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moondirti · 1 year

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animalic (5)

← chapter four // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 3.4k summary: an unwelcome confrontation warnings: enemies to lovers, violence, blood and injury, mentioned death, fighting, angst, morally questionable characters, miguel o'hara is not nice notes: this chapter caused several headaches and i don't even like the end result, but i can't pick at it forever sooo. enjoy!

While you’ve never been renowned for making the most accurate of assumptions, there are certain patterns you’ve come to expect in order to have survived this long. To never have a glass of orange juice after brushing your teeth, or maintain eye contact while being threatened. That a kilogram of antimatter produces ten billion times the energy of chemical combustion upon annihilation, and that any quantity larger than that should not be contained.

Of such paradigms, you’ve noted only one to be entirely reliable. That a spider-hero would always fight crime, whatever the greater good.

“Absolutely not.”

You might’ve been mistaken.

“Those people are in danger, O’Hara.” You strain, trembling against the cough battering your chest. Your diaphragm spasms with every stride he takes, crushed against the curve of his broad shoulder, desperate to make up for lost breath.

He lets the plea hang, countenance obscured from your view. With the way he carries you now, all that meets your eye is navy – navy, and the bright red geometry stretched over the brawn of his back. The nanotech suit warps to fit every muscle, glinting as they push forward to meet the sun. And it dips, right between his shoulder blades, lining a clear contour of the anatomy he fails to hide. A dosser of intercostal sinew. Tapered laterals, cinched to curve at–

Your core broils uncomfortably, and his grip tightens around your knees, levelling up to the degree of his treatment thus far. After slinging off that rooftop, he’s made sure to keep you particularly close, like the effort could prevent your powers from manifesting. Like you could make it happen.

(Though, he doesn’t know that you can’t.)

But he’s smarter than that. If nothing else, it serves as a cautionary gesture. A reminder. You’re disarmed – quite literally – the only force between your nose and the sidewalk being the behemoth of a man whose body you’re strewn across. And, if you could control it – transcend the material at any given whim – it would be the extent and end of your efforts. Not with the neon webs binding you, nor your clear lack of skill.

The wind quivers with the distant sounds of calamity. You’re drawn back to the very real situation at hand.

“You make for a lousy excuse of a spiderman if your first instinct isn’t to save them!” You raise your voice, hoping to be heard over the sirens that blare towards the destruction. By counting them as they pass – two, four, six – you’re able to assign a severity to it. But it isn’t, won’t be, enough. You’d heard the screeches; primordial, clawing out from beyond the capabilities of an ordinary threat. You’d felt them – seeping into your bones, grating the spongy marrow – until Miguel had gathered enough obduration to reel you in the complete opposite direction.

Speaking of–

You tilt your head upwards, surveying the street down which he runs. It’s deserted, yet the presence of its civilians is slower to leave, a molasses that slinks towards locked doors. It’s thick with an apathetic acceptance, bordering on resignation – bitter and not unlike your own resting inclinations. You’ve never known an evacuation to happen this fast, especially this far out from the scene; people are stubborn like that, refusing to face what isn’t in front of them. That is to say, they might be used to it.

“You’re not even going the right way, dickhead!”

Of all things, that makes him stop.

(Of course it does.)

Your form flops uselessly as he turns to make sense of his surroundings. There’s the sign – 30 St and 7th – which should give any New Yorker an idea, but he doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he shoots a web to wrap around the railway of a fire escape, propelling the both of you onto an accompanying balcony. Swallowing the bile that swells along your throat at the sudden jump, you shoot him an incredulous look, which he chooses to ignore as he drops you to the floor.

His mask retreats, hair bouncing upon escape from its smothering embrace. For all that he tries to hide his pinched lips, you sense the scepticism emanating off him in waves.

You take a moment to stew over it, examining him while he calculates the path of your previous chase. From the convenience, to the corner, and into a nearby store lot. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying notice – which you sincerely doubt, considering the efficiency with which he treats everything else. Could he really be unfamiliar with the layout of a city his job is to protect? Or–

It occurs to you steadily, washing up on the fringes of your arrogance; a realisation in pieces.

Nueva York. 2099.

A metropolis. Likely one with no grid system.

Your cackle beckons his attention, severe stare snapping to your grin.

“We’re on Seventh.” You specify.

He cocks his head, nostrils flaring. Warning or question – you have a hard time deciphering the difference.

“The convenience was on Sixth and Third. You know, third avenue, East of Fifth?” You push it, spurred by your awareness that he, in fact, does not know.

“¡Ándale pues! What exactly is your point?”

“We continued down east until you bit me, judging by the way the sun hit the lot upon rising. But now, we’re on Seventh, on the other side of Fifth.”

His jaw clicks, pulsing in irritation. You toe the line of what you can get away with, how long you can drag this out before he decides you’re not worth the trouble.

“West. You’re heading West, and–” Wriggling, you adjust your posture into one more reflective of your current pride. “If you have any hope of finding that day pass, then you’re gonna need to go back.”

The bid translates, weighty, bubbling like the arid smoke off nuclear strife. He processes it, understands – you watch as it unfolds in that intimidatingly intelligent glare – yet the circumstance takes a while to establish itself. Even when it does, he doesn’t grant you the satisfaction of a full blown breakdown. No. His hands just find his hips, chin sloping to the sky.

“No puedo más, no puedo más, no–”

You probably shouldn’t rub it in any further.

“Since it’s on our way–”

"No." He snaps, voice laced with a prickling irritation that sears through his supposed indifference. The heat of it greets you, wiping the simper that had begun stretching your cheeks. “You must think this is some game, and while that might explain the shit you’ve pulled in the past, I have a responsibility. I can’t interfere with their canon.”

“So, what? You’re just gonna let them die?”

His expression lifts, brows rising expectantly, like he’s imploring you to shut up without his verbal confirmation.

Right.

It starts like a taut bowstring, straining as it verges on release.

On one end, there’s Apollo; drawing his arrow, a god amongst men. The direction with which he aims his weapon can be seen as prophetic – plague was always meant to befall the crowd at his mercy, their fates little more than a thread of mass design. Some call it righteous – epithets dedicated to his name – agreed upon by the same men who claim that rational means right. Some craft sculptures in his visage, this muse of the kouros, likening stone to flesh and deluding the observer that the two can be synonymous. Nietzsche, Bernini. You, yourself, had managed to believe that the muscle rippling below you could be anything but an Athenian tragedy.

You linger on how startlingly poetic it all is, and the string pulls tighter. You’ve never claimed to be a hero, but you have the instinct, just the same. He, on the other hand, seems entirely dismissive of the urge you assumed would wreck him too.

(Partially your fault. You know better than to expect the obvious from him – that’s his pattern.)

As the two of you veer closer to the havoc, the arrow discharges, striking the tension that’s kept you still thus far. When it snaps, it shatters, congealing to form a beset of sounds, sights, fear. Heaving sobs from a limping group of friends – the middle one rapidly losing blood from what you can tell. The pungent clog of burning debris, fed by the ash that lays suspended, mid-air. The painful creak of metal collapsing in on itself, peppered amongst the constant buzz of radio static. Miguel curbs to a stop, hidden in the notch of an alleyway, and uses the cover to reposition you in his carry. You go from slung over his shoulder to laid across his arms – not quite bridal style, but a placement similar enough that he retains a solid hold of you.

His mask comes back up, concealing the cynicism that had begun to creep up onto you both. You scoff at the unambiguity of the action, the parallel it poses to the reality at hand. He blocks himself to the obvious, the avoidable.

Glowering, you trace his line of vision to the encompassing wreckage. The street appears hauntingly familiar, thrumming with the hurried echoes of a recent memory. It lacks the colourful components – the vivid signage, the star speckled windows – yet, you recognize it all the same. The very avenue you frantically traversed only hours ago. Your companion, too, begins to grasp the truth, and you find yourself biting your cheek, a twinge of unease settling in as the revelation hits you: that perhaps you had divulged too much, far surpassing the realm of personal gain.

Yeah, the day pass is here. And you can only hope that he won’t find it.

For now, though, it appears to be the least of your worries.

A crimson creature prowls along the fringes of the decimated ruins – deliberate, relaxed, like a predator with its teeth already halfway dug in its meal – circling a man clad in a lab coat. Its size is menacing enough; standing at seven feet, with limbs as thick as pipes. Yet, what truly strikes you are the protruding bulges flanking either side of its jaw, and the white, emblematic eyes gazing out from upon its face.

“Spider-person?” You whisper, not so much looking for clarification as you were putting the possibility out there. Miguel is unwavering, dead-set on waiting the interaction out.

“Something like that.” He affirms.

“Y’know, I remember you, doc!” The creature jibes, its inflection nearing maniacal. “You sat on my jury! Yes, yes. Hard to forget a shiner like that.” Laughing, it points to the balding patch atop its victims head. He trembles, bowing in a silent cry.

“O’Hara–”

“Wraith.” He warns.

“Sixty seven years! Not even you look that old, ‘course you don’t understand how damning that sentence was! But you see, I got lucky. Some higher being must’ve taken pity on me, enough to grant me this miracle of a symbiote. Mhm, yeah–” He skips closer to his prey, considering him in the new light. “‘Cause now I can do things like…” A sharp blow echoes. The glassy spear, red as the flesh it extends from, skewers through the doctor’s chest, a spout of blood following through on the other end. “This!”

Miguel’s palm slaps over your mouth, knee supporting the portion of your body he releases whilst angling you away from the scene. You’re thankful for it, despite the overwhelming anger you bear against him. You’ve no trust in the horror that wracks you suddenly, all at once. It launches you back to that convenience, the robbery. How powerless you had been to stop the clerk from dying out, your hoodie fruitlessly wedged to her neck. You’d been spared the grief so far – the blur of the last day tamping to little more than an aching numbness. Yet you should have appreciated that it couldn’t last; guilt is far too familiar a prospect for you to have expected it to let off so soon.

(Your mistake.)

“Oops. Did that go through your heart? My bad, doc.” It howls, stuck in its own stand-up routine. “You’d been doing your… erm– civil duty, sure.” The loud squelch of gore triggers the imagery for you, regardless of your averted gaze. The limb-turned-spear being pried out from between his ribs, caked in bits of tissue.

Dead. You could’ve prevented it.

He could have.

From behind the veil of unshed tears, you watch as he ponders the risk of retracting his hand. You betray nothing, blinking back the hot dismay from your eyes, and instead meet his regard in cold defiance. Slowly, as though your apparent sensibility means anything, he removes the muzzle.

You contemplate screaming, to coax the creature from the group of people it has surrounded and make it Miguel's problem to handle.

Then, you remember your rather unsavoury predicament. How prone you are to harm with your limbs locked; you aren’t the best in combat, but you still could’ve stood a chance at survival if it wasn’t for your restraints.

Your captor reaffirms his grip, tucking you to his figure as he creeps up to a corner. His back remains glued to the brick wall, obscured in shadow. The stance is primed – far from the hesitant sidle he’d adopted before. It isn’t hard to figure out why; you see it too, buried under a pile of trash bags, on the other side of the road. Purple, luminescent.

The day pass.

As if on cue – choreographed by a sadistic deity with no favour for anyone involved – you glitch.

It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough for you to fall to the ground, erupting in a pained groan. The creature twists to lay its terror on your curled frame, shaded by a man who – despite his vast height – is dwarfed in comparison to its colossal self.

“Better start learning not to ignore my spidey sense! I’d felt you tiptoein’ over there,” It growls, neck stretching in preparation for attack.

“We’re not here for you.” Miguel urges.

“No? That hurts my feelings, and here I was thinking you wanted to be friends.” At the feral rip of its taunt, it lunges, tearing through the space separating you. The spider-man, in turn, dodges the barrelling assault, swinging in a blur of motion to a wreck not far off. You thank God for his flashy suit; the creature seems to forget you completely, pivoting to charge at him again.

You force yourself to look away, sickened at the unhinged savagery with which it thrashes. There are people still around, crippled by quickly debilitating injuries, the paramedics meant to aid them now amongst the lost. This is what you wanted – the opportunity to help – and of course you’re still hindered by the asshole who’d refused you in the first place. Desperation weighs heavy on your chest as your eyes scan the spoilage, seeking anything you could use to cut yourself free. And there, you catch it – the sharp end of a broken gutter, its jagged edge catching the afternoon sun.

Using your heels as anchors, you push yourself across the coarse pavement. It isn’t a long way, thankfully, but sweat already starts to dampen your shirt by the time you reach the potential lifeline. Angling yourself, you press the webs to the serrated metal, ready to start shoving. That is, until you remember Miguel; how he sat on your legs, his talons performing much the same feat. He made sure to hold your wrists apart, so you didn’t suffer damages he didn’t intend.

You remedy your approach, arms straining to separate, then thrust downwards. The telltale signs of your success come as pops, like elastic bands splintering. Then, it’s the easing pressure on your skin, irritated and surely marked in places where the binds come undone.

The makeshift blade catches your elbow once you’re halfway down, burying deep enough to touch bone. The world narrows to the searing intensity that blazes up your nerves, eclipsing all else. You almost forget your goal, your brain stirring signals to pull away, but the fight that rages in your peripheral is only growing more barbaric. Alarmingly, Miguel is losing.

If he dies, you’re next, and it’d all be in vain.

Biting your tongue, you stifle the pain and continue pressing. The gutter inches sideway, ripping through flesh and web like butter, the sleeves of your top mangling at its lip. Miraculously, you stay awake for the time it takes to finally get your arms loose. It’s harder to preserve that triumph when you sit up, though, dizziness distorting the plan of action you’d set for yourself.

(Get… get the people to safety. Then, your legs. No–

Free your legs, get the people to safety. And… what?

The day pass. Yeah.

But Mig–)

Your body moves with an unsettling disconnect from your own command. Unable to fully grasp the dissonance, you blanch in bewilderment as you navigate the clearest cut path through it all. A dance in a mechanical rhythm; pulling the webs off your calves, running over to the nearest civilian, and helping them up on their feet. And again. And again.

There’s a boy, young enough that you worry he doesn’t understand you’re harmless. His cherubic face is coated in a grey layer of dust, disturbed only by the tear marks that run from big eyes. His foot has been crushed, stormy blue blotching his knee. You dismiss the agony of your numerous wounds and crouch to pick him up, hugging him to your chest.

New squadrons of emergency services trickle in, careful to leave their sirens off as they round the corner. It’s an odd enough choice that it distracts you from the child’s fingers, which dig into your abrasion for purchase. An ensemble of prospects occur to you.

When you hand him off to an awaiting EMT, it clicks.

What’d the creature call itself? A symbiote?

(You haven’t always been science-oriented.

Freshman year of college, you’d joined as an undeclared major within the school of arts and architecture. ‘Course, you only had your general education requirements to fulfil at the time; useless classes that fit your self-imposed four day weekend, meant to do fuck all as your tuition went to waste. Needless to say, your ambition had been directed at more carnal pursuits.

Then, there was astronomy. It’d awakened your curiosity for the cosmos.

Astro 8, to be exact. Life in the Universe. Your post-midterm lesson had been on a recently discovered, space-faring civilization. Symbiotes – they were called – based on the initial assumption that they thrived in mutual beneficial relationships with other lifeforms. But the projection that flickered for its class of drowsy students entailed another truth entirely. Darkened bullet points in big, bold letters. Known weakness.

Fire, and sound.)

You sprint towards a nearby cop car, its door wide open and the driver's seat vacant. It’s instinctual, devoid of consideration. A singular objective dominates you, beyond the day pass – to kill that thing. Not for Miguel, who’s choked in its gnarled hand. Not for yourself, or your deep-rooted desire for heroism. No. Just for them – the boy and that group of friends, the doctor who still lays dead on the scene. For the sake of this world, and to reconcile the life you took just last night, as if such a trade-off could absolve you of the weight of your sins.

Stepping on the gas, you accelerate abruptly, gaining speed with every pothole you drive over. It looms ahead, crouched in front of a hollowed-out apartment complex, suffocating the futurist spider-man and vibrating with glee. If you can align it – aim and time it just right…

You activate the wail siren. Your hypothesis is validated when it screeches in response to the racket, throwing Miguel off to the side.

Good. He won’t be collateral.

You grab a gun from the cupholder on the dash, throwing it on the pedal to keep it down, then jump to the backseat.

The impact is seismic; a violent convergence of metal and brick and brawn that sends shockwaves rippling throughout your being. You become captive to the merciless momentum, forcefully propelled against the leather cushions. Chronic whiplash shreds upon the vulnerable muscles holding the weight of your concussed head; its talons raking through the fibres, pulling apart the once sturdy tissue. A relentless ring envelops the cacophony of noise, and silences it into one, tender hum.

You’re hauled out the window, detained in the embrace of some unspecified form, which settles above you for cover as the building comes crumbling down.

Or – not unspecified.

That mix of patchouli and musk.

Your consciousness turns to black as you're buried beneath the rubble.

chapter six →

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captainsimagines · 3 months

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meet me in the afterglow || Halsin BG3 || Part One

Summary: She aided everyone, himself included, and he hated how useless he felt. But if he were to simply open his eyes, he would see that she too was losing her mind.

Pairing(s): Halsin x Durge Drow Tav

Trope(s): Slow Burn; Fantasy; Established Canon Scenes; Male Love Interest POV

Based on the Song(s): Afterglow by Taylor Swift

Total Word Count: 30,000 +

If you would rather read on AO3, here is the link

This is a single one-shot, split into 2 parts.

Warnings: This story deals with heavy sexual situations, strong language, canon-typical violence, self-harm, fantasy elements, emotional backstories, past memories of necrophilia, the "Dark Urge", "resist dark urge" storylines, past rape/non-con, attempted sexual assault, and minor character death. You are responsible for your own media consumption. This work is strictly 18+ only. This is purely fanfiction.

Author's Note: Look at me, venturing into a new fandom. Well, I've been apart of it since December, but this is my first BG3 fanfic! Don't ask why it's so damn long and why I didn't split it into chapters. Easier this way in terms of posting, lmao. Anyway, it's summer vacation, I've got my teaching credential and Masters degree, and we're writing fanfics again!!!!!!! If you're not typically of this fandom... Hop on this train, you will not regret it. Buy the game. I swear. Love you.

xxMoni

---

The first time Halsin heard Tav scream was during the invasion of the Last Light Inn, when Mol was snatched by a devil and Rolan dodged a blade as he reached to grab her. Tav had climbed the roof in time to see her being flown in the direction of Moonrise, and that was that. It was an angry scream, one that surprised him and Jaheira alike. Since finding Mol’s eyepatch and defeating Ketheric, Tav hadn’t made a sound resembling it.

Good, he figured. There was no sense in acting reckless when the facts aren’t known, and a level-headed leader would serve the greater good. He had wanted to slip and scream his frustration for years now, but who would that benefit? Halsin found that if he and his companions held it in for just a while longer, then soon they could find peace, harmony, balance—he had to believe that.

For three hundred and fifty years, Halsin explored the minds, souls, and the willing bodies of countless people. He has taken and been taken, suffered and accepted, led and also been led a fool. Besides the shadow curse, there was nothing that truly haunted him to the very marrow of his bones. He was everything an Archdruid was expected to be, and that included being an expert at hiding one’s fear to level the playing field.

But recently, he’s been haunted by an odd feeling in his stomach. Thaniel and Oliver were healing together, Ketheric Thorm had been defeated, and he and his companions were readying their supplies to take the two-night trip into Baldur’s Gate. There shouldn’t be anything else plaguing his muscles, and especially not his digestion. Not even the bear could truly keep food settled for long. He suspected that as the land healed, he felt it. He felt each vine untangle, each pebble overturn, each sick creature drain and die. He was usually familiar with plant life dying and sprouting anew, but this was something else entirely. It was the undead dying, the sickness shriveling, the living succumbing and promising their return. It was a sickness extinguished, a sickness that apparently needed to pass through him and any other person connected to nature in the surrounding area.

He excused himself after dinner, and waited for the oddity to start.

Just as he nearly slipped into trance, the flap of his tent smacked him in the face.

“Now that we’ve healed this land, where are you going to fuck off to?”

He grumbled, opening his eyes to meet those of a seemingly unbothered Tav.

Halsin had a bit of a crush. A crush on the violent, self-serving narcissist drow who was going to get them all killed before they faced the real threat awaiting them in Baldur’s Gate. Granted, Halsin formed a bit of a crush on most people he encountered, but Tav was different. The feelings had snuck up on him.

Tav often spoke of utilizing the gifts the Dream Visitor had offered them, but he had never seen her actually consume an extra tadpole. Tav loved to fill Astarion’s and Gale’s heads about godhood, about revenge, but Halsin was there when she almost murdered Araj for suggesting Astarion bite her, and even accidentally wandered in on her and Gale watching the stars he had conjured. Hell, she was the first to grant Karlach that long-awaited hug. And when Shadowheart had the chance to prove herself worthy to her dark Lady, something raw flashed in Tav’s eyes. Something that ultimately persuaded Shadowheart differently.

The only thing Tav had done recently that really pissed Halsin off was recruiting Minthara at Moonrise. What kind of person forgave someone who threatened a whole Grove? A whole civilization? His people.

But that was the thing: Tav was a person willing to forgive. Well, maybe not forgive. Forget, more like.

And he had forgiven her for the murder of Alfira because, Oak Father preserve him, he believed her confusion. Her surprise. Her… urges. Hells, he came close to killing Kahga back at the Emerald Grove.

“Who says I’m fucking off anywhere else?”

Tav snorted, his curt response certainly something he’d been working on for a while now. He had remained civil with her, polite even. But the way she spoke to him had him questioning his abilities. He had cultivated mountains of patience over his long years, but she was just too good at breaking off pieces. No way she would be able to flatten him, but he worried himself over the prospect.

“You’re seriously going to follow us to Baldur’s Gate?”

“I am no stranger to the city.”

Tav plopped down beside his bedroll and fiddled with the strap around his arm. He fought hard to keep so much as a twitch from his face. “It’s a shitty place. You’ll probably find one tree. Maybe two.”

“Do you want me to leave your side?”

Her expression held steady. “No. Just wondering what your plans were.”

Despite her attitude, Halsin had no doubts about whether or not Tav wanted him to remain. He never dropped hints about him leaving after the shadow-cursed lands were no more, and he completely expected to make the trip with everyone else. They helped him here, why wouldn’t he help them to the end?

“Then you’ll have me. I will remain at your side until you have no use for me, or until my body can give no more. You need not worry about sudden disappearances or ill remarks from my end.”

She rolled his words around in her mind, the points of her ears wiggling slightly. “At least now I can see you in city clothes.”

He sat up slightly, his smirk wide. “Have you been fantasizing about what I would look like in such clothing?”

“Armor is a drag. I’ve been fantasizing what everyone would look like in silks and cotton.”

He hummed, settling back down and placing his hands behind his head. She definitely was a weird one. He couldn’t say for certain if she fancied him or not. She had inquired about past lovers, but hadn't pressed further when he mentioned bedding alone. She had joked about feeling lonely at nights and went so far as to wink at him, but she gave those same winks at Wyll. She had even fought to venture into the Shadowfell with him, but that same ferocity rose when she encountered Rolan fighting shadows alone. She was difficult to read, but he had only himself to blame. So occupied by the shadow curse, he had failed to get to know her. Or any of his companions, really.

“I think I liked dresses before all of this,” she shared, surprising him.

“What kind?”

She thought about it for a second, honesty in her lilac features. “The revealing kind. Where the lining dipped to my navel and my thighs were out.”

He was no stranger to such clothing. He had indulged in similar attire in his youth. “I imagine you would look beautiful in them.”

“Obviously.”

“But I think I also really liked elven armor.”

Halsin’s laugh came out as more of a grumble. “Is your drow armor unsuitable?”

“It doesn’t show off my curves.”

He couldn’t contain his smile. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. Her tent was pitched near Astarion’s, so he doubted she was looking to bunk with him tonight. This was her routine every night—check in with everyone, speak for a few minutes, maybe share a bottle of wine, and return to her own bedroll. Except this is the first time since rescuing Thaniel from the Shadowfell that she visited him.

It was something he had thought about during their long travels. Did he say or do something that made her avoid him? Did she consider him a burden, only adding to their troubles without the promise of a cure for the damned tadpole? Volo had tried to do what he advised against, and Tav sported a pale blue eye because of it.

But it looked good on her. Anything blue looked good on her.

“You’re allowed to hate me, you know.”

He blinked an eye open, studying her vulnerable expression. Besides making questionable decisions and being rude to strangers they encountered, it was not enough to make him despise her.

“I do not hate so easily.”

“You hate goblins.”

“They threatened my people. People in need.”

She hummed, “Taking in Minthara was like a slap to the face then.”

“There are other things to consider. Such as, you did not risk the grove when you first met her.”

“I killed a tiefling out of pure blindness. In my own camp.”

“And do you regret it?”

“I—I think I do.” She shook her head, as if arguing with her thoughts. “I also really wanted to kill Isobel.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have.”

He sat up and sighed. Tav rolled her shoulders, uncomfortable with his closeness. He did his best to slide to the edge of his tent, but his frame wouldn’t allow much distance. “Are you here… to fight with me?”

Tav grumbled under a breath, avoiding his eyes. “Not exactly.”

He nodded, though confusion still weighed him down. “Then tell me how to best speak on this matter.”

“I don’t understand you,” she admitted, scooting to leave his tent.

They had something in common, then.

“When you’ve been alive for as long as I have, you come to understand those around you just a little bit more. Speak or don’t speak, I will not draw my blade. I know it is what you crave. You have fought everyone in this camp with your teeth, almost killed Gale when he confided in you about the orb, almost staked Astarion before you allowed him to feed from you. And you held a knife to my face when you rescued me from the goblin camp. If you wanted to kill one of us, you would have done it by now. If you wanted to kill me, you would have tried.”

Tav laughed and crossed her arms. Halsin averted his eyes from her muscles. “Tried,” she drawled.

He smiled again. “You would not succeed.”

“I take that as a challenge.”

“Take it however you’d like,” he said, sighing as he rested his head back onto his bedroll. “Now, will I receive some peace and quiet tonight?”

Tav squinted her eyes, a glint of mischief peeking through her long lashes. “Annoying oaf of a druid.”

“Annoying brat of a drow.”

That made her grin, teeth and all. Then, quieter, honestly, “Maybe all that torture I endured made me forget. Maybe it made me the way I am. Better today, but…”

Gods, he almost forgot. The odd necromancer they had encountered beneath Moonrise. What she said she had done to Tav, over and over, he could not imagine. First to be kidnapped, reduced to a wailing mess, cataloged like meaningless scraps, and pinned back together only to be ripped open again? And still, Tav did not remember. Thank the Gods she didn’t, and that the necromancer’s slices were simply numb visions. But to smell your own blood on a mind flayer pod, to have a vague recollection of betrayal, to walk right back into your prison…

He kept his voice soft, and tried to make his eyes speak better words than what he could currently form. “Do you mean violent?”

Any ounce of wisdom he carried seemed to die in front of her. She made his tongue twist, his mind rattle.

“Perverted.”

He said, forcefully, “You’re not perverted.”

“That’s why I speak with you, Halsin.” Tav opened the tent flap and stepped through. Her smile dropped, and he was no longer granted the privilege of a real one. “You say all the wrong things.”

---

“I’ve thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.”

“You’ll find I’m exceptionally greedy,” Tav responded, clinking her beer with his wine. Rolan looked to the floor, fumbling as he tried desperately to flirt back. Halsin almost wanted to help the poor wizard, but that would probably do more harm than good.

“Darling, you’ve made the tiefling blush! How sweet!” Astarion observed, flicking his polished nails across his lips.

Tav shrugged a shoulder, then downed her beer in one go. “Don’t sweat it, Rolan! I have that effect on everyone!”

“Oh,” he lamented, his lips turning downward. Almost as suddenly, he corrected himself. Shoulders straightened, Rolan cleared his throat. “I thank you instead for clearing the road to Baldur’s Gate. When you can, make a visit to Sorcerous Sundries. I’ll give you a lovely discount on some scrolls.”

“Gale would certainly—”

“Gale would be appreciative indeed!” their resident wizard cheered, reaching to shake Rolan’s hand. “I plan on doing a little perusing of my own, of course. But any promise of a discount on some scrolls is certainly something I wouldn’t pass up! I say, Rolan! You and I need to speak one-on-one soon.”

Rolan stuttered over a breath. “That—Well, I’ll probably be preoccupied with my apprenticeship. But yes, that would be quite informative.”

“Gale, stop flirting with my favorite wizard. I wanted him in my bed, not yours,” Tav joked, winking at the blushing tiefling. Cal and Lia, listening at the other end of the bar, sputtered through their drinks.

Gale gasped, “Your favorite wizard? My word, how ugly of you, Tav! I thought we had something special.”

“Your—Your bed?” Rolan choked out, his smile growing. Halsin looked to Tav to tell her to cut it out, but what he saw was… authentic. Tav wasn’t joking, nor was she toying with the tiefling. She genuinely wanted to spend a night with him. Their banter had stretched from the grove to these cursed lands and Tav was nothing if not direct with her intentions.

He and Tav shared banter… So it led Halsin back to his looming questions with no answers. Did he say or do something that made her avoid him? Was he a burden?

“Offers on the table, Rolan. I don’t ask twice,” she teased, ignoring Astarion’s gag and Gale’s responding chuckle.

“That sounds—” Rolan started, but his attention was pulled by a few of the tiefling children running up behind him. In their flurry of questions, he met Tav’s eye. “Apologies.”

Tav waved a hand and tried her best to smile at the children, who were now pulling at Rolan’s robes. Cal and Lia came to his aid, even going so far as to grab the children around their waists and run in the opposite direction.

Rolan cleared his throat. “As much as it irks me to admit… I hope our paths cross again in Baldur’s Gate.”

Tav let her disappointment show for half a second before turning in the direction of the exit. Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel had claimed Isobel’s old room, while Wyll, Astarion, and Gale claimed the room where Art had been resting. Halsin had already mentioned he wasn’t going to rest tonight so he could help the tieflings pack, but he wondered where Tav was going to sleep. The only other room still standing was currently occupied by Rolan and his siblings, while the tiefling children were bunking with Dammon in the barn.

Halsin quickly caught up with her, clearing his throat to gain her attention. “You were very forward with the tiefling.”

Tav shrugged, stripping her gloves from her sweaty hands. “We could die tomorrow. Might as well let my true desires show.”

“And that’s what desires you?”

She smirked. “Got something against tieflings? Or is it wizards, Halsin?”

“Not at all what I meant.”

He followed her quietly until she led them to the lake’s edge, just a few feet away from Dannis and Bex. Tav chucked her shoes off and tore the corset from around her waist. It was a black and red corset she had looted from Minthara’s office back at the goblin camp, but her fellow drow seemed to not recognize it. Since rescuing her, Tav had made it her mission to try and get Minthara to notice. As if to say, I rescued you but I also bested you once before. Though he hardly spoke to the sharp-tongued drow, he understood her avoidance. Minthara had gained alliances in an unlikely place and vowed to fight by their side, an oath as strong as all others, and did not waste her breath on a petty argument. Especially an argument with her narcissistic Underdark kin.

“I meant to say, that I admire that in a person. I have been alive a long time and you so little, and yet you reach for what you want with ropes of experience.”

It was true. Halsin was no stranger to honey on the tongue or the caress of another. Sometimes he forgot that others have not racked up a roster like he had. Though, he wasn’t exactly keeping track. Every lover he had chosen had been sacred, willing, enthusiastic. It was nice to see others indulging, even if he did not feel the call right now.

The bear hadn’t felt the call for a while now. Even back in the Emerald Grove, his only companion had been his hand. He didn’t know what changed.

Tav sat down and leaned back on her hands, watching Dannis and Bex as they swayed in each other’s arms. When they had rescued Dannis from Moonrise a few nights ago, Halsin had been witness to their emotional reunion at this very lakeside. With as many people on his mental list of lovers, it would make sense that he had been in love before. But watching them reunite and cry in each other’s arms… Halsin realized he had never felt love in the way one was supposed to. Lust, admiration, respect—those feelings he was familiar with. Feelings that were reciprocated and cherished. This was different, foreign.

Was he broken? Had the bear truly taken over that aspect of his life so much? Druids became more like their wildshape the more experienced and older they grew, and it wasn’t unheard of that some animal attributes bled into their daily lives. Or their physique. Nature had been his one calling as Archdruid, and though the realization that he had sorely missed out on the connection Dannis and Bex shared plagued his heart, he didn’t regret devoting his life to the Grove.

“I woke up on that nautiloid with absolutely no idea of who I was. I knew my name, and that was it. Along with a burning rage and desire for blood, I strangely felt free. In a way. This is me letting loose. Being the person I feel like I could have been,” Tav explained, her brow furrowing. Dannis and Bex shared a final kiss before retreating into the inn, giving both her and Halsin grateful nods. Tav sighed, “My memories, or the scraps of them at least, are tainted in red. I want new colors, Halsin.”

He sat down beside her, drawing his knees up so he could lay his arms across them. “I always imagined the color of lust as a light purple. When bodies connect in the most intimate of meanings, it is that streak of purple only the sky can mimic. A purple that only occurs in nature.”

“Poetic.”

“I’ll leave the poetry to Wyll.”

She watched the lake sway, now absent of dark creatures at its shore. He wondered if shadow-cursed creatures actually had also thrived underwater, but no one had reported such horrors. He wasn’t ignorant to think that the fish hadn’t shriveled, that the water wasn’t undrinkable, that the echoes of the Underworld hadn’t been waiting for bare feet.

“I gave you all colors, you know.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “Karlach is pink. As much as my blood yearns for the blood of others, I do not like the color red. Karlach is pink because she makes the darkest of places lighter. She makes my days lighter.”

He wouldn’t have assigned her that color, but Tav’s reasoning made sense. Karlach had a lot of blood on her hands, but blood would fade the more one scrubbed.

“Gale is purple, of course. That damn robe he got abducted in is scorched into my brain,” Tav laughed. “Astarion is a dark blue. When I look at him, oddly enough, I have this intense feeling that his eyes were blue before he was turned. Blue like the sky he’s been cherishing these last few months.”

Halsin would be lying if he said Gale in purple didn’t stir something within him. After acquiring new robes or armor, Halsin always volunteered to dye it. Purple was instinct for Gale, but he had always found himself dying Astarion’s clothing red. Perhaps now he would reconsider.

“Lae’zel is orange,” Halsin added, grinning when Tav clapped her hands and cheered.

“Exactly! She doesn’t touch any other fruit besides those!”

He continued, ignoring the odd jump of his stomach. “Shadowheart is the color white. Her new hairstyle has nothing to do with it. You know, I was nervous when I saw her leaving camp with a dagger tucked away. Glad to know my nerves were unfounded.”

“Black washed her out,” Tav agreed. Her smile faltered as she picked around the dirt absentmindedly. “Black, however, is Minthara’s color. She radiates such… torment. Mentally, that is. As much as she tries to mask it, I can see right through her. And I think she sees right through me. We’re both terrified, and too angry to admit it.”

Terrified. In all the time he had been traveling with his companions, Halsin didn’t stop to think about what would happen if they lost. Tav had created this image of pure leadership, where everything that needed to be solved had a simple solution. Even Lae’zel portrayed as much. He did have moments where Tav’s questionable actions led him to believe someone would die, but not that anyone would kill them.

“You just admitted it to me.”

Tav grumbled, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them. “The Oak Father will have your balls if you utter it to anyone else.”

“Didn’t know he answered to you.” He couldn’t help the blood flushing his cheeks.

“The gods love to hear me whine.” Tav's sarcasm coated her words and eye roll alike. Then quieter, angrier, she said, “I remember screaming for some.”

His chest caved in slightly, a burst of sympathy melting along his ribs. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when he was tied to that bedpost in the Underdark. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when the shadow curse prevailed and his fellow Druids didn’t run fast enough. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when the last of his family passed and he lowered them into the ground. But ever since, the Gods have answered his prayers. His Drow patrons couldn’t keep their disputes civil and he escaped after three, confusing years. He had sprinted fast enough to avoid the dark tendrils lapping at his paws and was fortunate enough to lead Rethewin’s survivors to safety. He was able to say a final goodbye to his mother. Even now they listened when he was rescued from that horrible goblin camp.

He didn’t quite catch if the Gods had answered any of Tav’s prayers yet since she herself doesn’t remember anything that happened prior, but he had it on good authority that every battle they’ve survived since had been blessed.

“And Wyll?” he asked, his tone softer as he reverted the topic of discussion back to color assignment.

“Green,” she answered quickly. “He reminds me of a park I used to walk around. A distant memory, a broken one. But I see him sitting in that green field, surrounded by wine and grapes and a lanceboard.”

He hadn’t spoken to Wyll all that much yet. Karlach and Gale were the two he found himself conversing with most often. Wyll always spoke of Baldur’s Gate, and though Halsin enjoyed hearing about their companions’ lives beforehand, he found that he did not have kind feelings for Wyll’s father. When he tried to maneuver the conversation away, Wyll always brought it back.

And it made sense. Just as Halsin was preoccupied with the shadow curse and his role in its creation, so was Wyll and how he would prove to his father that his transformation was for the good of his citizens. Perhaps when his head was clear and his father found acceptance, Halsin would be able to speak to Wyll freely. To speak without thinking about how the city would be better off in Wyll’s hands instead.

Halsin wanted to punch Duke Ravengard in the fucking face.

“And me?” he asked.

“Guess.”

“I assumed green, to be honest.”

Tav shook her head. She turned to him fully, the lilac of her face bright beneath the moon. For the first time since they had met, she showed him vulnerability. He knew it was killing her to do so. “You’re gold.”

Something foreign fluttered in his chest. “Gold?”

“You shimmer when you wildshape. But also, when you’re standing in the sun, your gray hair shines gold instead. You’re so damn joyful all the time and it reminds me of the sun. You’re sunlight incarnate, Halsin.”

He had been called wise, inspirational, large, and handsome. He had been called ruthless, uncontrollable, wild, and arousing. Never in his three hundred and fifty years had he been compared to sunlight, or directly called it.

But he was sunlight to her.

She shook her head, a light chuckle beneath her breath. Then she stood and walked back in the direction of Last Light. Slowly, waiting.

“What color am I?”

She shifted her stance. Afraid of her own question, the answer it might bring. The truth of it. Halsin did not see her as a red tone. Far from it. Even her sleek red-orange hair wasn’t enough to classify her. Though red yearned for her, she did not want to claim it. There was a fire behind that fight, a fire that licked higher the more she resisted its call. Even in the midst of battle, drenched in blood, she did not harvest its bounty. Her and Gale were always the quickest to the stream, washing away the brutality. Gale out of pure disgust. Tav out of need.

“You and I are at odds most of the time. We are two colors that clash, yet find a way to coexist in one setting. You are silver, Tav. The same color as your sword, of the lash of your words, of that fire in your eyes.”

“A silver menace, am I?”

He shrugged, too in his own head to truly argue it. “Silver is also the color of the ripples in water.”

“Ripples are the consequence of a disturbance.”

“They are proof of influence.”

She crossed her arms for warmth. Backing away, she pointed one finger at the sky, her grin nearly obscured by shadow. “And the color of the moon.”

---

The second time Halsin heard Tav scream was in camp a few nights later. A breathless one, but no less bone-rattling. The sound reverberated into his bone marrow, sucking out half and poisoning the rest. His first thought was Mol, that he had to save her this time, that a repeat of the grove was unacceptable and he finally had a chance to make things right. This was a job for the Archdruid. No tiefling would hurt under his watch.

His second thought was that Tav was dying, and he needed to get up so his silver menace had a fighting chance.

“Get away from him!”

Halsin woke from his meditation and caught a glimpse of a short, gray creature scurrying into the bushes. The further it retreated, the quicker its laughter came. A sound that scraped against his spine-bones, horribly akin to a goblin’s.

He looked over his shoulder and watched as Tav held her shaking hands in front of herself. She breathed slowly, shutting her eyes as whatever troubled her began nudging at her once confident composure.

“Tav?” he said lightly, slowly standing to his full height. In the campfire light, she was beauty incarnate. All her fine features threatened to stop his heart, his senses. And when those senses catapulted themselves into his brain, he saw pure fright on her lovely, scarred face.

She trembled as she stepped closer to him, gagging on her next words. “Restrain me.”

“What? What’s happened?”

“Halsin,” she croaked. She glanced around camp, fidgeting even more as Shadowheart and Astarion poked their heads out from their tents. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to give into these urges if you don’t restrain me. I can’t control it—I’m trying—but I’m going to slaughter you in your sleep and all of your thoughts about me will be true—”

“Calm, Tav. I am awake, I am unharmed.” He took a step closer. “These urges… They are the ones you mentioned when you asked if they were possible effects of the tadpole?”

“Halsin,” she whispered, terror laced within those two syllables. “You piss me off, but I don’t want to kill you.”

That made him chuckle. “I will not let you.”

As quickly as he finished that sentence he saw the glimmer of a blade behind her back. She lurched forward, aiming for his heart. He reacted too late, but not late enough to get stabbed. An arrow whipped between them and lodged in Tav’s shoulder, sending her to the cold ground. Halsin yelled, panic gripping his stomach from the sight of her blood.

“Wyll, give me the rope,” Astarion ordered, his skin somehow paler. He threw his bow to the side and immediately began tying Tav’s feet together. Wyll held her down by the shoulders, cursing when she managed to twist her neck far enough to bite him.

“What’s happening?” Karlach demanded, running up to the group. Nervous, caring hands burned with panic instead of the usual fury.

Tav thrashed, screaming wildly as Wyll bound her hands. He did his best to lean down and whisper in her ear, his horn smacking her cheek. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know this isn’t right, I’m sorry.

“Dear Gods,” Jaheira breathed. “Not another one.”

Halsin had witnessed Jaheira mid-battle and post-battle. He understood that the older druid put on a face, the same face he perfected when he was at the grove. To be stoic in the face of chaos, of evil, was a necessary talent. But here, Halsin saw the mask fracture as she examined Tav’s mannerisms, her moans, her darkening eyes.

“What does that mean? Speak plainly, Jaheira,” he told her. The jump in his voice surprised him.

She huffed, sliding to Tav’s left side so she could check her pulse. At the same time, Shadowheart casted a calming spell. “I have only met one other who resisted the urges. The call for murder, of blood on the tongue, of death in every orifice of the body.”

Minthara blinked, her brow scrunching. “It cannot be!”

The pure terror lacing Minthara’s exclamation—ice pricked his veins.

“A Bhaalspawn,” Jaheira confirmed. “A tadpole-infected Bhaalspawn, at that.”

“A Bhaalspawn?” Karlach choked, though Halsin swore it was on a laugh. “In our camp? If my parents could see me now! Oh, this would make for the best How was your day? story around the dinner table!”

Gale rubbed at his chest, an awkward sound coming from him before he spoke. “That means Orin knows her from before the tadpole.”

“It means Orin tortured her and planted the tadpole herself, I am sure. When she betrayed me, she spoke of another that I now know was Tav. What she did, how her screams sounded—I was not fully listening as she was making an example out of me as well,” Minthara shared, her tone deadly. It was the most Halsin had ever heard her say in one sitting.

“Why wouldn’t the Emperor say anything?” Wyll cursed, quickly snatching his hand back as Tav tried to bite him again.

“It wasn’t its secret to tell,” Lae’zel said, though there was more hatred in her answer than understanding.

Tav shot forward, headbutting Jaheira and flipping onto her stomach. Just as her teeth nearly plunged into Astarion’s forearm, the vampire smacked an annoyed hand to her forehead. “Ah, ah, ah. We ask before we bite.”

“The spell wanes. Calming her emotions is not possible,” Shadowheart said, gritting her teeth. Jaheira, paying absolutely no mind to the bruise on her forehead, took over for the cleric.

“Hit her over the head with this pan,” Karlach offered, offense painting her face after Gale smacked it from her hands. She went to retrieve it, this time holding it over her head so Gale couldn’t reach it.

“Jaheira and I will stay with her,” Shadowheart spoke, her worry etched deep in the frown lines by her lips. “We will need—”

“My sword is yours,” Lae’zel volunteered, pulling her blade out to lie across her lap. She sat with her back straight, eyes focused. A soldier on guard, disguising her concern for a friend.

Halsin and Wyll carefully flipped Tav onto her back. “Are we absolutely positive this is what afflicts her? Maybe she inhaled some spores from your pack—” he tried to reason with the older druid.

“Urgh—To taste a druid’s blood would be a carnal delight—to dig his heart out from the depths of his ribs and feast upon the muscle. To mutilate his corpse over and over and over—”

Jaheira’s chuckle was void of humor. “Ignore the wisdom of an old crone, why don’t you?”

“Halsin, are you sure you want to listen to this?” Shadowheart asked.

Yes!—he wanted to scream—he was a healer, it was his duty, he would do it for anyone else.

But something else ate away at him as he watched Tav squirm and suffer, biting at her own cheeks when the absence of his flesh famished her. This felt personal somehow, as if everyone else was merely an obstacle on her way to him. He was her target.

Yet, he didn’t feel threatened. If he was her target, then so be it. She was the one person his body wouldn’t let him abandon because it knew she wouldn’t abandon him.

Tav choked on her saliva as she yelled, “Your bones would be put to good use inside my—”

“I can handle it,” he announced, the nerves in his shoulders loosening. Karlach and Wyll reluctantly returned to their tents as Halsin settled down beside Jaheira.

“Come back to us, little one,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper. “I know you are still in there.”

Tav whimpered, registering his attempt at calming her. Helping her.

“Feel the grass beneath your cheek. The soil wetting your skin. Let the Oak Father tend to your mind. Let nature pull you from this dread. It can take it. You can will it.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

Astarion diverted his gaze, swallowing a gulp of air his body didn’t need. He blinked rapidly before stalking into the trees, Gale trailing close behind.

Tav was his best friend. Devastatingly enough, the one friend here who had not yet claimed their own autonomy. Someone who was being controlled, forced to move and act at the will of another. His spawn blood stole his choice and allowed others to steal bits of his soul. Tav’s tainted blood stole her choice as well, but forced her to steal the souls of others.

To be at the will of something sinister, to be forced to say and do awful things because something compelled them to… Halsin’s heart clenched at the comparison. But it leaped as it finally understood why Tav and Astarion were attached at the hip. How they could possibly heal each other.

According to Tav, Halsin said all the wrong things. Maybe Astarion was her one source of truth.

“Do not apologize to me. There is no need.”

“I am sick.”

“You are fighting,” Jaheira clarified.

Tav sobbed, whipping her head from side to side. “I’m sorry, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart waved a hand, her smile small. “I didn’t feel like sleeping, anyway.”

The hours passed slowly, painfully, until the worst of it cleared. Lae’zel woke Karlach and Wyll to inform them, and Jaheira retreated to the dimly lit fire to regain some strength. Shadowheart sat back and waited, another spell prepared. But Tav sat up with her help, then calmly sent her away.

It was just the two of them, quiet enough that Halsin could hear the beat of her heart.

She breathed in deeply, her burnt-orange hair falling across her face. She looked so… small. Defeated. Nothing like the fighter she had presented herself to be these past few weeks. Sweat stained her night clothes, yet she dug her toes into the dirt to find a sliver of warmth.

“They say silver is supposed to keep evil spirits away,” Tav laughed brokenly.

He nodded. “That they do. That it does.”

“And yet, I can still see myself in the mirror.”

Halsin didn’t think she was trying to insult Astarion in the same sentence, but he understood what she was trying to say. A vampire equaled an evil spirit, and thus Astarion couldn’t see himself in mirrors. What plagued Tav was evil no doubt, and yet she was forced to see herself.

“Silver also promotes healing.”

She shook her head. “That’s your job.”

After a long pause, she whispered, “No one can heal from this. He’s in my blood. I am his.”

They didn’t say anything else.

Tav watched the weakening flames until the sun came up, and Halsin watched her.

---

“Um, excuse me? I can’t find my mum.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

Honest to the Gods, Tav could have simply smacked the poor girl and the physical lashing would have been less traumatizing. The young girl visibly recoiled, taking a small step back and almost tripping over her orange cat. Halsin reached out, but she moved further away.

Minthara snickered at Tav’s comment, though she didn’t aid in the verbal beating of the child herself.

“She had these spots all over her face and chest. She went out for some herbs and was supposed to come back already. Said she’d be four days at most. That was a tenday ago, though,” the girl mumbled, Yenna, and played with the loose thread of her sleeve.

“Sounds like your mom’s dead.”

“Tav!” Halsin scolded, something alarmingly bold rising within him. Tav made no indication she was affected by his outburst. Neither did Minthara.

“May I remind you you’re speaking to a child. In the middle of a refugee camp,” Gale said, brushing his hand through the warm air. His tone was lighter than his own, thankfully. The only other time Halsin had seen Rivington so crowded was days after the shadow curse rippled through the land and pushed the first round of refugees in.

“Which makes my observation that much more factual,” Tav stated, boredom polluting her fine face.

Astarion choked out a laugh, resting a delicate hand over his heart. “Oh, darling. I’m sure we can find you another squirrel to kick that doesn’t have opposable thumbs.”

Tav rolled her eyes. Astarion continued, “You were so quick to shelter poor Arabella. What’s different now?”

“I would die for Arabella. I don’t give a shit about her.”

Yenna, surprisngly, chuckled. Tav snapped her gaze to the girl, raising an eyebrow.

Halsin cut off their line of sight, stepping in front of Tav. He asked, his tone ghostly like a warning, “Do you give a shit about children?”

Again, Tav gave nothing away as to whether his threatening aura unnerved her. Instead, she side-stepped him and reengaged the girl. “What uses do you provide?”

“Gods, you’re miraculous,” Astarion swooned.

Yenna straightened, lifting her freckled chin. “I can cook.”

“Gale cooks for us.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Ah!” Gale bent a knee, the crack obvious. “That would be I! Do you know your way around spices?”

Yenna grinned, sticking her chest out as she placed her small fists on her hips. “Mum taught me! Said I could rival the best chefs in Baldur’s Gate someday!”

“It’s settled then! I have a new apprentice.”

Minthara clicked her tongue. “One more mouth to feed.”

Gale gave Yenna a miniature version of their map and showed her where to find their camp. The girl scurried away, calling after her cat. Minthara and Astarion quickly left as well in search of some fashionable day clothes, leaving Halsin to deal with Tav’s attitude.

The drow watched as Gale engaged in yet another bright conversation with a local, her scowl deepening. Confusion settling in.

“What color does the girl give off?” he asked her, a futile attempt to quiet both her annoyance and his anger. She stayed watching Gale and did not move when he settled right beside her, their shoulders brushing.

“Don’t know yet,” she said.

He shook his head. Though it didn’t measure close, Halsin was slowly approaching the level of outrage he had felt when confronting Kagha. “You were too harsh.”

Tav hummed, then turned to strut down the hill to buy some fish. Completely insensitive and horribly remiss. “Best show her what to expect from me early on, no?”

She handed the fisherman some coin and waited as he bundled the fish. His stomach grumbled, but it wasn’t enough of an attempt at distracting from the matter at hand.

“Lay aside your pride for a moment. Show kindness to children, would you?”

“That’s your job. Not mine. I have bigger matters to attend to.”

Whatever happened to the gut-wrenching apology she spewed a few nights before? What happened to the kind soul he saw save the tieflings twice over without question, the soul who defended Astarion every chance possible, the soul that almost regurgitated her breakfast while building the courage to tell Arabella her parents had died?

“I didn’t think you so ugly.”

He said it before his mind weighed the consequences.

“Oh? Well, I know that’s not true. I have plenty of suitors. I have fucked plenty of people. No complaints.”

A mask just as fitted as Astarion’s, it seemed.

He followed close behind, sneaking a refugee some coin as she traveled the road back to their camp. He called out, but she did not turn to him.

“Your beauty is not what I am commenting on. You are turning ugly inside, and I do not blame your blood for it. No sane soul deprives a child of food and shelter, even if it’s for one night.”

She shrugged, her hair blowing in the wind.“I am not sane. Don’t you get it, Halsin?”

He nearly ran into her when she stopped and turned, crossing her arms in defiance. “I am weak, and I will give in to these urges soon enough.”

He snarled. “I didn’t take you as fragile and pathetic.”

Her eyes flickered with something… pained. As if he stung her. Then as quickly as it appeared, it disintegrated into the poisoned pot she stored most of her emotions in.

“Maybe I should have killed you the other night.”

“Strike me with your words all you want. I can take it.”

But it actually did strike him deep for some reason. So badly it nearly made him wince. She laughed, the sound piercing through the air and slicing him in two.

He didn’t talk to her the whole walk back.

---

“Do you hate me?”

Halsin perked up at Yenna’s small voice. He nearly fell forward with the weight of his head as he forgot he was lounging in wild shape by the campfire. He located Tav and Yenna by the barn, Scratch and the unnamed owlbear running circles around them.

“Hate is a strong word,” Tav mumbled, the cleaning of her boots uninterrupted as Yenna sat down next to her on the log. She kept a respectable distance, twiddling her thumbs.

“I seeked someone kind-looking,” Yenna explained.

“I am quite beautiful.”

“I didn’t say that.” To that, Tav did halt her work. She turned to meet Yenna’s eye, the poor girl trembling as she tried to redeem herself. “Wait! I only meant that you looked kind, too.”

Tav straightened, her brow scrunching. “I’ve never been told that.”

“Don’t your friends tell you?”

“They’re not my friends.”

A blatant lie, Halsin thought.

Yenna frowned. “Oh. That’s sad.”

Clearly exasperated, Tav set down her boots. “What do you want, Yenna?”

The girl’s blue eyes widened, a small smile sneaking onto her face. “You know my name.”

“No, shit. I have functioning ears.”

“Well, if you don’t hate me, then why were you so mean to me?”

Tav shrugged, but didn’t pick up her boots. Instead, she leaned back and pulled her long hair into a bun. Yenna watched her, fascinated by the fair highlights in Tav’s hair. Yenna had mentioned to him that her mother kept her hair short out of necessity, that it was easier to steal the essentials without the threat of leaving a strand of hair behind. Now, Halsin bet she would grow it out.

Tav, the silver ripple in the water.

“I’m dangerous, kid.”

“There’s a bear in our camp right now.”

“Besides that.”

“And a Sharran—”

“She’s reformed.”

“And a vampire!”

Tav pointed a finger. “The kindest vampire you’ll ever meet, too.”

“How can he be kind, but you are not?” Yenna argued, squinting her bright eyes. Tav met her stare, unfaltering, and in that small moment Halsin recognized Tav’s unmistakable admiration. With Mol, that admiration spawned the moment she foolishly asked for her to steal the idol. For Arabella, it had been when Tav found her parents in the House of Healing—the knowledge that it would crush her spirit, but not her soul. Yenna’s growing confidence in a singular conversation was what was winning her over.

Tav sighed, angling her gaze to him by the campfire. Halsin quickly feigned sleep. “I almost hurt that bear for fun.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone had to tie me up and hold me down until my mind quieted.”

Shame laced each syllable. Yenna scooted closer to her on the log. “So, you were mean because you didn’t want to hurt me with your hands?”

“I’m surprised I haven’t killed the dog or the owlbear,” Tav muttered, then jutted her chin up, “Or that cat of yours.”

They sat in silence for a good minute, Yenna watching Tav continue to wash her boots and Tav side-eyeing the girl.

Halsin actually believed he should have been harsher with Tav when they first encountered the girl, but perhaps he failed to see right through her. Tav had aided him always, aided multiple others and merely joked about coin in return. And when Tav had burrowed into his past, with his permission of course, and saw the weight of responsibility he had put on his own shoulders… They saw in each other what others couldn’t: the inescapable need to form such a mountain of righteousness so that it casted a shadow over their countless wrongs. But it was near impossible climbing the height they had measured themselves.

For what Tav had almost done to him, why subject an innocent child to the possibility?

“Thank you for telling me,” Yenna said, then softly poked Tav’s upper arm. A childish gesture, one that seemed to shock Tav still for a moment.

Clearing her throat, Tav said, “Just keep your distance from me while I sleep, okay?”

“Where’s your tent?”

“Right next to Astarion’s.”

“Good. Vampires don’t die easily.”

There was a noticeable quirk in Tav’s upper lip, a movement that had Halsin’s stomach swooping and the bear audibly groaning.

“Set up your bedroll near Karlach’s tent. She’s the only one here who is physically capable of stopping me.”

“What about the Githyanki?”

Halsin thought about it for a bit, too. If Tav were to have another uncontrollable episode and she did not provide them warning like last time, who would be able to restrain and who would succumb? Halsin would like to believe his reflexes were spotless, but he had been nicked in battle one too many times already. It was Astarion who watched his back, muttering about what a disposable, yet practical shield he had proven to be. Astarion could definitely outmaneuver Tav on dexterity and flexibility alone. Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart would probably react too late. Jaheria would put up a good fight. Lae’zel and Karlach were the only two Halsin knew could survive the bloodshed.

“Well, she camps far away from us,” Tav said, pointing to the tent closest to the barn’s exit. “Not because she doesn’t like us, but because if there’s ever an attack, she’ll swing first.”

“And she’ll go down first.”

Tav winced. “I think that’s how she shows she cares. It’s the only way she’ll ever let it be known that she’d die for us.”

Oak Father preserve him, he never noticed that before. The bear whined, and Halsin turned his heavy head to try and catch a glimpse of the fighter in her tent.

“I’m not so scared of you anymore,” Yenna declared, smiling brightly. She was missing her left canine.

Tav hummed, “I’ll make sure to treat you extra poorly in the morning.”

---

“Final question,” the blacksmith said, his voice lowering an octave. “Would you be able to turn your weapon on those closest to you?”

Tav lifted her gaze, irises darkening. “What kind of question is that?”

Halsin made to step forward, but the blacksmith clocked the movement before he fully could. A twisted smile painted his sweaty face. Tav did not balk, nor did she raise a weapon. She merely inspected him, tilting her head to the side as if the angle offered more.

“It allows me to know just how sharp I should make your blade, how heavy I should make the handle. Should your blade drive through the meat of the one you love most, oh so easily? So easily that the spray of their blood angles directly into your waiting mouth? Should I make the handle light so that when your troubled hands tremble, you are still able to strike true?”

Astarion shook his head as if the words he was hearing were coming from the tadpole itself. He muttered a quiet what the fuck beneath his breath.

“Forgive us,” Halsin interrupted, his face drawn tight. “But we are no longer in need of your services.”

The blacksmith took an audacious step right into Tav’s personal space. Halsin acted quickly, throwing his hands out to push at his armored shoulders. The blacksmith stumbled, but his smile did not falter.

“You have already tried to steal this family’s breath, have you not? You have imagined what their insides look like, what wonderful necklaces you can wove from each string they offer?”

Halsin growled, his eyes burning gold. “I will savor your own if you do not walk away right now.”

Tav looked up at him, her surprise sincere. As if she truly believed he wouldn’t risk his life for hers. He had told her he would back in his tent in the shadow-cursed lands, promising his ears as well for when her mind needed relief. At this very moment, he would draw his staff and return whatever vile energy the creature before them harbored back to the Oak Father, where his vengeance striked true. Anything for her, for it was the least he could do.

But before anyone could pull a blade, the blacksmith cracked his own neck in a gruesome display of brute strength. His shoulders lifted then popped. His back bent forward, and his feet turned inward. And in a single burst of red, a pale woman stood in his place. Even paler eyes accompanied her vicious aura.

“Blood-kin! You would have this mountain of a servant speak for you?” she laughed, her sultry voice penetrating his chest. It made his heart beat wildly, made the bear cower. “Oh, but I do so enjoy the taste of druid.”

Tav snarled, her fists clenching as she stopped herself from striking a fellow Bhaalspawn. “Orin.”

“Took you long enough,” she judged, wringing out the final cracks of her neck. “It seems my poking and prodding did little to disturb your mind-matter. Or, did it?”

She winked at Halsin, then circled the two as if they were trapped in a glass box. “Do you not remember who you are? Who we were? What you have done?”

“I remember enough.”

Orin giggled, and swiped a bloody hand across Astarion’s chest. The pale elf stood his ground, but Halsin saw the way his throat bobbed.

“Tell your orc to move aside. My eyes crave the fighter you have become. Though, I much prefer you dripping with innards.” Orin smiled until her red teeth practically took up half her face. A pretty face, Halsin secretly admitted to himself. But there was no lust behind that truth. She looked up at him, taking that same hand that touched Astarion and running it down his own chest. The armor protected him from feeling such grimy fingers, but she pushed and swiveled them the longer he stood still.

“I can easily step through you,” she threatened, standing on her tip-toes so her foul breath met his nose.

“Step through me, then.”

When the feeling of her slick tongue met his chin, Halsin froze. His stomach dropped a million miles into the Oak Father’s soil, and his nerves splintered one by one. He was back in the Underdark, chained to the most spectacular of bedposts, throwing his head back in shame as the drow matron rode him, as her claws tore across his throat—

Tav gripped Orin by the back of the neck and flung her several feet away. Orin caught herself on an unfinished blade and used it to stand again, paying no mind to the slice in her palm. Her smile held, but a few strands of blond hair broke free from her neatly-kept braid.

“Have you fucked this one, blood-kin? Have you sucked him dry? Have you come on his thin lips? On his wonder of a cock? Have you killed him, fucked his corpse, and revived him yet?”

“You truly are the bitch of the Gate, aren’t you?” Astarion bit, picking at invisible dirt beneath his fingernails. “Let it be known that if you step through the druid, which I would love to see if I’m being honest, you would have to go through me next. And I am very hard to kill, darling.”

“A challenge! To kill the undead over and over and over again! So many possibilities.”

“Yes, how wonderful. If your bitch-self is able to do that, you would then face the githyanki. And there, you absolute swine, is where you would crumble.”

Tav stepped in front of Halsin, even daring to raise a dagger at her sister. “They are not the only ones who would aid me in your defeat, Orin. I’ve recruited Minthara, and she holds the most brilliant of grudges.”

Orin finally frowned. “Father will see us battle soon enough, Tav. That is the name you chose for yourself all those years ago, no? Oh, wait. Excuse me. The name your mother chose for you.”

Tav's jaw tightened.

“How she screamed and whined and begged you not to kill her and your adoptive siblings. How she writhed even as Uncle lifted you from her corpse.”

“I look forward to sinking my teeth into your fucking neck, sister.”

“And I will writhe with the pleasure of it, my dear slaughter-kin.”

Orin disappeared, and Halsin regained feeling in his legs. He reached for Tav, and for the first time since they had met, he took her hand into his own. Her fingers intertwined with his, the size difference settling something dark within him.

“I can teach you my technique,” Astarion said, his light voice clearing the stale air. “It’s all in the turn of your jaw, see. Then place your canines delicately over the carotid—”

“Tav,” Halsin whispered, squeezing her hand.

“She’s a shapeshifter. A fucking doppleganger. Orin can infiltrate our camp and kill us all.”

Astarion moaned, his worry expertly concealed. “She won’t be able to. We know one another.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “If I repeat it multiple times, maybe I’ll believe it, too.”

“You’re scared?” Tav asked, absent of judgment entirely. Her tone was more sad, if anything.

“She’s terrifying,” Astarion confirmed with a laugh. Then, more seriously, “And she will not touch you.”

Tav shook her head, her grip on Halsin’s hand strong. “I don’t think she’s going to stop coming after us until I accept her duel.”

“Dueling for what exactly?” Lae’zel finally sheathed her sword, but her yellow eyes followed each gust of wind, each insect that flew across her vision, each movement her companions made.

Tav grimaced as she said, shame dripping off the two words, “Bhaal’s chosen.”

Lae’zel straightened. “Is that what you want?”

“You have no opinion on the matter.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

Tav pulled her hand from Halsin’s, and he immediately felt the coldness seep through his skin. The action was almost enough to deafen him from Tav’s next announcement.

“Let’s see what Gortash has to say.”

He scoffed, though he didn’t mean for the sound to signify displeasure. “His opinion is allowed?”

“He knows about Orin. More than me, considering. I should use all the weapons in my arsenal.”

It took everything in him not to outright fight her. Instead, he nodded and immediately regretted it. “You know best, I suppose.”

Her readied insult died as she didn't expect him to fold so easily. She was left looking up at him, studying his eyes for any change. She was fighting herself, fighting something besides her need to battle his every word.

She cleared her throat, hiding from his gentle stare as she asked, “Could you make me that tea later? The one that’s a little bit spicy.”

He bowed slightly. “Of course.”

“And you—you can share a cup with me, if you want.”

Halsin swore the gold glimmer he possessed dripped along his ribs. “Until later then.”

He watched Tav walk away with Astarion at her side, their arms locked and her head resting on his shoulder. What he would give for that level of closeness with someone—with her, even—instead of people simply using him and vanishing within the month.

“She is strong. We are strong. We will assassinate Orin and leave a trail of blood for her followers to lick clean,” Lae’zel firmly established, her presence doing nothing to quell the sudden emptiness plaguing him.

“Is it wrong to doubt our abilities?”

Lae’zel clicked her tongue. “Am I to give the old druid wisdom?”

He chuckled, “Advice, more like.”

Ever since embarking on this mission, Halsin questioned his right to give advice at all. The Grove almost fell because he went chasing after the past, he nearly banished Minthara without hearing her plea, and he allowed Mol’s capture because he was too enthralled by a comatose Flaming Fist. Jaheira could take up the mantle of wise druid. He wasn’t worthy of it anyway.

“There is no room for doubt in this fight. We must press on, and worry about the consequences afterwards. Pray that there is an afterwards, that there are consequences.”

He and Lae’zel decided to buy some desserts for the group, wholeheartedly believing that sugar might make everything weighing their shoulders down just a little bit more light.

---

“Tell me about your time in the Underdark, please?”

Halsin never thought he’d bring the topic up ever, especially to a friend. Sometimes there are things best kept hidden away for the risk of all the original emotions carved into his skin bleeding freely again. He had never told anyone, truly. When hinting at it, he kept the story brief. The more serious aspects were always downplayed, and he purposely skipped information so that he didn’t need to reteach himself how to forget.

But as he sat on his bed at the Elfsong with Tav cross-crossed on the floor, sipping the spicy tea he had made, he felt the need to tell her a little more. He had a feeling that she would be able to handle it, and that he would be able to bear the repercussions.

So he told her. Every last detail, down to the smallest he was sure he had forgotten a hundred years ago. But this time he could not smell the drow matron’s perfume, or taste the patron’s poisonous saliva. He couldn’t feel their lingering touch, no, not when Tav held out her empty teacup and softly asked for more.

“Perhaps that’s why you hated me in the beginning.”

A genuine laugh jumped from his chest. He savored the growing smile on her lovely face. “I have never hated you. Was I skeptical about a female drow saving me from the goblin camp when Minthara camped right upstairs? Yes.”

She smirked, then took a long sip of her filled tea. The events from earlier that day had seemed to evaporate in each sip, and it made him damn near giddy to know it was his tea doing that.

Tav caught herself before she could lower her gaze, her eyes meeting his hazel ones. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Though it was something plenty of people had uttered before, it still gave him a sense of calmness. Of reassurance. “Once you’ve lived for as long as I have, bad memories begin to turn into something distant. Numb, almost. And with enough time, their past associations change.”

“You’ve… you’ve convinced yourself it didn’t happen?”

No. Triggers existed, but they were rare for him. Orin’s tongue had transported him to that bad place, but Tav’s touch brought him back. “More like I have convinced myself that it was not as bad as I once thought it to be.”

He survived. And though it was entirely non-consensual, he had enjoyed some days. There was shame in that, shame he will carry forever.

“It wasn’t your fault. You deserved better, Halsin.”

His shoulders fell before he could collect himself. Tav noticed, like she always did.

“You did what you had to in order to survive, and they met a violent end. A fitting end.”

He actually never found out what became of his captors, but it wasn’t likely they survived a week-long ambush. “I—Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

“The stress of today. Of yesterday. Of what’s to come. It’s really taking its toll.”

She nodded, looking down at her tea. “Don’t tell anybody this, but I’m terrified of what’s to come.”

The pure honesty in her voice… Halsin couldn’t breathe.

“If you ever suspect I am Orin, ask me what Shadowheart’s favorite flower is. It’s a night orchid.”

The thought of Orin infiltrating their camp at all was enough to frighten even the bear, so much so that when Halsin attempted to bring him forward, that gold glimmer sparked and faded at his fingertips.

“Shouldn’t the question be about you instead?”

“Shadowheart has only ever told me that. It’s one of the only things she remembers about herself. Orin would never know.”

Smart. He tried to think of something his companions had told him in secret, or something he had told them, but his mind fell blank. It wasn’t that he failed to get to know them properly, but that whenever he would lend an ear, he was simply the first of many. Which, in retrospect, was a proud thing. They were comfortable telling him first, but he did not hold their secrets for long.

“If you ever suspect I am Orin, ask me about my mother. If my response isn't that she's doing well, you will know.” He was harboring no secrets of his own, besides the stirring of his heart for the drow sitting in front of him. “Everyone knows I am the last of my line. Orin would know it.”

“And if she takes someone else’s skin?”

“You know your companions well enough, no? It was me you were having difficulty with.”

Tav chuckled, and gulped the last of her tea. Standing, she went to grab his empty cup from his hands. “Thank you for the tea, Halsin.”

And before his mind could attach its wits to his mouth, he softly returned, “Anytime, my heart.”

Tav stilled, the cups rattling against each other as she held them close to her chest. Halsin counted the passing seconds, grappling with his common sense as his mouth formed around invisible words.

Since joining this merry journey, his wisdom had plummeted to the depths of the Nine Hells. Stupidity flourished in his old, druid soul—

Tav scurried back to him, a dark blush coating her entire face. She planted a quick peck to his cheek, right on his tattoo.

The gentleness of it lingered until he fell into a deep trance.

---

“Get away from me!”

Halsin startled awake, tripping over the damned sheets of his bed. He had never had blankets before. Or a mattress. Sure, when he shared beds with lovers he rested for a few hours, but he did not indulge in city culture while at the Grove. The only person who had a mattress was Nettie, and only because her back needed the support.

Halsin wiped at his eyes to find Astarion backing away slowly, finding refuge by Tav’s bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress, Tav stirred. She was up in an instant, a dagger pulled from underneath her pillow.

“How in the Hells did you get in here?” she hissed. Meeting his eye across the room, he understood the signal to wake the others. One by one, as Tav and Astarion attempted to calm his siblings, Halsin shook his companions awake. Lae’zel and Jaheira took to the dark corners, Wyll and Gale spread out but lay low, Shadowheart drank a potion of invisibility, and he, Karlach, and Minthara picked up the heaviest of weapons to stroll straight into the quarrel with. The other vampires stared at them with bright, glowing eyes. Bristling, nearly twitching with each excited breath they took.

Why didn’t Astarion’s eyes glow? Had the tadpole taken that feature away as well?

Tav succeeded in persuading Leon and Aurelia in seeing the truth behind Cazador’s lies, much to Astarion’s displeasure. He wanted her to lie, to tell them that they could all ascend by killing Cazador together. Halsin’s chest seized as he witnessed the craving of power in Astarion’s demeanor, and as he caught Tav hesitating in her speech.

One of his siblings saddled closer to Karlach, mindful of the flames, but took a sniff nonetheless. Karlach recoiled. The spawn swallowed, ignoring Karlach’s reaction and Minthara’s glare, all to catch a whiff of his own blood. The spawn’s eyes glowed brighter, their irises vibrating uncontrollably.

The red glow was hunger.

Astarion was no longer hungry.

“By the absent Gods, Astarion… I believe you,” Leon said. But Aurelia clutched her stomach and groaned, whispering to Leon about how they couldn’t refuse orders. That Cazador was forcing them to kidnap Astarion, and a deal between them might as well be a joke. Leon pushed his sister behind him as he braced for a fight. Devastation glowed in his eyes, and he muttered a quick apology before he pulled a dagger from his pocket.

Astarion raised his chin, empathy shown on his face. In his tone. “You can tell Cazador that when I find him, I will tear him limb from limb. I will smile upon his rotten corpse.”

Tav received the first slash. By stepping directly in front of Astarion. The pale elf’s eyes widened as he smelled her blood, her sacrifice. The very concept of mercy seeped from his mind altogether. He cut through his siblings desperately, dodging their blades and spells.

Shadowheart stuck a blade in the spine of the smallest of the spawn, and fell backwards as they simply disappeared. Called back to their Master. Her blade lay bloody on the rug before it was suddenly picked up by Leon himself.

And before he could drive it into her throat, Lae’zel burst from the shadows and tackled him. Her roar cracked through Halsin's eardrums, and an equally grating one sounded as she buried her blade deep in his abdomen. Same as his sibling, Leon disappeared from the Elfsong.

It was pure luck he and his companions outnumbered them. He had just finished shooting an arrow through the shoulder of one aiming for Jaheira’s heart when he heard it.

A quiet, garbled gasp.

Tav gripped the dagger’s handle with both hands, leaving it inserted in her stomach. She merely stared at Aurelia. The spawn stared back, her lips trembling and head shaking in disbelief.

Halsin was behind her in an instant, gripping her hair and swinging her to the floor. The spawn yelped, the last of her siblings infecting their camp. She scrambled backward, whatever she saw in Halsin’s eyes frightening her enough to abandon her own bow. He lifted her and slammed her against the wall, taking pleasure in her groan of pain.

“Cazador would never let you die here, and yet you drive a blade through my friend’s skin?” he yelled, slamming her again.

She cried, “Astarion! Please! He ordered us here, he ordered us to kill anyone who stepped in the way! I could not refuse. I could not refuse, I could not refuse, I could not refuse—“

Again and again she repeated it, tears staining her cheeks and drenching her collar. She thrashed, her throat clenching on itself. Again, again, again, again—

“Let her go, Halsin,” Astarion begrudgingly ordered, his bloody daggers limp at his sides. “She cannot disobey.”

“What and let her kill us? Let her take you?” he screamed over his shoulder.

Minthara stepped forward, observing Aurelia with a sneer. “No,” she drawled. She sunk the broken tip of an arrow in the spawn’s throat. “We merely send her back.”

In a snap, she abandoned her orders for the sake of forced survival, following the rest of her empty-handed siblings. Halsin immediately dashed for Tav, kneeling in front of her to inspect the wound.

“Let me,” he said, his heart pounding.

“No.”

“Tav—“

“I told him I’d protect him and I almost failed tonight. I deserve this.” Still, she did not let go of the blade. The second she pulled, she would bleed out.

Halsin forced himself to breathe normally, shock enveloping his senses. Was that why she got involved with everyone and everything, put herself first in the face of danger, so she could somehow relieve their pain and take the brunt of it?

“You deserve… pain?” he asked carefully. He had met others who self-harmed before, but he had never treated them directly. Nettie had always taken the lead role in those cases. And perhaps he wasn’t the best person to ask for help either, because his aged brain could only suggest they stop.

Now, he understood why Tav did it—why she believed she deserved it. And instead of simply telling her to stop, he wanted to heal her from the inside-out so no thoughts like that ever afflicted her again.

“I deserve to be broken and pulled apart all over again, Halsin. I deserve to remember that torture Orin made me suffer.”

She tried to step around him, but Lae’zel’s glare halted her. He caught her arm before she could find an alternate route.

Her breathing quickened. He loosened his grip, but still managed to tug her closer. To grip the blade’s handle himself. “It is a blessing you do not remember any of it.”

She smiled ruefully, fatigue dimming her eyes. “What do you think my punishment should be? More stabbings?”

“None whatsoever. Now, please let me tend to your wound.”

“If she really wants to break me, all she has to do is give me my memories back,” she laughed, though it was pained. From self-hatred or from the wound, he did not know. “But in her eyes, it would be a gift.”

Without much struggle, he laid her down and wordlessly instructed Wyll to bring fresh water and clean rags. She stared as he worked around the wound first, silent but present. Though no emotion painted her face, Halsin knew he wasn’t being scrutinized. There was something deeper there. Something akin to admiration, something holy.

When Wyll returned and gripped Tav’s hand as Halsin quickly pulled the blade out, Halsin let his mind settle. He drowned out her cries and worked tirelessly, stitching her insides with magic and muttering sweet words under his breath. He didn’t think she was listening, but he said them just the same.

“I couldn’t let them take him,” Tav breathed, her eyelids fluttering. “I think I was just as bad as Cazador, and if he had been taken…”

“You must not compare yourself to true evils, my heart. For you are not the person in absent memories, nor the person Orin wants you to be. I have it on good authority that Astarion would agree, and would kill you himself if you even matched Cazador in cruelty. For that, there is hope in your atonement yet.”

Somehow a smile broke through her exhausted face. “You are too nice to me.”

Halsin pulled the bedsheet over her healing stomach. And because she was barely conscious, he found the confidence to say, “Trust me, I am more than what I ever was when I am with you.”

---

“There’s absolutely no way, you little shit.”

Halsin had to blink so Tav’s words were processed fully. The way she spoke to children… At this point in their journey, there was only a sliver of guilt as he admitted he found it sort of funny.

Mol puffed out her chest, fists on her hips and face absent of an eyepatch. “Surprised to see me here? Well, right back at ya! Glad to see ya made it here in one piece!”

Tav listened intently as Mol described what she’d been up to all this time, all the trinkets she acquired roaming the Lower City, her new position in Guild.

“Get away from my pockets, child,” Jaheira sneered, but there was a hint of pride hidden in her voice. In her slight grin. Something akin to respect.

“I don’t need your scraps, ya old weirdo! I’ve got Nine-Fingers up my sleeve, a certain devil protecting my hide, and a handsome ol’ wizard slipping me scrolls whenever he can!”

Jaheira was unruffled by her insult, which made Mol even more assured. But the second she met Halsin's stare, a muscle in her jaw jumped, giving her away.

“Tell me you did not make that deal with Raphael, Mol,” Halsin pleaded.

“None of your business, tree-hugger.”

Wyll sighed, closing his eyes. “Raphael may talk sweet, but he’ll cut you quicker than you can beg. Whatever he’s promised, know that it cannot be met without repercussions or consequences. I should know, Mol.”

Tav set a gold chalice back on the wooden crate, leaning over to check out Mol’s jewelry collection instead. “Is that how you escaped Moonrise? And got your eyesight back?”

Her monotone voice confused the small tiefling—Why would two men care more about her situation? But Halsin recognized the trick. No sense of urgency, unlike all the other times she and Mol had met, would get her talking. Wanting to expand on her deal with Raphael just so she could prove that all she’s accomplished so far measured up to the way Tav saw her.

“What’s the big deal now? I got out, and now I’ve gotta hold up my end.”

“Which is?” Wyll pressed.

“He gave me a damn eyeball back! The deal could have been a lot worse.”

“Mol,” Halsin grumbled.

“Thievery is my domain, druid. I’m his little thief.”

Wyll leaned in. “That’s all that was exchanged?”

Mol's nose curled. “Where’s ya head at, ya thick warlock? Of course that’s it!”

Wyll’s shoulders dropped. Halsin had never spoken to Mizora in the time she lounged around the Elfsong. Never asked Wyll to elaborate on their daily check-ins. Never asked about the other missions she had sent him on. Whatever Wyll shared with him, the group, Halsin was grateful for.

Now he couldn’t stop wondering what his hands would look like wrapped around Mizora’s throat.

And he couldn’t stop the worry from hitting him square in the chest as Tav said her goodbyes. Would they leave Mol to the Guild? To Raphael’s slimy grasp? She and Yenna would probably get along, and Gods knew Yenna needed another girlfriend besides Karlach.

“Here,” Mol said, handing Tav a pouch of coins and a sealed letter. “I trust you’ll deliver this for me?”

“Stupid assumption.”

Mol rolled her eyes. “Deliver it, will ya? It’s going to your favorite tiefling wiiiiizaaaarrrrd.”

Tav mimicked her voice, flicking the young tiefling off before turning on her heel.

They can’t leave her here, they can’t leave her here, they can’t leave her here… He can’t leave her here.

“Astele would sooner die than harm a child of the Gate,” Jaheira whispered to him. “And the child is smart enough to gain her trust in time.”

“This is no place for a child."

“No, it isn’t,” Jaheira agreed, raising an eyebrow. “But what of Geraldus? He made his choice, and it was an honorable one. I tried to stop him and got put in my place by our resident cub. What of Arabella, wandering alone and told to simply trust the Weave? We let her go, and our hope reigns. What of Mattis and Umi and Bex and Dannis? We cannot save everyone, but we can help them along their path.”

“Is leaving Mol here helping her?”

Jaheira looked over her shoulder, eyeing Mol as she showed a child around her own age the proper hand movements to reach inside a pocket. “It is acceptance. It is trust. It is the knowledge that we are capable of stepping back when we have to. Mol has proven herself a hundred times over, and this deal with Raphael will only be a lesson. Besides, what hypocrite you are for telling the same devil you would consider his offer about the crown instead of disagreeing immediately?”

Perhaps Jaheira was right. For years, Halsin had put the needs of others on his shoulders regardless of their weight. Unoccupied now, his days felt empty.

Tav was doing the same and it seemed like only he could see the true consequence of it. Everyone else in their camp was occupied with their own predicaments, Jaheira now having to find and stop Minsc, so no one had seen Tav’s height lowering. Without the threat of the shadow curse, he was no longer blind. Though their companions cared for Tav’s wellbeing, they could not see past their own mist. He did not blame them—he was strong enough to help her, nourish her, lift her. By helping Tav, he would help himself.

“Does this change our plans with Raphael?” Wyll asked, worrying his bottom lip.

“No,” Tav promised. She pushed the doors open and ignored the grumbling from the two guards eyeing her every move. “We kill the bastard, steal the hammer, and make damn sure Mol never finds out.”

Easier said than done.

---

The third time he heard Tav scream was when she delivered the final blow that brutalized Lorroakan’s insides. With her sword lifted high and Karlach’s boot in his neck, Tav sliced open his abdomen and pulled out his large intestine. Wet and red, Tav squeezed, seemingly savoring the squelching noise that bounced off the windows of Ramazith’s Tower.

And when she moved aside to let Dame Aylin through, Halsin savored the sound of his spine splitting upon her blessed knee.

They had stopped at Sorcerous Sundries right after seeing Mol, the coin purse all too tempting for Astarion. When they arrived and took immediate note of the bruises scattered across Rolan’s handsome face, Halsin knew they wouldn’t just be dropping off the coin.

Rolan had done a good job at keeping his composure until the questions began.

“I can take the beatings. When I mess up a spell, his beatings are a practical way to make me get it right the next time. My track record is impressive—”

“Discipline is to be given with purpose,” Lae’zel had bit, snarling. “Your bruises are scattered. Careless. Smack a soldier’s hand for fumbling their blade, not their cheekbones. Break a child’s fingers for stealing, not puncture their stomachs. Lorroakan is toying with you, tiefling. That is no good teacher.”

And when Rolan confirmed it, Tav’s face had fallen flat. Scarily detached. Lae’zel had a similar reaction, but she nodded her head as if agreeing with the unspoken decision amongst the group.

Lorroakan would be dead before the sun set.

Now, Rolan panted as he hurried to their side and examined what was left of his old Master. “He’s really dead. The bastard’s dead.”

Tav looted Lorroakan’s corpse and passed Gale the magical trinkets she would have no use of.

“And I seem to be out of scrolls,” Tav commented, wiping blood from her forehead. Standing up with a groan, she did her best to give Rolan a true smile. But the fight was tough, so much so that she had spent most of her time throwing healing potions to Karlach, who insisted on being in the middle of it all. “Would the new Master of Ramazith’s Tower kindly sell me some? I’d be willing to pay double.”

Rolan’s eyes watered, but that signature arrogance seeped through as he straightened his shoulders and sketched a bow. Silver menace, Halsin thought. He and Tav were so similar.

Rolan’s eyes lit up as he remembered, “I promised you a discount.”

Tav waved a bored hand through the air. “You promised Gale a discount.”

Rolan closed his eyes for a second before throwing himself into Tav’s arms, holding her as tightly as his sore arms allowed. Tav stiffened, her cheek squished against Rolan’s hard chest and the top of her head directly beneath his chin. She met Halsin’s eye and found only encouragement.

She wrapped her arms around the tiefling and squeezed, her eyes closing in comfort.

“Master Rolan… I quite like the sound of that,” Rolan joked, clearing the sentiment from his throat. “I shall move Cal and Lia in at once!”

“I’m going to need as many wizards in this upcoming fight with the Absolute. I would like my favorite wizard at my side.”

Astarion snickered beside Gale, even going as far as poking his elbow into his ribs. Gale simply waved him off.

“You will have the full force of Ramazith’s Towers at your service.” Then, softer and sweeter, “Thank you, Tav.”

Tav practically sparkled. Halsin forced himself to look away, only to meet Karlach’s knowing gaze.

“I’m just sorry I can’t kill him again,” Tav said. “Know that you are always welcome at our camp. That you can always ask for our help with bitchy customers or entitled explorers.”

“And you will always have a room here if you need it.”

---

Halsin found her on the roof of the Elfsong, Lakrissa having whispered the hint when he inquired about Tav’s whereabouts. With a wink and a promise of a drink later, Lakrissa confirmed what he had worried about. People were starting to notice his feelings, his desires… People were starting to see right through him.

Tav finished tying her hair up when she looked over her shoulder and smiled. It hit him so hard he fumbled over his own feet, a blush crawling up his neck. Tav pretended not to notice, and said nothing as he moved to sit on the cushion beside hers.

As she looked over the balcony’s edge, watching the birds fly in triangles and the leaves float through the wind, Halsin watched her. Her skin was lighter than Minthara’s, and the pale burn stretching diagonally from the top right of her forehead to her bottom left cheek definitely set them apart. He wondered if she picked up that scar from battle, from her early days as a Bhaalspawn, or from the torture she had endured and forgot at Moonrise. She had never commented on it, nor did anyone bring it up. Yet, Halsin prayed it was a simple story like his own scar, nothing fancy, and that the brutal violence that seemed to follow their heels was altogether absent.

With her hair up, he was able to outline the scar. Unable to control the desire to run his thumb down the extent of it. But he reeled it in, and sat beside her with his hands in his lap.

“You know… I at least have an excuse for my violence. Lorroakan was just a bastard,” Tav suddenly shared, a worn chuckle breaking through. “But then again, going off of my logic, Orin has a valid excuse, too.”

“Orin is a different breed.”

Her mouth fell into a frown. “If she would have been kidnapped and infected with a tadpole, you would be sharing your tea with her. Rolan would be thanking her. You would be confiding in her.”

Halsin did not believe that true for one second. Orin was frightening, and the added effect of a tadpole was sure to make her everyone’s worst nightmare. Still, he replied with, “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Tav grumbled, unsatisfied. What else could he say? That she got out but her sister didn’t? That she was given a new chance at life and her sister was still wreaking havoc underground? Was he supposed to feel sorry for Orin?

“I am one God’s chosen,” Tav whispered, then turned to him with a flicker of hope in her mismatched eyes. “But do you think I can pray to another god?”

“Yes.”

“Is your Oak Father free?”

“Silvanus?” he asked, the fluttering of his heart nearly booming in his ears. He wondered if she could hear it, if her own matched his rhythm. “Look at where you sit. You are surrounded by his creations, even if they are muted in this city. The air you breathe, the ground you walk on, the flowers you smell. Silvanus asks for little in return, other than nurture nature, each other, and yourself. If you are worried about whether or not Silvanus will hear your prayers, do not be. He hears them, and does what can be done.”

“I have killed hundreds of people. I have mutilated their corpses, stolen their coin, desecrated their gravesites.”

“Forgiveness is something all gods offer.”

“But do I deserve it?”

No longer a boom, but a crack echoed through his ears.

“Does Astarion deserve it after all the souls he brought Cazador?” he asked.

“He’s changed,” Tav declares, defensive, “And the gods never answered him.”

“Perhaps his change and his current situation is answer enough.”

Yet another thing that maddened him. Why did no God answer Astarion’s pleas? Why was he discarded, as were his siblings, and forced to endure two-hundred years of pain? Why did Astarion have to change at all to gain recognition? He was split on whether Silvanus would help an undead creature, one who couldn’t even harvest the sun's bounty. Did the Oak Father consider Astarion an undead with a soul in need of saving, or an undead with nothing but a masked scent?

Would the Oak Father consider Tav a soul worth saving after she had stolen the very souls he sprouted? Was change enough for both her and Astarion that he would practice benevolence?

Tav sucked in a deep breath. Shame suddenly etched across her face, as did an unsatisfying flush in her cheeks. Her mouth opened slightly around an invisible word. He waited, and offered an encouraging smile.

“I don’t remember kissing anyone who wasn’t dead,” she admitted, her voice wholly dejected. As if this one admission was enough to squander any acceptance from Silvanus. “My memories are vague, of course. But I do remember one man. His heart was beating. I don’t think I ever killed him.”

Halsin had to tread carefully or else the reopening of her wounds could prove dangerous.

“Did you want to kiss your victims?”

She paused. “I think Orin wanted me to.”

“Do you see Orin in those memories?”

“I see her laughing.”

What in the Hells was their dynamic like? Though not related by blood, Orin had played the role of evil elder sister and Tav the role of evil little one. But had Orin been the most depraved of the two? The most abhorrent and wicked? Was Tav a subject of immorality, but able to control her urges more often? To be a Bhaalspawn and to not resist the urge to maim… Tav’s blood was diluted, while Orin had been pumped full.

If Orin had been kidnapped and infected, Halsin wholeheartedly believed he would have died by her dagger that night, that the Grove would have fallen, that the shadow curse would have never been lifted.

“She may have ordered me to do that stuff, but I still did it. I killed to honor my father, but kissing them? That was to satisfy Orin. To satisfy something darker than the urge. And when we saw Rolan today… I snapped. All I could see was his unwillingness to adhere to Lorroakan's insane orders. I saw his fear. And if any of my victims had felt that way, then avenging Rolan was as much of an apology as I could ever give them.”

To live a life with the knowledge it wasn’t entirely full, that there was a separate personality all along…

Halsin cleared his throat, shuffling the slightest bit closer to her. She stayed where she was, but marked his movement. “Do you remember anything else about that man you mentioned?”

Tav thought about it for a second. Something curious flashed across her face, but he couldn’t name it. “I—I just remember a gold hand.”

Dragonborn, maybe? He didn’t voice the theory obviously.

But what he said next surprised him enough that his mouth dried instantly.

“Would you like to kiss me?”

Tav’s eyes widened. “I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you.”

She chuckled, embarrassment evident in how she twiddled her thumbs. Her nails clinked together, the shine of the purple metallic polish sending a shiver down his spine. Oh, how it would feel to receive fresh, consensual scars from her.

“The Oak Father won’t call it a disgrace?”

“I am positive he won’t,” he assured her. He moved closer, careful to not loom over her. Their knees touched. “I can be your beating heart.”

“And you want this?”

This was the time to be truthful. To bathe in the confidence he had cultivated and perfected by his hundredth year. To admit to her that what he was feeling was something else entirely than what his body had told him to feel for years. “For a long time, if I’m being honest. I go where my heart leads. It would be a lie to say you haven’t surprised me. Encouraged me, astonished me. You are magnificent. A beacon of hope, even if the shimmer is burning you from the inside-out.”

“I don’t want to simply be another notch on your belt.”

“Do not ever reduce yourself as such. My heart does not stir lightly,” he tried to reason, tried to pretend that her words didn’t hurt.

“But that’s what it is, Halsin. I appreciate the gesture, but I respect your place in nature. You are a creature who cannot stay in one place for a long time, and granted I am, too. Though I see myself moving with only one person on my arm, forever. If I ever beat this curse of mine, I want the choice. I want the opportunity. And I want to be someone’s only choice, selfishly.”

“I—”

“I am not asking you to change yourself for me,” she said, her breath quickening. “I know there have been plenty of lovers and there will be plenty more. But I have stolen loves from so many people. I have stolen their opportunities. It does not feel right to indulge, and it doesn’t feel right to indulge with you.”

“Perhaps I mistook our relationship, or rather our… tension, wrongly” he explained, masking his pain.

She let out a frustration moan. “I want you, but only if you’re just mine. And I can’t have you, because that’s not my fate.”

She believed that she did not deserve him. That he was a prize? Halsin couldn’t think of himself as such, nor could he believe that she was punishing herself so. But as he remembered how she stepped right into the path of danger when Astarion’s siblings attacked, how she did not want to be patched up, it finally made sense.

Atonement. Atonement in the form of punishment. The punishment of loneliness.

Like Gale, who hid himself away after absorbing the darkest Weave. Having no one to speak to besides Tara, besides letters with his mother. Who tried his hardest to create distance between him and Astarion, but failed when the vampire lured him with nothing but sweet, honeyed words. Like Karlach, who tried her hardest not to sneak away at night to visit Dammon. But with the Elfsong so close to his newest forge, she could not help overstepping her self–inflicted choice. Like Wyll, who made a deal with a devil and accepted exile. Who couldn’t speak the truth and fell into the belief that maybe he wasn’t ever meant to. Who would rather his father hate him from afar than know what he had become.

“What do you believe is your fate?” he asked, perhaps a little too harshly.

“To help all of you. Save Baldur’s Gate. And then die.”

He stood, his muscles straining as he tried to relax. He gripped the balcony’s edge. She did not move from her spot, frozen as she stared and burned through the back of his head.

And like Gale, Tav had chosen to blow up any chance at long-term redemption. Like Karlach, Tav had chosen to burn when it was all over. They had all chosen wrong.

How to prove to them that they were worth everything and more, how to prove that the world was better with them in it? How to prove to Tav that he wasn’t sure he was a wild heart anymore, and that maybe, just maybe, she was the reason.

Selfish as she was apparently, he wanted to prove that he was ten times worse.

“A single kiss then. I ask nothing more, and expect nothing else in return.”

The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow upon her scarred face. The heat was touching her, and oh how he envied it so. “Why?”

He turned, lifting his chin so that all she could see was sincerity. “Because you have been deprived of it. Because you are over a hundred years old and do not remember the caress of another. Because Bhaal has made you desensitized.”

“So, pity then?”

“Because it would be your choice.”

She glanced down at her hands, at the brick beneath her cushion. Whatever quarrel she was having with herself looked tiring. And Gods did he want her to relent.

“Out of everyone here,” she breathed, “I don’t know why I only want to kiss you.”

His own breath came faster as she stood and walked to him. Placing a hand upon his chest, she caressed the fabric. Curiosity bloomed in her irises, and he let her roam for a minute or so. Let her have the chance at feeling another living being. She rested her palm over his heart, and muttered her count.

“Ten,” she said, closing her eyes, “Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

“Endless,” he confirmed, reaching up to take that same palm in his hand. Though he recognized the lust in her eyes, he also saw the fear. He was so much taller than her, so much older, and in her opinion, good. But she had forgotten the bloodthirst he had in the goblin camp, the hand he had wrapped around Kagha’s throat, the fact that Isobel had fallen all those years ago because of his blade. If they were comparing their misdeeds, they were equal.

“Whenever you say stop,” he said, leaning down so their lips brushed, “We stop. Okay?”

Tav did her best to nod, but Halsin recognized that dazed movement anywhere. She was floating.

“Come back to me, little one.”

With that, the glaze in Tav’s eyes disappeared. She leaned forward, pressing further until their lips moved as one. Halsin used a single finger to lift her chin, the kiss slow. He was in no hurry to rush it, no hurry to end what should be their only kiss. This was a transaction of sorts—

Tav wrapped a desperate hand around the back of his neck, pushing her upper body against him. In turn, their kiss deepended. Nearly ravenous, but full of all that bashfulness she had expressed earlier. When was the last time he had participated in such a chaste kiss? In his youth, surely. His past lovers were scattered, none staying around for more than a month. And he was just as guilty when it came to long-term predicaments. The bear roamed, and he answered its call.

But here, with Tav’s lips molding so beautifully into his own with innocent need, he experienced the combination of love and lust. He wanted to continue kissing her, no matter where it led. He wanted to kiss her tomorrow, no matter the bear’s torment. He wanted to kiss her always, and be all she ever wanted.

Tav pulled him in deeper, hungry, gaining more confidence as he followed her lead. He didn’t need to teach her anything, it seemed. Whether this was instinct or because she too felt the overwhelming desire to burrow into his skin, Halsin was more than happy to be her practice doll, more than happy to explore all impulses. Good or bad.

Gods save him, good or bad.

“Kiss me harder, please,” Tav pleaded, the gravel in her voice causing him to harden. He made sure his hips didn’t meet hers. But she was pushing deeper, stepping forward and neatly entangling their legs together. Halsin backed up, mindful of the balcony’s edge. He sat carefully and let her push herself between his open legs, and at this angle they were practically face to face. Tav kissed him harder, slipping her tongue over his bottom lip. A question.

He opened his mouth and finally tasted her, groaning lowly. When they arrived at the Gate, their fruit assortment expanded. Here they were able to indulge in more than just apples and oranges. Tav tasted of kiwi and the lemon she squeezed in her morning tea. She tasted of the butter buns he always caught Karlach stealing, of the cinnamon cookies Yenna had tried her hand at baking yesterday. He knew he tasted of that same tea, but Halsin had found himself indulging more in grapes and cinnamon rolls Cher Rover saved specifically for him. Separating from Tav now would be a crime to everything sweet.

“Halsin,” Tav rasped, her slender hands coming around to cup his scarred cheeks. He kept his own at her waist. “A single kiss.”

“A single kiss,” he repeated, sharing her breath. He dove in for more, their statement ignored and the two unbothered. They could extend this single kiss for hours and technically be right.

She suddenly gasped, stiffening against him. Her face pulled tight.

“Tav?” Halsin tried, worry spiking to the point he tried standing. Tav did not move, her grip on his shoulders too strong.

Her eyes were watery with sorrow as she opened them. “I had a vision of pushing you off the balcony.”

Halsin held his breath. She made no move to do so.

A nervous laugh escaped him. “I could just shapeshift into a bird, my heart.”

She waited, her mouth opening and closing awkwardly. The mere absurdity of the situation drew a short laugh from her, her eyes clearing simultaneously. She slid her hands down his neck, then settled them on his chest. Pulling back so their noses brushed, Tav nudged him slightly in question. Halsin nodded, completely basked in the glow of her exploration. Tav traced his curves and grooves, his scars and age marks, starved for touch alone. And when she reached his waistband, he pulled back to ask the same of her.

She nodded, and he moved his hands up.

Together they learned the whispers of their fingers and just how long they could hold their breaths. Together they slid their bodies closer, moving against one another to apply the necessary pressure needed to reach that delectable edge. Halsin kept his thick thigh planted between her legs, groaning as Tav rolled her cunt against it, chasing her high at a slow pace.

Though she was desperate to feel such bliss with a willing partner, she did not rush it. Halsin didn’t want her to either. He would stay up here for hours, learning her likes and dislikes, learning how to properly sketch the length of her body with his tongue.

“Gently,” he coaxed, bringing a hand up to tangle at the back of her head. He pulled her face from the crook of his sweaty shoulder and held her there, burning their gazes together as she took his order into consideration. She slowed her movements but bent deeper, so much so that her weight alone forced him to swallow down the savageness of the bear. “That’s it. There you go. I want you to learn your body first before you learn mine.”

“Fuck,” Tav rasped, bringing both hands to his head to mimic his grip. Halsin bit his lip to keep from pushing his hips up. She moved faster, no doubt the glow in her stomach at a full frenzy.

“So beautiful,” he continued, his voice now at the lowest register he’d ever heard. Everything about this felt different—her scent relaxed his very core, her weight fought and won against the weight of his responsibilities, her noises sank deep into his chest and melted along his ribs. In his three-hundred and fifty years, he had never experienced such a connection. He would like to believe that he had been attentive to past lovers, but Tav… He wasn’t even actively providing the pleasure and yet she had destroyed his concept of sex from the inside-out.

“Make yourself come,” Halsin said, tempting her even further by pulling her in for a searing kiss. Tav whined, her hips losing their rhythm—

The hatch opened before Tav reached her climax, paralyzing her against Halsin’s chest. He held her tighter, and shot daggers at their intruder over her trembling shoulder.

Wyll stood on the ladder wide-eyed, clutching his chest as if the scene before him had prompted heartburn. His face flushed with embarrassment, and he stuttered over his apology. “I can just… go get fresh air in the street.”

As the hatch shut, Tav removed herself from Halsin’s protective grip. He could not stop his body from reaching out for her.

“Tav.”

Backing away on wobbly legs, she did her best at offering a practiced smile. “Goodnight, Halsin.”

Later, when they rescued Minsc and dealt with the aftermath, Tav avoided his eyes and overcompensated with their newest arrival. Loud jokes, prolonged questioning—it made Halsin want to hide away forever, or until his beating heart called another’s name.

---

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Tav whispered, though her moan gave her away. Her slender fingers rose along his hips, tugging at his waistband. He had left his shirt behind, embracing the chill of nature. If he was going to bed Tav in the flowerbed near the Elfsong, he would do so with as little clothing in the way. The quicker his flesh met hers, the quicker the fire in his heart would settle. Though, Tav’s panting gave it the oxygen to thrive. Her tongue licked the flames, burning him brightly, to the point he dropped to his knees with all thoughts scorched except one.

He devoured her, swiping his tongue along her slit and soaking up all she gave. She yelped, her fingers combing through his loose hair. She had taken his braids out one-by-one hours ago, massaging his scalp and whispering sweet-nothings along the sensitive skin of his pointy ears. Now, she gripped and pulled, relishing in the vibrations his groans made against her most intimate flesh. She pulled him in deeper, slapping one hand back against the stone of the building. Their companions could surely hear them—the windows were knocked open. And the thought invaded just as quickly as she came on his eager tongue: Astarion or Shadowheart—Gale—watching from the windowsill and getting themselves off at the same time. Learning from watching Halsin feast, from watching his cock drive into the beautiful woman wailing his name.

“Halsin,” Tav breathed, pulling him up to stand. He let her use her strength, let her be in charge, guiding him in all places. “Fuck me. Fuck me until I can’t help crying your name. Fuck me and claim me as yours, forever. Come inside me, mark me as yours.”

The bear nearly broke loose, territorial to the highest extremes.

Halsin drove into her slowly, deeply, the squeeze stealing the air in his lungs and threatening to knock him out. She felt divine, like nothing he had ever felt before. He had many lovers, but none had wrapped around him with both sex-crazed madness and lo—

Halsin sucked in a gust of air, shooting upward in his bed. The beds at the Elfsong creaked when one changed position, and he had no doubt he had awakened someone close by. The nearest bunk to his left was Minthara’s, and Astarion to his right. But neither moved to indicate they heard him or scented his obvious arousal.

Cursing softly, he laid back down and tried to steady the beating of his heart. Tav was far away enough, bunking near Karlach tonight, that she wouldn’t suspect anything. Hear anything. And he prayed the two nearest him wouldn’t hate him for this.

Halsin reached below the sheets and gripped his hardness, shutting his eyes as that touch alone threatened to make him audible. Slowly he dragged his hand up and down, stopping at the tip to swipe. The quicker he got this over with, the quicker the shame could come and go.

Tav had not sought him out after their kiss and… heavy-petting session, but he had seen the heat in her eyes. A promise that she had enjoyed their time together, his touch. The memory of that silver fire had him moving his hand faster. He reached to cup his balls with the other, biting his lip as the pleasure at the base of his spine grew. He remembered how her hips moved over his, how her mouth tasted, how her arousal smelled. How he had to keep the bear caged, and that made his grip on her even tighter. But it seemed Tav liked that, liked his roughness, and wanted to deliver the same amount.

The pleasure built and built, until it finally erupted. Halsin choked on a shout, grinding the side of his face into the pillow. Pulling until he milked himself dry. He lay there panting, eyes shut as the guilt slowly crept along his extremities.

“Darling, I at least have the good graces to please myself in the comfort of my own tent or in the bathroom.”

Halsin froze, and his stomach rotated when Minthara’s voice answered the vampire.

“Lies, Astarion. You haven’t pleased yourself in weeks. You have the wizard to thank for that.”

Astarion choked on his retort, but said nothing to contradict it.

---

“You’re here. Orin was telling the truth.”

Tav crossed her arms as she glared at Gortash, clicking her tongue when she noticed his eyes wandering. She was wearing thin armor today, tight around the waist and non-restricting around the neck. Halsin had stared for a long while before they had left their rooms, readjusting his trousers when she purposely bent down to grab her weapon of the day. She had winked, lifted her skirts to expose her thigh, and whispered a promise of lifting it higher when they returned.

Now, as Gortash made a meal of her, it unsettled something greedy in Halsin. He had no right to shield Tav, but there was grime in the villain’s eyes. And he was done convincing himself he would feel this affected with just any lover.

Tav ignored Gortash’s initial surprise, allowing Wyll to take the lead.

“My father, Gortash. Let him go—”

“Oh, but I wasn’t talking to you, Wyll Ravengard,” Gortash snapped, a smile still playing on his pale lips. He gave Wyll an unimpressed once-over, then turned back to Tav. “My favorite little assassin… Tell me, how has the holiday been?”

"I could've done with less cultists, you absolute lunatic."

Wyll held his breath.

“I know it was Orin who kidnapped me from Baldur’s Gate. I want to know why.”

Gortash wasn’t exactly handsome, especially not when he frowned. The action seemed to drag his stress lines further. But he held himself like a man with power, and with power came confidence.

“By the gods, they weren’t kidding. You truly don’t remember any of it, do you?” he said, huffing a simple laugh, one that scraped the walls of Halsin’s skull. “Why, it was us who orchestrated this grand design in the first place.”

The entire audience hall seemed to freeze as they processed Gortash’s outlandish claim.

Tav swallowed, her lilac cheeks losing all color. “What?”

He made his way down the stairs, his robes swinging with each powerful stride. Tav stood her ground, but Karlach pointed her long ax at the new Archduke. Halsin inched closer to Tav as well, but he was more mindful of the rattling Steel Watch targeting Karlach.

Gortash dismissed the metal monstrosity. He stood close enough now that Halsin smelled the city and a hint of rosemary on him.

“The tadpoles, the brain, opening a Hells gate, the cult, everything. And Orin went and betrayed you, wanting the stones all to herself. Betrayed us.”

“It was… It was me? All of it?”

“Our raid of Mephistopheles’ lair will be spoken about in the Hells for centuries.”

“The crown…” Tav whispered, the memory of its abduction no doubt swimming in her mind. Then guilt clouded her features—for all of it. The infestation, the deaths they caused, Gale’s obsession with Karsus’s forbidden magic. She was spiraling, blaming herself for all it—

“My pretty little mastermind,” Gortash practically purred, raising a hand to gently swipe it down her cheek. Halsin growled, a low glimmer of gold coming off of him. Gortash grinned savagely. “I have tried to keep everything in order in your absence. All the things you entrusted me with.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Karlach screamed, alerting some Flaming Fists. Again, Gortash dismissed them with a simple wave.

“How do you know him?” Karlach inquired further.

Tav turned to the tiefling. “I—”

“Don’t tell me you forgot. Orin really did a number on you, didn’t she? Always a lapdog, she was. Begging to be Bhaal’s chosen ever since she learned how to whine. But she is careless, and too distracted.”

Gods, it made so much sense. The tadpoling center under Moonrise, Orin’s vendetta, Gortash’s odd truce. His chest ached with the need to hold her, to remind her that that wasn’t who she was anymore. She had changed, brought about a change in Astarion, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale, Minthara—

Him.

If he could take her away from all of this, meet her in the afterglow, he would sprint and never look back. She had done so much good these last few months and Gortash’s jealous speech was a threat to her already fragile sanity.

“You… You worked with strategy. You had a purpose. You were determined. I tolerate Orin, but I liked you.”

He followed Tav’s distressed gaze to the golden glove encasing the purple netherstone.

The gold hand.

“We worked all through the night, you and I. Perfecting this scheme. When you disappeared, I admit I worried for your safety,” Gortash said, his irises darkening. “I missed you.”

Halsin didn’t have to move—Tav reached for his hand and gripped it tight. Gortash noted their connection, but his smile only grew. A more tame twin of Orin’s, it seemed.

“What was I to you?” Tav insisted. “What were you to me?”

“This cannot be happening,” Karlach cringed, several dramatic gags accompanying her declaration.

Gortash rolled his eyes. “A travesty Orin erased so much. Perhaps I shouldn’t reminisce with your companions present.”

“Tell me what I did.”

Karlach gave an incredulous gasp of protest, but Tav remained adamant.

“What you did… Enthusiastically, might I add. Seeing you now is overwhelming. The way your lips tasted, how your eyes would roll to the back of your head, your neck bared for me. I heard there is a spawn in your company… Do you give your neck to him? Do you scream for him like you screamed for me?”

Tav snarled as Karlach exclaimed, “Liar!”

“Do not be a child, Karlach,” Gortash snapped. “Tav and I, two adults, were together even while you were by my side. I’m surprised you never met.”

“A secret,” Tav confirmed, though her statement came out more as a shameful question.

“It saddens me that you don’t remember anything but that. Perhaps we can come to an agreement over this Ravengard business.”

“What did you have in mind?” Wyll chimed in, seemingly unmoved by the revelation. If his relationship was something other with her, Halsin would too disregard Gortash’s claims. Tav’s past sex life was none of his business, neither was it Wyll’s, but the fact Gortash had such a lively role in it… The one living soul Tav remembered touching…

Something dark stirred in the pit of his stomach, its claws begging to rip open its cage and eviscerate his opponent. The bear had disemboweled plenty of enemies, but this one—this one Halsin wanted to tear apart with his bare hands.

Gortash lowered his voice as he spoke next, enough of a signal that the surrounding Fists turned their heads.

“I will hand over Duke Ravengard right now with a promise to keep him safe, if…” he trailed off, bowing his head to chuckle. “Listen to me bargaining. How unbecoming of me. I am a dealer, not a trader.”

“Speak plainly, Gortash,” Wyll pushed, the hair-raising tone causing Gortash’s brows to rise.

He turned to Tav. “If you agree to spend the night with me, Ravengard walks freely.”

“No deal.”

They were the first words Halsin had spoken since entering the audience hall. He couldn't give less of a shit for intruding on what was obviously Tav’s decision.

“Halsin—” she hissed.

Gortash laid an elegant hand over his own chest. “How marvelous! Does he speak for you? Is no your answer, too?”

“It’s a no because I don’t want to touch you.”

“You begged for it before.”

Tav bared her teeth. “I won’t anymore.”

“Wyll? If you’re anything like your father, you’ll have some sense. Your father’s freedom, for her cunt.”

Wyll recoiled, his disgust multiplying as Gortash raised his hand yet again to brush Tav’s cheek. This time, however, Halsin shoved the man away.

And was promptly held back by two Fists. Thrashing, Halsin fought to keep the bear within.

“May the gods smite you, Gortash. May this land turn on you in your hour of greatest need,” Wyll threatened, taking the words right out of Halsin’s mouth.

Gortash raised a single brow, unimpressed. “Interesting company you keep nowadays. If you won’t give me what I desperately crave,” he drawled, causing a visible shiver to crawl up Tav’s spine, “then we shall explore other roads.”

“One more word from you and I will kill you.” The Fists were hesitant to grab Karlach, and the look she shot at them severed the idea completely. "And that was a trade, you dumb motherfucker!"

“Oh, but you’ll want to hear this, Karlach. I am on your side. I want nothing more than to save this city and rule side-by-side with Tav here. I am a fair man. And to show you I am a man true to my word, I shall warn you.”

“Threats? Seriously?” Karlach fumed.

“Not from me. By now you’ll have found out that Orin is a shapeshifter. And I warn you that she will strike soon. One of these nights, when you feel safest, she will deceive you.”

“And what do we owe you for this information?” Tav spit, lifting her chin.

Finally, Gortash intertwined his hands behind his back, seemingly aware that Tav was not going to take his absurd deal. Strangely respectful in that sense.

“Kill Orin, reclaim your birthright, and make an ally of me.”

“Despicable piece of shit.”

Gortash gestured at the Fists to release him. Halsin remained where he was, and he could have sworn relief flashed across Gortash’s face.

“Kill Orin, bring me her stone, and I might just prolong the protection of your father, Wyll.” He turned back up the steps, his confidence stitching itself back into his body as it realized the audience was still looking at him. “Think about it, Tav. I am no liar, and my respect for you knows no bounds.”

That night, Tav drank herself to sleep and took residence in one of the booths downstairs. As annoyed as Alan was, he didn’t force her to leave. With the candles blown out, Tav remained curled-up on her side and blissfully unaware of the world around her. Responsibilities that once shackled her were drowned out, reality but a speck on the horizon.

Halsin covered her with a blanket before retreating to the steps in the far corner. He sat at an angle where he could see her, foregoing sleep, and did not leave until the hangover roused her.

Part 2

#bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #halsin #halsin x tav #halsin x durge #drow tav #baldur's gate 3 #one shot #captainsimagines #by moni #part one

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miz-orque · 6 months

Text

Long Post

Sooo here's my silly little Monsoon concept in the Cyberpunk universe. This took some time, but I had a lot of fun doing it. You'll find a few things repeated on paper as my thought process was a little all over the place. The notes and layout on the pages may be a little unorganised. What's written on paper is reflected in the text, plus extra.

Yeah, this is longer than I thought lol so it's really appreciated if you do take the time to read it. I think I went a little ham 👀;

Apologies for image quality. I still have yet to get a scanner.

Cyberpunk!Monsoon.

General info

Typically, I would fashion him in: an Edgerunner's jacket (which is generally a mix of military armour and pedestrian materials woven together (this jacket is the Valentinos dual-weave Edgerunner)), simple black yoros and yoru no samurai kicks - the last two items being reminiscent of his ninja design in his canon universe. His utility belt and sais are also kept the same, tho the end of the sai's pommel glows when in use for combat.

He has a multitude of implants and cybernetics which include:

Memory boost - optimises sync between the brain and cyberware. An additional neuro chip implanted in his frontal lobe allows him full control of his unique cybernetic arms, including detaching and reattaching his arms, and control of his hands if they are several metres away when detached.

Self-ice - prevents him from getting a neuro virus.

Kerenzikov boost system - essentially a reflex booster

Custom Kiroshi optics: the Oracle (more details of this later)

(outdated) magnetic segmented cybernetic arms where each segment has a neuro link for full control (more details of this later)

Second heart - if his current heart stops beating, the second one activates.

Adrenal boosters - helps body maintain performance under pressure (in game stats detail less stamina usage when engaging in melee)

Micro rotors - increases attack speed

Adreno-trigger - increases attack speed for several seconds whe entering combat

Synaptic accelerator - a neuroprocessor that regulates hormonal balance during threatening situations (in game time is perceived slower for a few seconds when in combat. This implant can be used repeatedly after a 60 second cool down, but he's not looking to have a fight for longer than a minute)

Sub-dermal armour - exactly as it sounds - armour beneath the skin. He has this installed on his neck, torso, back and legs (before they were replaced)

Proxi-shield - the closer an attacking enemy is, the less damage they deal

Bionic joints (eventually replaced) - support of joints. He had this in his legs.

Dense marrow (eventually replaced) - increased power behind melee attacks. He had this in his legs

Dermal implant of a Tyger Claw tattoo - This implant directly links the user's optical implant to the weapon's system, offering real-time data-tracking of the weapon info - he only has this because he was a member of Tyger Claws for a few years, but he decided to keep it as he found it useful and for sentimental reasons

Fortified ankles (eventually replaced) - allows for greater distance covered when jumping

Iron lungs - is able to take in and utilise more oxygen. This was useful when he had his organic legs. This cybernetic has become rather redundant to him now that he's more metal than meat, tho he finds it useful for when he's smoking, he doesn't cough, however they're due for a cleaning from his habit.

Blood pump - supplies body's cells quickly and efficiently with oxygen - again no longer required. He eventually gets this removed

Further info

In this canon, Monsoon has albinism. His original eyes were replaced at a young age due to his poor vision and he received dermal implants to protect his sensitive skin from UV radiation.

Originally, his cyber optics were designed after his real eyes. These were standard optics that allowed him to see as the average person. The eyes were later replaced with Kiroshi the Oracle optics when he was recognised as a competent attack dog. These new eyes, however, were again based on his real eyes. He did not obtain his custom black and red optics until he joined Tyger Claws

The Oracle line allows the user to detect enemies (even under cover) within 17 m, turrets and cameras within 35 m and explosives and traps within 26 m, as well as 10x optical zoom in. He later got these functions upgraded when he opted to change their appearance. They were eye wateringly expensive.

The cyber threading on his face (the lines) are based on the veins surrounding his eyes in his original MGR concept art.

Likewise, the barcode on his forehead from his original concept, has been repurposed as evidence of being an unfortunate victim of human trafficking. Human trafficking exists across the globe in the Cyberpunk (CP) universe. The barcode that was tattooed on his forehead as a child was produced for the underground market to audit their stock. These markets are also owned by corporations who donate some of the profit made to charities (to look good to the general public), to law makers (for manipulation) and to crime syndicates (as pay).

As previously stated, Monsoon obtained custom black and red Kiroshi optics when he joined Tyger Claws. He thought they looked intimidating and cool. He was 15. And he still stands by this decision in his 40s. The black and red are also based on his MGR concept art.

For the record, Monsoon's unique eyes and visor in his original MGR concept design are some of my favourite things about him. Respectfully, these were omitted as I felt they didn't completely suit the environment I placed him in for this au. Sure, visors exist in CP, and of course there are characters like the Maelstrom group and even River (2077) that have robust optics, however:

Monsoon in this canon doesn't work as a corpo cyborg based in Denver with henchborgs under him; he is the henchborg and he's really fucking good at it

His visor holds his electromagnetic generator. In this canon, he doesn't have the ability to separate his entire body, just his arms. It would be redundant for him to have it unless he wears it for the aesthetics. I'm on team Practical Monsoon here so...

Maelstrom essentially believe in transhumanism. Monsoon does not believe in this (him becoming a cyborg in MGR is a consequence of him not wanting to die) and the glowing eyes would give his position away if he's being stealthy.

I think River's too broke to get a better looking eye lol. Monsoon may not be rolling in it, but at least he can afford eyes that provide wider perioral vision and allows him to blink his eyelids.

I just wanted to show off the emotions in his eyes. Can't do that if he's looking like: ⚫👃⚫ "I luv u"

I've designed him bulbous eyeball connecting visors that help increase his field of vision to act as his CP au visor. (A little on the fence with this)

Regarding his arms, their design is outdated. Further information will be provided later in the post, tho I thought I'd keep this here as this was used as reference for myself.

Ken doll Mons and his bs (backstory obvs)

Born in 2031 in Cambodia, Monsoon grew up in poverty. He was abducted as a young child and sold in the black market to an organised crime syndicate. Originally, he was going to be used as an actor for the growing extreme braindance (XBD) market, however, due to his aggressive and tenacious nature, he was taken to be trained as an attack dog instead.

Mention of a several years' mission is present, but this will be touched upon later. The two images are of Monsoon before and after this mission.

Pre-mission:

Most of his body is organic, tho he has a number of internal implants (as mentioned previously)

As stated, unlike his original canon design, the additional segments are omitted. Due to CP lore, and considering Monsoon's upbringing, he would have succumb to cyberpsychosis ages ago (would have gone on a spree like James Norris in Edgerunners). A super bog standard definition of cyberpsychos is a condition where the person dissociates from society when they have too many implants and not a great support system (if they even have one). (It's a theory that David's support system is the reason why his tolerance for something as extreme as his sandevistan was high). If the chassis was kept, I would have had to abide by this rule; Monsoon at this point would have been a slender version of Adam Smasher. (Not a bad idea, but that's literally what he is in MGR but with MG lore in place). Omitting his chassis meant that there was more freedom to explore the world of CP with Monsoon. Also I wanted to see him in sneakers.

Also, his design wouldn't suit the Night City (NC) environment. In his original canon, he's the only WoD member that isn't wearing a coat. In NC, he would need to be naked to fully utilise his abilities. Not to mention, the city itself being so busy, I feel as if his magnetism would cause some damage to certain technology, if his segments don't catch onto a vehicle or a building or a fellow cyborg's butt. If anything, reference of his original design (torso and legs) would be for cosmetic purposes.

Post-mission:

He lost his pelvis and legs during the mission

As he was out in the desert at the time of this incident, his legs were replaced with robust mechanical legs provided by a nomad ripperdoc.

His legs were later replaced with a sleeker and more modern design. He also got that Mr Studd installed 😉

His cyber legs also include reinforced tendons (can literally double jump/jump great heights), Jenkin's tendons (accelerates sprinting for a few seconds - recovery time is just as quick when he's not sprinting), fortified ankles (jump great distances) and lynx paws (quiet footsteps). These are to mimic some of the attributes he has in his original canon.

His cyber arms are eventually replaced with an upgraded and custom pair.

He has cyberpsychosis. Treatment includes therapy, medication and being around his support system regularly. Of course, due to the nature of his work, slaughter does help relieve the aggression he gets from his psychosis.

After being sold to an organised crime syndicate to become an XBD actor, his aggressive nature had them think he would be better suited as a protector. He was repurposed to become an attack dog. For fun, he was given a pair of sais to train with, tho his mentor was compassionate enough to train him well. Tho he was born in Cambodia and spent his early childhood there, he was migrated to Japan after being sold. He spent the rest of his childhood serving the Yakuza as their favoured attack dog. From 15, he was stationed at Night City, being a body guard for a high ranking Yakuza member, but he decided to join Tyger Claws instead.

Additional notes:

The crime syndicates involved are primarily a mix of Triad and Yakuza members, smaller groups and groups outside of Asia are also involved, taking advantage of the state of Cambodia (it's not great). Particular corps are also involved and it's rumoured the Khmer Rouge may also be poking their noses into this black market (they exist in the CP universe. Like in our real world history, they did have their influence, however they were expelled from Cambodia and ended up ruling over Laos in the turn of the 21st century) in hind sight, Monsoon was pretty lucky

He was sold at the age of five.

The XBD market involves things like murder, torture, sexual assault - basically any instance that involves very extreme negative emotions (and is obvs very illegal). Monsoon would have likely been put up for murder and maybe even have cyberpsychosis induced on him

The Yakuza viewed Monsoon as disposable, but thought to have him at least trained in fighting. When his teacher taught him how to use the sai (which he picked up quickly), the members he often interacted with saw his potential. On the field, Monsoon was aggressive.

He was named Monsoon because he was purchased during the season. The name stuck because of his extreme behaviours: eerily calm when he's not in a fight, frightfully violent when he is.

His first implant were his eyes. The following cybernetics were implanted on him without his knowledge ie he woke up one day with his hand replaced with a cybernetic one lol. He freaked

When he arrived in Night City, he offed the Yakuza member he was meant to protect and joined Tyger Claws swiftly after. It was rumoured that this particular was to be disposed of once a negotiation with affiliate groups was made. Monsoon didn't care and killed him anyway. He's never forgiven them for what they did to him.

Because of his upbringing, he speaks Japanese fluently. Being the favoured attack dog, he wasn't required to learn any additional languages, especially with the advent of the translator, however, he did take up learning English when he learned he was going to visit California for an unknown amount of time. Much to his chagrin of learning the common conversational sentences English, when he arrived at Night City, particularly Japantown, he was disappointed that everyone around him was speaking Japanese. That didn't stop him from actively learning tho. Unfortunately, he doesn't remember much Khmer if at all.

The crummy tattoo dermal implant on his back depicts Reahu, the demon king in Cambodian mythology. It's described to be a head without a body and devours the sun and moon, but because of its lack of body (and therefore stomach), it's a perpetual cycle of devouring these celestial bodies.

His stoic and serious nature proved him to be a valuable member to the Tyger Claw gang, getting some recognition from high ranking members, including a glance or two from the up-and-coming fixer, Wakako Okada. He was given a few private jobs, one of which awarded him his extraordinarily unique magnetic arms at around the age of 18. Tho his peers didn't care for the attention he received, a small group of Tyger Claws grew jealous of him, even denouncing him as a member for being an outsider.

During a mission out, the small group turned on him, disabling his arms and taking advantage of his shock. He did defend himself to the best of his abilities, however, he was outnumbered and beaten to near death. Before completely blacking out, he called Wakako.

Once recovered and his arms repaired, he left Tyger Claws and sought vengeance on those that tried to kill him. No longer a member, he happily attacks any member that so much as looks at him funny.

Additional notes:

His position in the gang would have been pretty much the same in his original canon. He did participate in some drug dealing and trafficking, however he enjoyed fighting the most.

He was out cold for a couple days when he was picked up by Wakako and taken care of by a doctor of her choosing

Monsoon was growing tired of the gang anyway and thought he would be successful if he left. The group that attacked him provided him a really good reason to leave

He wanted to remove the Tyger Claws tattoo on his back, but decided against it as he gave it a new meaning: continuously devouring the clan

It's an exaggeration to say that he attacks any TC member if they look at him funny. He attacks them if they touch him in any way, shape or form.

Despite the fact he was a member for about five years, he has never crossed paths with Jimmy. Jimmy was locked away being a cringe teenager editing edgy braindances and wearing black eyeliner.

Ze arms

Gifted his magnetic arms at 18, adapting to fully cybernetic arms was a challenge, especially with the unique ability to desegment at will. Tho they are rumoured to be of Arasaka make, his provider advised it was from an underground yet promising corporation.

Previous arms

Neural connection between brain, arms and segments.

Powerful electromagnetism, however best performed away from the busier parts of Night City

Electromagnetic generator located in shoulder joint.

Silicone connection inside and outside of elbow.

Upper half of arm matches skin tone. Forearms and hands are black (right) and red (left).

Palm and fingertips padded; sensors are quite sensitive

Range began at 10 metres, but increased to 15 when his arms were repaired

New and current arms

Possess the same elements as the previous arms, but with a sleek design

Arms are completely black apart from the left forearm and hand being red.

Generator hidden in shoulder

Fingertips have highly sensitive sensors

Edge of segments glow red when in use (when he gets his magnet on)

Carbon fibre material

Faster movement

Range is about 30 metres max.

Additional notes:

The arms are quite expensive. He has to visit a reputable doctor that is well educated in electromagnetics and whatever the fuck else his arms possess because they're pretty insane

It took him a good month to get used to using fully cybernetic arms and even long to actually master the use of its magnetic abilities. He would say about a year.

The underground corporation used both Arasaka and Militech to craft the arms. Monsoon's unknowingly a guinea pig, however he does eventually meet the people behind these.

Said people provided him with the new arms

He exclusively uses his magnetic abilities in combat. At least, that's what he says. Monsoon has used his abilities to get something out of reach, get something from another room, and trip Jimmy (when he didn't like him) - now he uses them to pull Jimmy towards him

Sundowner

Monsoon became a solo mercenary after he left Tyger Claws. Mainly working with Wakako, he would sometimes do gigs with other solos. More often than not, he would find himself working alongside this heavyweight merc, Sundowner. At first, he found him to be rather loud and obnoxious, but eventually he found him to be a worthy and competent ally to the point he's glad to see him in his group of mercs.

Additional notes:

They met for the first time during a meeting with a fixer at Tom's Diner. Monsoon mistook him for a patron as Sundowner was chowing down on a burger and commenting loudly about the music. He wasn't particularly excited to learn that he would be working alongside him for this mission

They only ever hang out at bars or eating establishments, and the occasional visit to a braindance club.

Okay, maybe sometimes they visit Dogtown for the thrill and chaos

Monsoon's been to Sundowner's humble abode once for bbq. It's in the Badlands

They once infiltrated a Scavs base because Sundowner thought one of them stole his keys to his truck. They killed them all. They did not find his keys because he suddenly remembered where they were kept.

They once got into a random scuffle with Sixth Street

And the Voodoo Boys

And the Valentinos

And the Animals

And Tyger Claws (Monsoon enjoyed that one)

All started by Sundowner.

Sundowner is gun heavy in this universe, only using Bloodlust when he wants to get messy, but keep his hands clean.

Of course, Sundowner has the Gorilla Arms cybernetic that grants him immense strength as well as the Reinforced Tendons implants

Coming from Alabama, Monsoon's not quite familiar with the terms Sundowner uses that isn't Night City lingo. Sometimes he uses his translator which isn't the most reliable due to Sundowner's accent. He did eventually grow accustomed to his way of speaking

Sundowner most definitely did partake in the Corporate War of 2069.

Sun became a fan of Jimmy's unnecessarily violent XBD edits

The above drawings are of them in their twenties

Legs and mission

The mission

At around 25 years old, Monsoon with Sundowner was given a secret gig by their mysterious fixer. Like most gigs, survival was not guaranteed, however, the payout for this gig was huge if they did survive. This gig involved them and a small group of other mercs, techies and netrunners to travel outside Night City across the country. The mission was so secretive, contact outside anything that did not revolve around the mission was forbidden, this meant that kin were left in the dark about the whereabouts of their loved ones.

The gig proved challenging; some members lost their lives. Monsoon almost lost his life being involved in an incident that had him lose the lower half of his body. He carried out the rest of the mission in a set of robust cybernetic legs that included storage for his stoma bags. The difficulty of this mission did solidify and strengthen his friendship with Sundowner.

After the mission, which ended up lasting five years, and of course receiving his massive payout, Monsoon got himself a new set of legs, a built in bladder, rectum and a Mr Studd (with Jimmy's assistance). He also developed cyberpsychosis which is handled by his medication, therapy sessions and time spent with loved ones.

Additional notes:

The payout was six digits

The mission itself was arduous. Flat lining tended to be the bulk of the mission, tho the men would argue it felt like an underground war. Really, it was corpo shit trying to keep governments outside of their business. Infiltration and assassination proved more difficult than initially thought, especially when theft of technologies was involved

Monsoon did find it difficult to not get in contact with the people he cared about during his gig. He obviously worried about Jimmy the most because he's a danger magnet. He forced him to get the Shock-n-Awe implant as a means of defence, but he also told Jimmy not to wait for him.

Monsoon's lower body was crushed by a massive structure that collapsed after a bomb went off.

He often wrapped cloth tightly around his abdomen to keep his storma attachments extra secure. The last time he didn't have that security, he dookied on Sundowner when he tried to parkour. They still laugh about it.

He lost his legs about two years into the mission

His psychosis developed rather quickly when his legs were swiftly replaced with robust cybernetic legs.

He was fully prepared for Jimmy to have moved on. Much to his surprise, he waited for him and started gaining immense success in his work.

He also learned he became a cat dad

Ze legs and pelvis

His replacement legs right after the accident were standard metal robotic legs that helped him get around, tho it hindered his athletic abilities. He was happy to have them finally replaced with a more competent model. These legs include:

Matching skin tone

Sensors included that allows him to detect pressure, temperature changes and pain

A faux butt with padding

A Mr Studd that acts similarly to a natural penis - of course he misses his real one, but he's glad he can pee out of this one and relieve sexual need. Special sensors in the phallus connected to a specific neural link allows him to feel aroused when stimulated and lead to an eventual climax, of course it's not the same as it once was. His sex drive is also quite low.

Faux testes included for aesthetic purposes - they look and feel almost like the real thing! 😃 A TRT device was considered to be included in his pair, but he opted to take injections whenever he wanted to. He doesn't think the lack of testosterone hinders his abilities to carry out his duties as a merc. Before he changed his legs, he wasn't on testosterone regularly.

Reinforced tendons, Jenkin's tendons and Lynx paws installed

Height increased from 6'2" to 6'5" - he had a high calorie and nutritional diet due to being trained as a fighter, however, that isn't to say he didn't receive painful procedures to increase his height to appear more intimidating

Has replacement organs with sensors

Artificial butthole works fine 👍 (don't lie, you were curious)

He takes rather strong immunoblockers

Additional notes:

Jimmy paid for some of the costs. He insisted.

Recovery was relatively quick, tho he had to take the time to get used to his new legs and make sure sensors worked well.

Jimmy's aware of Monsoon's cyberpsychosis. It kinda turns him on. And he loves to admit it.

....yeah Jimmy did select the junk to be Monsoon's replacement sausage

Khamsin

During a few of his gigs, he had Khamsin as his "wheels guy". His chatter and loud music gets on Monsoon's gears, but Sundowner like Khamsin, plus he's an excellent driver. Most of the time, Monsoon zones out when he's around Khamsin, but with enough drinks, he'll chuckle at a joke or two.

Additional notes:

Khamsin's truck looks better than how I drew it. I'm just bad at drawing vehicles

Khammy also has cybernetic legs

Mons doesn't hate him, but he wouldn't invite him to his place

Sometimes he gets taunt ideas from Khamsin

Mistral

Monsoon has been a well established solo when he met the young and snarky woman who goes by Mistral. Tho she's solo, she also dabbles in netrunning, proving her versatility. At first the two didn't get on so well. She taunted him about being an old fogie, and he retorted her about being a naïve and obnoxious little girl with pink hair, even tho their age difference is approximately 15 years.

Sundowner kept wanting her on the team despite the bickering as the group worked well together and he enjoyed her accent. When the group finally did decide to hang out together at a bar, Monsoon and Mistral bonded over their annoyance with Khamsin and their love for Jimmy. As the two got closer, Mistral gifted Monsoon a couple of sakura hair clips she won at a fair. He invited her to his place to see his cat.

Additional notes

Mistral's married to Courtney lol. Courtney's a corpo, but they hardy spend time together due to their work

Mistral's a fan of Jimmy's XBDs.

She's visited their place multiple times and has designated herself as their cat's aunt

Monsoon loves the hair clips, even tho he doesn't express this out loud

She's a gun user - I'm basing this off her time as a soldier, plus I'm not sure where her lance fits in the CP universe. The geckos would be more like her and Courtney's freak children than her tools

Monsoon does not like her freak children

Weirdly, her and Jimmy became good friends. They text each other on a regular basis

She also hangs out with the two if Courtney's busy with work

She playfully throws things at Monsoon. Monsoon draws on her face when she's netrunning

She came to Night City directly from Algeria. She misses the food there

Fighting

Monsoon's fighting style is more or less identical to the original canon moveset, save for his lack of magnetic segmented legs and torso. When he had his natural legs, he utilised reflex implants to boost speeds and force behind his kicks. Now that he has his cybernetic legs, he's even more dangerous in a fight. He has implants that increase his resistance to hacking. His arms can be disassembled by skilled hackers, a hell of a disadvantage if he's using his sais to attack from a distance. He carries a multitude of grenades with him which includes explosives, EMPs and smoke grenades.

Outfit

Monsoon dresses in kitsch style clothing. His wardrobe consists mainly of vests and short sleeves, and perhaps five pairs of bottoms. As he's often doing gig work (and beating up Tyger Claws), he favours no sleeves for their practically and ease of wear. He does own at least a handful of long sleeve shirts, bombers and hoodies which he wears on special occasions, such as when he doesn't want to use his magnetic abilities.

Additional notes

He owns a couple neokitsch style clothing (clothing that only the wealthy can afford) because Jimmy likes to spoil him. He only ever wears them when he's visiting Embers

Jimmy likes stealing his jackets and hoodies.

Monsoon on occasion wears Jimmy's jacket to feel like a villain - Jimmy doesn't take offence to this.

Monsoon wears his clothes until they fall apart. It annoys Jimmy because he knows he can afford new clothes.

He also hates going clothes shopping with Jimmy

Apartment

His apartment is located in Japantown, Westbrook of Night City. He keeps the apartment clean and free of clutter, the only decorations he has are books/magazines and a dragon statue that holds incense (came with the apartment). Eventually, his apartment transformed into a lively little abode when Jimmy entered his life. After becoming accustomed to the company, the apartment now includes horror movie posters, memory chips dotted everywhere, cute little momentos, cans of Spunky Monkey in the fridge, an additional toothbrush, additional clothes in the wardrobe, sex toys and numerous Polaroid photographs of the two.

Additional notes:

Sometimes they use each other's toothbrush by mistake

He has a plethora of plants. He likes nature. Jimmy's a little freaked out by the plants especially when they touch him

He doesn't smoke in the apartment

#Okay I think I'm done #I have been on this from the first page to the last bit of text for maybe a week and a half/couple of weeks?#I'm not quite sure how to even tag this if I even HAVE a specific tag for this #I'll use my usual tags for now #IT'S A LOOONG post of alt universe fan nonsense. I might even rejig some of the info later down the road if I'm still fixated #I advise you grab a snack #My art #cyberpunk au #mgr monsoon #mgr sundowner #mgr mistral #Mgr Khamsin #cyberpunk 2077 #I'm so tired #👁️👁️#nerd shit

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