the length of time I’m planning on staying,” he replied.

“This is sounding more and more like your crew left you here and took the ship for themselves,” you deadpan, hefting the bucket up and carefully carrying it back towards the bathroom.

“My crew wouldn’t do that,” Thenerius’ voice suddenly turned serious, “I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t have come here if they had.”

“Well, unlucky me, then,” you grumble, “You’re still not staying here.”

“You’re very sarcastic,” Thenerius noted, and you prayed for his sake that the comment wasn’t a part of his vow to get to know the real you.

You disappear down the hall and into the bathroom, dumping the bucket into the basin. To your great relief, the water was still steaming.

“Wait, your pay!” Thenerius walked in behind you. You could tell the exact moment he realized where he was, quickly averting his eyes from you.

You roll your eyes. As if you would undress for any reason while he was still in the house.

“Please, you may have lied to my mother, but I’m no fool,” you snort, ignoring the outstretched hand to check the water, “Mr. Thistle would never trust a pirate with money, much less tell you where I live.”

“I’ll- come back later,” he says, turning to get out the room.

“No, you’re leaving,” you follow after him.

“Dear, it’s much to too late for him to ride, he can sleep here.” You and Thenerius both jump at your mother’s sudden appearance, both of you having forgotten that you were arguing right in front of the bedroom.

“But-” your protest is cut short when she only shakes her head, and you hope to Tova that she only caught the tail-end of your conversation with Thenerius.

“If you must, you can ride with him tomorrow to ask Aedan to give him a discount. Tomorrow.”

You run your hands down your face, glancing out the nearest window to confirm it was in fact dark out.

“Fine,” you sigh, pointing at Thenerius, “but you’re gone first thing tomorrow!”

Thenerius at least has the decency to not look too excited under your scrutiny, thanking your mother quietly.

“Go wash up, mom, it’s ready,” you inform her, moving away from the doorway so she can slip past.

You consider telling Thenerius to go last in the bath, but you’re covered in dried mud and animal shit and you weren’t going to have his tavern smell stinking up the sofa.

“You’re next,” you tell him, finally noticing how cramped the hallway was with two people in it. You push past him to to sit at the table again.

Thenerius followed you, keen to the fact that he was on thin ice and remained wisely silent as you waited for your mother to finish in the bathroom.

When she exited, dressed in her nightgown and hair wrapped tightly in a towel, you ushered Thenerius in, barely giving him time to grab his bag on the floor next to the chair he’d been sitting in when you first walked in. You enter close behind, going around him to grab a towel for him to use and quickly leaving him to his privacy, letting out the longest exhale of your life once the door shut behind you. You go back to the table and sit, trying not to think about the naked tiefling in your bathtub as you started the fire under the stove.

As soon as Thenerius stepped out of the bathroom with his bag in hand, you rush in, not making eye contact before you slam the door shut behind yourself.

The water is still somewhat lukewarm, and clear enough besides the murkiness from the soap. You think about literally anything else besides the fact that Thenerius had been in the same water just minutes before you, using the bowl to run water over your hair and quickly lathering the bar soap with a clean washcloth. The sooner you get out the better, you think.

It isn’t until you’re out of the bath and looking at your nightclothes that you realize you’re going to have to wear them in front of him, unless you change into clean day clothes just to change into them in the privacy of your bedroom later.

It’s just tonight, you tell yourself, he’ll be gone tomorrow. And why would you have to modify your routine for him? He’s the one intruding. It won’t be a big deal so lang as you act like it isn’t. It’s not like you’ll be prancing around naked. They’re your winter ones, the material made much thicker than the normal cotton.

Properly talked up,  you walk out, pretending not to notice how Thenerius stops mid-sentence in a conversation with your mother to stare at you like the moon herself descended in front of him.

“I’ll have dinner ready soon.” You mumble, not stopping until you were safely in the kitchen.

You take the last eight eggs and crack them onto the iron skillet sitting on the stove, immediately sizzling before you take a flat spoon to scramble and scrape them into three plates. You then add leftover cuts from a chicken you culled from your flock a week ago to the skillet to cook, already seasoned. Then, you took the stack of unleavened bread your mother made during the day while you worked before putting them on another flat slab of iron on the stove to warm them.

Once you had a sizable enough stack for three people, you wrapped the resulting unleavened bread in cloth and balanced the three plates in your arms and carried everything back into the dining area.

You had heard Thenerius and your mother sharing a hushed conversation through the walls, but weren’t able to make out any specifics. However, when thy both immediate hushed up once you entered, it was clear who the topic of their chat was.

You set down the plates, frowning once you realized you’d have to sit next to Thenerius, as it was only a four-person table and they were already sitting at opposite ends. Once you were seated, however, the dinner conversation was thankfully limited as everyone focused on their plates.

Then it was time for your mother to take her tablets, you watching carefully as she downed them with a cup of water.  She retired to the bedroom shortly after, and though she tried to make it seem as though she was solely doing it to give you and Thenerius some privacy, it was obvious she was drained of all energy as she slowly shuffled down the hall.

You ignore Thenerius and grab the plates, taking them to the kitchen to dump the scraps in the bin and be washed. Thenerius’ plate is practically clean already, but your mother’s is concerningly hardly touched at all.

Dunking the emptied plates plates in the half-full sink, you scrub vigorously. Just as you are about to place the first one on the rack to dry, however, Thenerius takes it from you and dries it with the dishtowel.

You decide to say nothing, simply handing him the next plate once he placed the previous one on the rack.

You bring Thenerius a stack of blankets, dumping them on the cot next to where he sat for him to assemble himself.

Just as you turn to leave, a hand falls on your shoulder and you immediately stiffen. It quickly retracts.

“I don’t need this many,” Thenerius says quietly, looking dejected when you look over your shoulder at him as he tries to hand you a few of the blankets back.

“You do,” you inform him, “we’re at a higher altitude. It’s going to get colder.”

Thenerius places them back on the pile, his mouth opening and then closing. You wait. Finally, he clears his throat, “Thank you, for dinner. And for letting me stay here.”

“Thank my mom,” you reply, “and don’t get used to it. I was serious when I said you’re gone tomorrow.”

After a moment, Thenerius smiles, small but hopeful, “not first thing?”

“You have to pay for the meal and bed,” you huff, turning back around and going into the bedroom, careful to be quiet as you cross the cottage so as to not wake your mother.

You make sure the door is shut securely, and for good measure, you stick a piece of paper in the gap between the top of the door and the frame. You don’t think you’ll be able to sleep with the knowledge of a stranger sleeping in the next room, but almost as soon as your head hits the pillow, you’re waking to the sound of the rooster crowing the next morning.

You sit up abruptly, your mother still asleep next to you. You swing your legs over the edge of the mattress and scurry to the door, the paper still in the same spot you placed it when you take it back down.

You open the door quietly and slip out, glancing around the corner at the end of the hall to the cot. On the side closest to you, the stack of blankets are folded neatly, Thenerius’ pack leaning against one of the cot’s legs.

Your eyebrows furrow, going back to make sure the bathroom was empty before checking the kitchen, seeing neither hide nor hair of Thenerius in the cottage. Before you go search outside for the tiefling, you decide to at least get the stove going to warm up the cottage. As you stand in the kitchen looking for the box of matches, you realize you can hear the familiar, rhythmic thumping of an axe hitting wood.

Glancing out the window, you see Thenerius at an old stump splitting firewood a few yards away, his coat off and hanging from a tree branch. He stops to brush his hair back, careful to avoid his horns, before continuing.

Against your better judgement, you study him from the safety of the indoors. The last time you’d seen him, it had been shaved close. He apparently grew it out since then, dark waves forming curls around the nape of his neck that you’d noticed when he first arrived at the deep and now was sticking to his scalp with sweat.

As the sun broke over the horizon and illuminated the clearing, you could see how Thenerius’ back muscles flexed under the fabric of his shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his thick forearms. Obviously, as a pirate, he would have to be at least somewhat fit. Hell, you’d felt them whenever he would insist you touch his arm while he flexed or would pull you into his lap.

But none of that quite prepared you for how he would look without the barrier of his coat, how he likely looked working out at sea.

You force your eyes back to the task at hand before they can venture downwards, finally finding the matches and lighting one with shaking hands before lighting the scrap of paper and tossing both into the stove.

Shutting the door and opening the grate, you return to the bedroom to change into your day clothes.

You immediately regret stepping outside as soon as you do, the light of the sun doing little to warm the icy air rushing inside your lungs and burning against your skin. Still, you are determined as you march around the cottage to where Thenerius continues to split the pieces of wood, though the pile of wood that took you months to chop down and cut into sections was now nearly gone and a neat stack of his split pieces had taken its place.

“I noticed you were running low,” Thenerius calls out as you approach, smiling as your eyes met his.

“It’s fine,” you huff, Thenerius’ smile brightening as though you just extended him the best praise of his life.

Annoyance bubbled in your stomach. Did he think he was cute? Acting like a love-struck teen and not a Tova-damned pirate? Or did he think you would be tricked by the illusion he put forth if he played pretend enough?

“Hurry up and finish that. There’s more work to do before breakfast,” you mutter, turning towards the barn as he would no doubt be crestfallen as you continue, “Then we’re going to The Deep.”

You go back to the kitchen briefly to grab the scrap bin before going to the chicken coop, making sure to latch the screen door behind you. You drop the scraps at the center of the enclosure, the chickens running over each other in a clucking mass of feathers and beating wings in their attempt to get at the food first. A few even manage to steal a few morsels before the more dominant ones chase them off.

Once the nesting area was empty, you went over and started collecting eggs in the same bin. Only six today, and you cooked the last of them in storage for dinner the night before. You worry your bottom lip, looking at the flock.

There were five hens and the rooster. You had been planning to let them breed in the spring to bring their numbers up, but that was still a long ways away.

You glanced over at the goats, currently in the pasture with the horses. You had two bucks and eight does. You had sold off the kids of four of the does, leaving you with five kids, three males. There was still the cured meat you got from the storehouse the other day, so you wouldn’t have to do anything drastic for food just yet, but it wouldn’t last soon at your current rate.

You had been planning on buying rabbits to raise for meat and fur, but you hadn’t been able to find the time to finish the winter hutch that was still partially completed in the barn.

Then you thought about everything else you had to do soon - castrate the three kids, patch the barn roof, harvest the second pasture’s grass and dry it for hay… and it seemed like every day you found something that needed repairing or replacing.

But… if Thenerius does plan on staying, you just may be able to keep everything afloat for the time being. With him there to collect the eggs and milk the goats while you worked shifts at the deep, then- appalled that you were planning ahead as though you would allow Thenerius to stay for months on end with you. No, you survived the last winter without any help, you could do the same this year.

Letting out a sigh, you dropped the eggs off in the kitchen before going back to the barn to wrap the horses snugly in blankets and let them out to graze in the pasture connected to the barn.

By that point, Thenerius comes to find you. You were admittedly surprised he’d finished that quickly, soaked with sweat and breathing heavily as he told you he was finished. You had even gone to check, not quite able to believe he’d gone through the entire wood pile that fast, or at least correctly. He looked proud when you peer up at him, but you refuse to praise him, directing him instead to the pasture while you grab two pails from the barn.

After showing him how to milk the does, you quickly fill about two pail's worth of milk between you from the four kidless does.

After taking the milk to the small pasteurizer in the barn, you set about making breakfast.

After taking the milk to the small pasteurizer in the barn, you and Thenerius returned to the cottage, your mother already up and standing by the stove.

You waste no time getting breakfast ready, making the six eggs you collected and take out the smoked meat. You make up two plates, setting them down in front of the two.

“I’ll be back soon,” you tell your mother, gripping her shoulder for a moment, “Don’t forget to take your medicine.”

“I’ve been taking it for three years, I don’t need you reminding all the time, you know,” your mother huffed, but she still pressed a kiss to the top of your head and waving you off.

“You aren’t going to eat?” Thenerius asked, thankfully swallowing his mouthful before speaking.

“I ate a couple boiled eggs while I cooked,” you reply, “clean the dishes after you’re done. We’ll go to The Deep afterwards.”

Grabbing your purse and heading to the barn, you click your tongue at the door leading out to the pasture, grabbing his saddle as your horse neighs loudly and nearly trampling over Thenerius’ horse in his attempt to get to you.

Any attempts on your part to name the capricious animal had been in vain, as he only ever responded to the sound of a clicking tongue, what your mother called him over to eat. It explained why he was fatter than a pregnant mare when you got here, unridden and getting fat on the lush pasture to himself and the treats.

Horse, as you’d taken to referring to him in your head, shoved his face into your hands, sticking your entire hand into his mouth in search of treats. You fish out a peeled hard-boiled egg from your pocket, the treat disappearing from your hand before you can even unfurl your fingers, Horse chewing it down quickly. Thenerius’ horse ventures over once she realizes you have food, and you have to press an open palm against Horse’s face to keep him from snatching the second egg you pull out before she can gently take it from you.

“Are those the eggs you ‘ate’?” You jump as Thenerius suddenly appears next to you, and you glare at him for sneaking up at you.

“I need to bribe him to come over and let me saddle him,” you said, neither confirming or denying the tiefling’s accusation, “he’ll be angry the entire ride otherwise.”

“Why didn’t you eat?” Thenerius presses, his eyes never leaving you as you unpin Horse’s blanket and refold it, throwing it over his back before securing his saddle on top.

“There wasn’t enough,” you shrug, climbing onto Horse’s back and pressing your legs momentarily into his side to get him to start walking.

You’re almost to the main road when you hear Thenerius pull up beside you.

“You should have taken mine,” he says after a moment.

You sigh. Clearly, wanting a nice, quiet stroll into town was too much to ask for, “Our horse is fine. He needs the exercise, anyways.”

“Not the horse, the food,” Thenerius said, actually sounding irate with you, “if there wasn’t enough you should have eaten mine.”

You bite back a laugh. You’ve heard Thenerius actually angry before, yelling at his crew members when one shoved another into a table in the tavern and broke it.

He’d been absolutely furious then, scaring even you with how his red eyes burned like hot coals, his face darkening to what you assumed to be an unhealthy purple-blue color as he nearly came to blows with the offenders. That feared pirate captain now reprimanded you like a child.

“Please, it’s one meal,” you snort, “I had plenty while I was working.”

“You shouldn’t skip meals,” he insisted, drawing close to your side to look down at you sternly, “You’re going to still be working the rest of the day after this, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and snap your reins, Horse speeding up to a canter and leaving Thenerius behind. The journey was familiar to you both, and you don’t even need to provide the horse with direction as he follows the twists and turns of the winding path with a sure foot.

You just want to hurry and reach The Deep, collect your pay, dump Thenerius on them and then go to Alfore to meet with the doctor about your mother.

You reach The Deep before Thenerius, tying Horse to a post outside the stables and making a beeline inside with barely contained excitement.

When you enter the tavern, Lenora is the only one in. Her welcoming smile quickly shrinks into a sheepish one once she sees you, however, turning on one heel to head straight towards the inn portion of the building.

Your eyes narrow, making a detour from Mr. Thistle’s office to go after her. You had an inkling as to what that was all about, and you couldn’t help but need to confirm it.

Your hand falls onto her shoulder and grips it tight, yanking her back just before she can abscond up the steps.

“Where are you going?” You ask, putting on a pleasant smile for the few patrons at the bar as you steer her down the hall to the privacy of the storage room, once an office.

“Please don’t kill me - he tricked me into telling!” Lenora begged for mercy immediate, clasping both hands in front of her.

“I highly doubt that,” you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow and waiting for her to try again.

Lenora had always been something of a romantic, constantly falling for one sweet gesture after another and declaring someone her ‘soulmate’ every few months. If she caught wind of Thenerius’ proposal, of course she’d think it was fine to play matchmaker. But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to make her sweat to teach her a lesson.

“Ok, but my intentions were good!” She pleaded, shaking your arm, “I mean, he obviously loves you, so I thought if he saw how you were living, you could get him to give you enough money for your mom!”

Your eyes widen, anger draining from your face and replaced with hurt, “so you told a stranger where I live, where my mother lives, so I could get him to feel sorry for me and bankroll my expenses? What else would I do, hm? Let him sleep with me for an allowance?”

Lenora realized her mistake too late, unable to backtrack as you spun around and left the room. You walk straight past Mr. Thistle’s office, too distraught to think about what you came here to do.

You untie Horse and quickly mount him, spurring him to go forward.

“Please don’t be angry! I didn’t mean you would do anything like that, I just wanted to help you-” you snap the reins twice to get Horse to a gallop.

“Are you okay?” You think Thenerius calls out, but you pay him no time as you race past, reaching the main road in no time and heading down the straight path to Alfore.

Your breathing is erratic as you try to get a handle on the unfamiliar emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. Perhaps in the past, you would have acted out in anger, lashed out at Lenora for the insult implied.

Now, however, you’re just tired. Worn out from two years of being back in this shithole, struggling to make ends meet, doing whatever you could. And because of that, your own coworker - someone you thought of as a friend, even - believed you to be so unscrupulous in your need for money that you’d take advantage of someone’s emotions for your own ends.

The worst part is, you were tempted. Tempted to step back. Tempted to let someone else take the reins. Tempted to use Thenerius’ misguided feelings for you to your advantage.

Had this what you’d been reduced to, from academic work to flirting shamelessly with customers to line your pockets? Do things your mother never did even when she was doing the same job, running the homestead, and saving money for you to move to the capital for your schooling?

So, at the end of your rapid-fire cycling through the stages of grief, you have no desire to fight Lenora over her true thoughts about you, nor do you wish to turn on Thenerius for the way he’s crashed into your life. You don’t qualify every action you ever did out of necessity or lay bare the fact that you were actually embarrassed by them. You don’t try to separate yourself from your choices by bringing up your past life or hard work. You simply loathe yourself for it.

Without your constant commands, Horse slows to a trot. You allow it, not wanting him to get hurt because of you. However, you soon regret your decision as you hear hooves charging up to you from behind.

You pull over to the side of the road, praying that whoever it was just passed you by. Of course, you had no such luck, the other horse slowing down next to you and Thenerius looking down at you with a concerned expression.

You say nothing and you don’t bother trying to outrun him, resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t be shaking him anytime soon.

“It wasn’t her fault,” he said once it was clear you weren’t speaking, drawing your sulking expression to point directly at him, “I pressured her to tell me where to find you.”

“Why are you still here?” You ask instead, exasperated and unwilling to have a conversation with him of all people about what happened between you and Lenora.

“I told you, my feelings for you haven’t changed,” Thenerius said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Even if I allow you to stay, it would only be to use you,” you argue, “you could work for months and waste your time if I never change my mind. Doesn’t that make you angry?”

“No,” he replied, a warm smile adorning his face as he looked at you, “because you said if.”

You blink dumbly as he spurs his horse forward, leaving you to catch up.

part 3

[spawnmade]

It's clear to Astarion that the woman is avoiding him with the way she avoids talking to him and will sometimes walk away from him and that suits him just fine. If she doesn't want to talk to him, he won't force it. Right now, the only thing that matters to him is survival. He doesn't need to be friends with her to secure that.

Soon enough, darkness creeps over their cozy little camp, the only light are from the fire going and the stars above.. As usual, Astarion intends on waiting for everyone to go to sleep, or enter their trances, before he sneaks away in order to hunt.

He notices the way she checks on everyone, watching her curiously from where he is settled, he assumes she isn't going to check on him given her avoidance of him but then she starts making her way to him. Surprising but not entirely unwelcome.

He tilts his head up to look at her from where he is settled on the ground, lounged across the fabric underneath him and propped with palms pressed against the ground.

How painfully awkward she is. He's not sure whether to feel annoyed by it or amused. It's not the first time he's encountered someone terribly awkward and honestly, not all encounters were pleasant.

He can only hope she doesn't stay like this. It's hard to hold a conversation with someone who is constantly speaking in half-sentences.

"You're checking on me? I'm flattered, darling, considering you've been avoiding me like I'm so kind of disease." Despite how harsh the words are, he does not hold any malice in his tone. Rather, there is amusement in his voice.

"I'm fine." He has lived in far worse conditions than the middle of a forest. He'll take the fresh air and sun rays that shines through trees over a dungeon with nothing but the rodents to keep him company, and fed, any day.

Today being insane feels like an understatement. He didn't expect to have to help an entire grove of tieflings and druids, nor did he actually want to. Why should he help anyone when no one ever helped him? Besides, helping people gets one hurt (or shoved in a coffin for many many years).

Astarion sits up straighter, shifting so that he is no longer propped up and shoves himself to his feet so that he can properly look at the woman before him. A dismissive wave of his hand is earned in response to her last sentence. "No need to thank me, darling. This group isn't....entirely bad."

@spawnmade

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ— Evan was running out of ways to avoid confronting her new companion. Don't get her wrong, she wasn't ignoring him by any means, she made sure of that! He'd even travelled along with her throughout the day... But she just couldn't shake the idea that he would probably not choose her company if he wasn't in this mess with her. Whether that was true or not, she wasn't really sure, but it wasn't like it was a foreign feeling to her. In her mind, avoiding her was natural, and she really wouldn't end up blaming him if he wanted to keep things professional instead of friendly.

But she hadn't really given him much of a chance to tell her how he was feeling about her. Until now.

She'd finished helping set up camp, taking over every job she could when she finished the last until there was nothing left and everyone was ready for a good night's rest. She'd gone around to check on everyone else, making sure they were feeling alright, seeing if they needed anything. Maybe it was a little overbearing, but what else was there to do?

The last person left was Astarion. She took a deep breath before hesitantly heading over to his little tent. It was harder to hold eye contact with him than it was when they had met- asking for a comrade was much different, in her mind, than asking for a friend. "Hey! I, uh. I wanted to come and make sure you're adjusting alright? I mean, I-I know that today's been... Insane, but I just. Um. I know you said you were from the city, so I... Just wanted to make sure..." Her words trailed off as she lost confidence, and her next ones were just above a whisper, "and, um... Thank you. For traveling with me. I know it's not ideal."