#i thought of Lucretious when making them

[abanbas]

Sire loves having people message his scalp, he doesn't care who it is as long as they're not gonna tangle his hair up.

He also loves hugging people, he's so dramatic, he's such a queen. I love them baaad. WAAAH.

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Eight

Summary

When whining about season selection to your therapist turns into confronting the complicated ways that Astarion makes you feel, she challenges you to really explore what it is that you - or perhaps your subconscious - want.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2.6k Tags/Warnings: imagined D/s dynamic, light bondage, ascended Astarion lines, vaginal fingering, masturbation

Thank god this girl is finally getting into therapy, am I right? I don't have a ton to say other than now that the major conflict I had planned is winding down, it's going to be a lot more about exploration from here on out.

Once again, Zaria is out here killing it with these screenshots!

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

You massage your temples in an attempt to ease your headache. Season selection has been going terribly – every meeting just ended with everyone talking in circles. Today, it’s Alfira’s turn to make her case as to why hers is the best choice.

“I just think that it would do our students a lot of good to have this outlet to talk about their mental health,” she insists, bleeding heart that she is.

“I’m not necessarily saying I disagree with you,” you begin, gears in your head turning as you formulate your thoughts. “But isn’t Heathers, like, dark to the point of troubling?”

“Well sure, it’s dark, but what do you mean troubling?” Her eyes are big and round, and you try to imagine someone as tender as Alfira blocking a scene like “Dead Girl Walking.” It’s not easy.

“I’ve seen the way teen girls talk about the character JD, it’s a little concerning.” You fold your arms and lean back in your chair, studying Alfira’s expression carefully as it twists into a frown.

“I mean, sure, some of them think he’s cute, but I don’t think anyone is looking at him and thinking ‘boyfriend goals.’” 

“Are you sure? Have you seen the TikToks for that one song? What’s-it-called, the ‘open the door’ song.” Your fingers twitch towards your phone, fighting the urge to pull up the app.

“Yeah, ‘Meant to be Yours,’ I’ve seen them, and I think they’re fairly harmless. They know it’s not real, you know?” She fiddles with the pen in her hand, not taking her eyes off you. You squirm, uncomfortable under her persistent gaze.

“Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.” You look down at your notes, giving yourself a second to think. “Something about the way they talk about JD makes me feel icky. JD as a character makes me feel icky. Besides,” you add quickly before she gets that puppy dog look in her eyes, “I don’t know if building around a theme of ‘mental health’ is specific enough to be interesting. I’m not even sure I can think of a classical play that fits into that.”

“Perhaps Hamlet?” Lucretious says with a smirk, and you groan loudly as others in the meeting titter.

“Gods, please, literally anything else,” you whine. 

The discussion continues, going absolutely nowhere, until the clock ticks over and everyone starts to pack up their things. Another meeting gone, and you’re no closer to having a season for next year. You put away your notebook and Alfira comes up beside you.

“Just think on it a little more,” she implores. “The kids have talked a lot about wanting to do Heathers, I’m just advocating for them.”

“But do you think it’s a good, timely choice? You, the professor?” you ask suspiciously, trying to scope out her intentions.

“I really do, yes. I think there’s a reason why they’re drawn to it right now.”

You chew on your lip and look at her a little longer. Then you sigh and acquiesce. “Fine, I’ll give it another read. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it, maybe there’s something I’m missing.”

“Thank you! I appreciate it, and I know the students do too,” she says, giving your arm a little squeeze. You soften, finding it difficult to perform your usual stubbornness with someone as sweet as Alfira.

Something is still gnawing at you, though, and you can’t figure out what.

***

You arrive at your therapist’s office a few minutes before your appointment. You sit in the waiting room, the white noise machine humming pleasantly. At 6:00 on the dot, Jaheira opens the door and waves you forward.

“Come in,” she says in her thick Russian accent. You walk past her into the office, which has a cozy, natural vibe. Between all of the plants and the bookshelves, you have no idea what color the walls are. You toe off your shoes and settle on the couch cross-legged as she sits across from you in an elegant red chair.

“So tell me, how are things going?” she asks, crossing her legs and letting her legal pad balance on her knee. You fidget uncomfortably, trying to figure out what to bring up first. But the season selection meeting is still so fresh in your mind, and you have so many thoughts bouncing around your head. Before you can stop yourself, you’re filling her in on all the details, including your feelings about Heathers.

“I just don’t understand why she’s so insistent on this musical, it’s not even really that good,” you grump, picking at your cuticles. She taps her pen to her mouth contemplatively.

“And this character that bothers you so much, JD? What is it about him specifically that gets under your skin? Surely you don’t feel this way about all bad guys in plays.” She tilts her head as she speaks and your eyes dart around the room, both avoiding her gaze and trying to gather your thoughts.

“I don’t know, there’s just something… Honestly, I think it’s the way these teen girls talk about him. I can totally see some of myself in them, too. I feel like if I were a teen when this musical came out I’d be foaming at the mouth for him.” You roll your eyes at the imaginary version of yourself you’ve conjured.

“Is that bad? To find the villain attractive?”

“It’s not just finding him attractive, it’s what qualities they find attractive. The toxicity, the obsessiveness, the violence. I don’t want them to take that into their real lives, you know?” Your words ring in your ears with double meaning and you quickly shut the errant thought down. Not Jaheira, though. She picks up on it immediately.

“We’re not talking about JD anymore, are we?” she asks softly and you fold your arms across your chest. You’re silent for a good long time, various thoughts and feelings barreling through your mind like a train, while she just watches you patiently. Finally, you muster up the energy to speak.

“I just… don’t like that I like it. Every time my body gets turned on by something terrible that he does, I feel betrayed. Like I’ve violated my own consent. It makes me feel sick,” you say in a very small voice, fixing your gaze on a small succulent on the coffee table in front of you.

“I believe you said last tenday that he thought it was all a game, correct?” she asks carefully, and you nod. She continues, “Well, what’s stopping you from playing along with him?”

You stare at her, that ringing in your ears coming back. Your stomach lurches, but you genuinely can’t tell if it’s from aversion or excitement.

“I mean, I don’t want to think of my relationship as a game,” you say with slight disgust. She shakes her head.

“Not the relationship, no, but perhaps other things. If you two agree on the rules ahead of time, find a safe way to tap out if need be, what’s to stop you from having fun?”

“What, like kink?” you ask with incredulity. It’s not something you had ever considered for yourself.

“You could call it that, but it doesn't need to be anything so formal. As long as you agree on your boundaries prior.” She looks at you with that penetrating stare again, like she can peer directly into your thoughts. “Can you trust this man?”

You genuinely don't know the answer to this question.

She doesn't let the silence linger for quite as long this time. She continues, “Try it on your own, first. Just fantasy. Give yourself permission to go as dark as you want. Just make sure you have a bottle of wine and a good friend on hand.” You immediately picture a smiley Shadowheart.

There's still something tugging at your mind, though.

“But doesn't it say something about my, like, feminist values if I want to get beat up in the bedroom?” You pick some lint off your sock so you don't need to look at her, but you steal a glance up at her anyway. She’s raising an eyebrow.

“What does it say?” she asks in that tone she uses when she's pushing back on one of your biases. You swallow your instinctive response and really think about an answer.

“I don't know, like I'm a bad feminist or something,” you finally mutter. Jaheira barks out a laugh.

“Please, what, do you think you're going to go to Feminist Thought Jail? That the Feminist Police are going to come and arrest you?” Her tone is snide but it makes you crack a smile nonetheless. She knows that you sometimes need a firm hand to keep your anxiety in line.

“Your homework,” she continues, glancing at the clock, “is to let yourself explore this fantasy, however you want. Whether it's just in your mind, or in writing, you can touch yourself or not, it's up to you.” Your cheeks redden slightly at getting “masturbate” as therapy homework. “Just make sure you're listening to your body. I think she knows what she wants more than that brain of yours.”

You take a deep breath and put your feet on the floor again, slipping your sneakers back on.

“Thanks, Jaheira.”

“You're welcome. It's literally my job. I'll see you next tenday, yeah?”

You nod, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You exit her office, ideas for your “assignment” bouncing around your head.

***

You get back to your apartment and kick off your shoes. You drop your bag and immediately head into the kitchen to pour yourself a drink. There’s absolutely no way you can do this stone cold sober. Your eyes flit between the fridge handle and the wine rack above it. Red or white? The image of Astarion licking your blood off his lips invades your mind.

Red. Obviously. Unfortunately. 

You catch yourself. You don’t need to be so judgmental. You like red, and if it adds to the experience because it makes you think of him, so be it.

Your desire to cringe is potent nevertheless.

You bring the glass into your bedroom and dim the lights in an attempt to set some sort of mood. You pull a candle out of a Bath and Bodyworks bag on your dresser, trying not to think about how much time you spent trying to find one with the right smell. You set the candle and your wine glass on your bedside table. You strike a match and watch as the wick catches light, the flame bobbing around like a chipper little parakeet. 

While staring off into space in the direction of the candle, you take a long, deep sip of wine. After a moment, you lie back on your bed and stare at your ceiling. Echoes of the fire dance across your vision. You take a deep breath, nervous about where you’re about to let your mind wander. 

You conjure up his expression from the night you saw Taming. That snide grin, fangs bared, blood dripping down his chin. You remember him closing his hand around your throat and something deep in your core constricts. You let your hand slide down your front, taking your time, and his words reverberate in your ears.

Little love, do you think you’re in control?

You unbutton your jeans and your hand slips below the waistband of your panties. You dip your middle finger into your slick and let out a shaky breath.

You insolent little brat. I will absolutely ruin you.

The thought brings a voiceless moan to your lips. Your ring finger joins your middle finger and they lazily run along your folds, spreading your wetness. 

Your eyes shoot open – you hadn’t even realized they were closed. You can feel the judgment, the anger, the frustration, all bubbling up inside of you. You take a deep breath, acknowledge it, and let your imagination take over again.

You visualize him smugly peering over his glasses at you, the round wire ones, and he points down to his feet.

On your knees, darling.

His voice in your mind is smooth like velvet, low with just a tinge of threat. You look up at him, your bound hands resting in your lap, a collar around your neck. He holds the leash.

Back in your bedroom, your back arches as you slide your middle finger into your cunt, just barely up to the second knuckle. You whimper at the thought of him pulling the leash tight. Your breath moves high into your chest, making your tits heave with the exertion. You move your other hand to your nipple, gently rolling it between your fingers as another needy moan works its way into your mouth. You savor this one slightly, lending it some of your voice.

The collar is replaced by his hand, his fingers tight on your neck. He pulls up on your jaw, bringing you to an upright position on your knees. He kisses you, rough and hungry, your hands twitching against their cuffs.

You let a second finger join the first inside your cunt, tilting your pelvis to get a better angle. Your jeans constrict your waist, and in a huff you shove them down past your hips and kick them off your feet. Your fingers immediately dive back into you and you groan, thinking about his hand yanking your hair back and exposing your neck to him.

In your fantasy you say something, anything, the words are garbled nonsense in your mind. But he laughs cruelly, a far cry from his high pitched giggle that you love so much.

“Don’t be stupid, darling,” he spits, and your legs fall open to let your fingers in further, the top of your palm coming into contact with your clit. Your hips cant into your hand, your throbbing pussy aching for more friction, more heat. 

“Fuck me, Astarion, make me yours,” you whine instinctually, his name sweet and bitter on your tongue. Your conscious mind recoils – do you want him to call you stupid? You’re already insecure about that as it is.

Fantasy, your subconscious coos. It’s just fantasy. You take a deep breath and give yourself permission to keep going.

He traps your naked body with his, caging you in without a means of escape. His eyes glint with something feral, like a predator, as he buries his nose into your hair. You squirm and moan for him, the line between fantasy and reality blurring. His fangs scrape across your jaw as his words spit rapidfire into your ear.

You precious little thing.

You’re mine, remember?

I shall lock you in a room and keep you all to myself.

You’re going to be wonderfully obedient.

Your fingers slide out of your cunt and you move their ministrations to your clit, rubbing in quick, small circles as his imaginary voice rattles in your brain. Your feet push against the mattress, pressing your hips into your fingers as you desperately chase release. Every part of you aches to be held down by him, his cold hands gripping your wrists as he fucks you senseless. His palm slapped across your mouth to muffle your cries of pleasure. His fangs deep in your neck as his cock thrusts even deeper.

Your hand stutters as it tries to keep pace with your fantasy, yearning to feel every inch of him across your body. Your stomach tightens and your pussy clenches and you come in a crashing wave all over your hand. You continue stroking yourself through the end of your climax, eventually succumbing to stillness. The only sensations you feel are the slowing throb in your cunt and your breath wracking through your lungs. 

You let your hand linger in the sticky mess between your legs, turning your head to face the flickering orange light from the candle. 

What do you want?

You’re very good at asking me that. I’m not sure you’re good at answering it yourself.

So… what do you want?

[oogalaboogalabich]

Posting my current list of things i wanna draw cause honestly, id much rather see someone elses take on a lot of them.

Most of these are labeled under "degenerate art ideas" so take from that what you will.

Please feel free to use any one of these.

-----

- The Kiss from fallout. If you know you know. Bane and bhaal with a dead durge and gortash.

-Comic: Astarion in trouble and drizzt comes out of nowhere all heroic and saves him and hes all doe eyed n shit.

-Halsin and mr meadhoney. "Do you have a particular fondness for large and...heavily armed men, mr. Meadhoney?"

-Lucretious the necromancer and astarion dancing the tango together with the skellies in the back playing music."The dead are always such superb dancers."

-Comic: Lucretious topping astarion, bent over the stages edge. "What if we put you in my show darling. Im sure we could find something for a star like you...something youd love as much as the crowd."

"Youd make a spectacle of me?"

"In front of THOUSANDS who come just to see the most perfect beauty in all of the planes."

"Oh yes i quite like the thought of that."

-Comic: "Orin: you suck up the tyrants vapors like a babe sucks milk."

"Durge: tch fuckin yeah i do."

"Astarion: D:<!!?"

"Orin: *quinten terantino scowl that she does*"

-Vellioth as the "i yearn for the urn" tiktok

- astarion amputee doodles (thank you godey for that idea)

-3 musketeers quote "i love that in a man." "What. Passion?" "Violence" but ghoap or durge. Maybe make a version of both?

-when (doodly dude) hit me real hard that one night and my jaw rattled in my skull all nasty, but make it durgestarion hehehehehehe

-Astarion licking blood from durge in one of the pools of blood (idea from mignon scene)

-Durgetash comic of demon slayer masochism abridged thing with the lady man demon

- bg3 crew bein a bunch of rly cute parrots doin dumb cute things.

-same idea but theyre all shoebill storks.

-comic: "Mighty sanctum" bit, then durge pulls astarion into his lap and kisses him. "Fairly certain you would castrate me if i tried to fuck you right here like i want...im still not sure if thats a deterrent or temptation" but ya know...better written.

"bloody degenerate...unhand me."

"Let go of my neck then."

"No"

"Well then...")

-Mungojerrie from cats and astarion both comolimenting each others pearls and casually holding something they swiped from the other. Riumpleteaser and durge are snickering and sharing a look, while RT has swiped something of durges, durge is pulling out his/her dagger

- Durge/Tav painting astarion in gold, and feeding him blood in a hedonism date night. he thinks the gold paint is just for tav. But he keeps saying "i just want you to see yourself as i see you." And stuch things.

He leads him to a giant ass mirror and lo and behold, there he is. In the flesh. The colors arent there of course. Hes looks like a statue, but its still...its more than the statue, its more than a portrait.

-Lyrical comic of durgetash ritual by ghost

-comic: Astarion is walking with the gang. He looks up to see something and narrows his eyes. He suddenly bursts into bats, flies up onto the space he was trying to peer at and reappears in a panic. Somethin like....

"I was eight bats...how...fuck...gods how am i supposed to even process that!?

Astarion are you alri

"I WAS IN EIGHT FUCKING PLACES AT ONCE TAV I AM NOT ALRIGHT"

-comic- Volothamp talking to tav about a rat exodus from "a mysterious "red castle" " where their bretheren kept going missing. So they gave up the territory and moved to a "red cave" just beneath it, where blood flows even more freely.

Astsrion recognizes the palace, and remembers a time where rats were in such short supply that cazador had simply switched to insects for a while. Well with astarion he had, the rest had been treated to cats and dogs, in order to lessen the threat against the local rat population. Durge in the meantime, has an odd memory about commanding rats to find reconnisance if they wish to find safety with (fuzzy writing that doesnt quite translate to words)

-Astarions ascension but its happy with evil hugs.

-Durge reacting to the gnoll birth holy hells that was funny.

-Durge eviscerating astarion while he arches off the ground as if in ecstacy rather than pain. Theyre both laughing in wild, crying hysterics and theres those timasks spores everywhere.

-Comic: A -Astarion in the mirror frowning and looking distressed, even a little pissed in a mini panel, as he pinches a small amount of belly fat. Hes a very healthy weight but like 200 years o trauma dawg. Next pannel he looks thoughtful (considering that hes never had enough to eat before to warrant gaining rather than steadily losing weight), third panel he looks up in a catlike manner and fingertip taps his stomach near his hip. Very silly smug cat face meme feels here

-Chaste kiss canon durgestarion/tash vs nasty canon durgestarion/tash

-Comic of vellioth uncovering mummystarion from crypt.

-Comic of astarion fucking posessed n bound durge in the shar library.

-An archer in general doing leg archery. Maybe two goofballs doin it at each other with silly faces. I can see any combo of minsc and lazel and astarion doing this weirdly enough.

-spit/ blood exchange between s/a astarions.

-That moment when astarion is blissed out in the sauce under durge in the grove. Maybe a pov where theres drops of blood mid fall, and theres two hands smearing it all over his chest.

-A astarion sitting on bhaals altar while durge and gortash dogfight.

-Gortash with his hand inside a lasceration in durges belly, squeezing himself off all slowlike inside durge. bloody handprints everywhere, though some have turned to black sooted handprints. Theyre kissing all disgustin

-Slayer and a predator Shilouetted gwtw style

-Astarion getting railed by a Predator.

-Lazel getting railed by a Predator.

-Honestly just put everyone in every fandom with a predator at some point like fu c ks sake

-Comic of the superimposed cazador murder/thunderstorm blood frenzy xex scene from that one fic i never finished

-The king E x Ragnar bath scene but nasty. (Also durgetash?)

-Astarion with floorlength hair and dripping with pearls, looking a little emaciated, or perhaps just extra slender themes to the art

Two smaller panels where vellioth h it away and carefully styles it while figaros corpse lays in the corner. Vellioth should look younger but less pretty.

-Durge slips his hands into astarions back pockets (in this comic he has invented ass pockets) "butt"

He goes "no, butt." And walks away. Durge looks down at his hands that are still right there where his butt was. And he squeezes the air with a smile

[rinwellisathing]

Paint The Lines, Cut the Flesh: Part 17

When the fight finally died down, Sentry glanced warily around. Jaina was consoling a few frightened children, distracting them with some pretty cantrips and reassuring them gently. Kroger was kneeling beside a carnival worker who had rushed into help, placing his hands gently on the man's wounded leg and murmuring a healing word. Wyll was addressing some rather shaken looking patrons, while Gale, Octavia, and Astarion were examining the clown's tent and a few others nearby. Octavia made her way over to a display at a tent just across from where she'd been searching, eyeing the wares with interest, there were certainly many eclectic odds and ends here, perhaps a clue? She pawed about through the trinkets until she found herself grasping a detached hand. “Oooh! A hand of glory? I have heard of these!” She gasped eagerly, turning it over in her grasp. “Oh, wait...but no wick...then...” She yelped, eyes widening. “Oh! This hand belongs to that poor colorful istik!” “Hey! That's mine! Not for sale!” A voice snapped as a tiny kobold in a fine hat approached and yanked the hand from Octavia's grip.

“Oh...but...it is very important in a murder investigation, please?” Octavia asked, clasping her palms together and gazing wide eyed at the creature. The kobold gave a sour glare for a moment, but he noticed the scales that dotted Octavia's own cool leathery skin, the narrow reptillian slits of her pupils, and the elegant flare of her prominent nostrils. “Well.....you a pretty one, lady, so okay! But you don't tell no one Popper made you a deal! Then I don't make money.” “Thank you so much!” Octavia chirped, retrieving the hand from him and waving merrily.

“Oh dear. Screaming crowds, dead bodies, blood and gore and it isn't even my birthday.” A voice broke Sentry's haze of confusion as a statuesque figure in a stunning gown and expertly applied shimmering makeup stood before him, hands on her hips. “Ugh...Sorry about all this, dear, Lucretious at your service! Necromancer, mistress of ceremonies, and connoisseur of fine wines extroardinaire!” “So you run this place, then? Sorry about your clown...” Sentry managed. “Ugh! Can you imagine? Such a piss poor impersonation to boot!” Lucretious sighed dramatically. “But, alas, we will need to move on soon, what with all this murder going on and staff funerals being so very expensive.” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “Still, Dribbles is our star and we can't just leave without him...” “Well it looks like you're going to have to.” Astarion replied, walking up besides Sentry. “First of all he's dead...and on top of that, obviously in pieces!” He nodded towards Octavia, who held up a blood and paint stained limb. “Will you put that away? You're going to cause another scene!” Kroger snapped, giving his sister a stern look from where he knelt, still tending injured workers and patrons. Octavia sheepishly slipped the part into her pack. “Ha! Sweetheart, did you miss the bit about necromancy? I can easily put him back together. Besides, the undead make such great employees! They don't need breaks or food after all. And listen, I'll pay you well. I am very generous with my benefactors.” Lucretious offered.

Sentry thought a moment and smiled. “Eh...sure, why not? I love a good scavenger hunt.” And with that, he shook Lucretious' hand and went to gather his party to begin the search...and to enter the Open Hand Temple for the first time in a long time. --- The first thing Sentry noticed about the temple gave him pause. He frowned and found that before he realized what he was doing, his legs were carrying him up the steps, past the groups of refugees standing in groups and waiting on the stairs. He looked to the sister who seemed to be preventing them from entering and frowned. “What's the meaning of this? These people need help.” He frowned, gesturing to the crowd. “Brother Sentry?” The woman blinked in surprise. “By the broken god, we'd heard you were dead...” “Yeah...been getting a lot of that lately. “Sentry brushed off the comment. “But getting to the point, let these people in. What's wrong with you? Father Lorgan will have a fit seeing them treated like this!” The woman frowned, looking away. “Brother Sentry....Father Lorgan's been killed.” Sentry's eyes widened and he let out an audible gasp, staggering back slightly. Father Lorgan who had always been kind to him, who had always stood up for people like him, people who needed Ilmater's love the most but were so often denied it by the hypocritical, holier than thou members of the clergy. He thought back to that kind smile that crinkled the corners of the old man's eyes, of his calloused, wrinkled hands gently pressing a paint brush into young Sentry's trembling hands after a bad panic attack and encouraging him to paint his feelings. He remembered the old man cheerfully laying several pieces of clothing fit for a young man out before Sentry after Commander Mum had introduced him. His unquestioning acceptance, his patience...The closest thing to a father Sentry could ever recall knowing.

“Shit....” Was all Sentry managed to say as he numbly made his way into the temple, his party hurrying after him, though he barely noticed. “Look, Lorgan was always soft. Letting that Ojeda woman bring in that stray was just the beginning. Always knew he'd live to regret it.” The voice stopped Sentry in his tracks and the paladin's mouth curved into a growl. “Father Lorgan was a good man. He understood Ilmater's teachings. Besides, we don't even know if this refugee was really the one that killed him! He's dead too after all.” Two men stood arguing by a bookshelf. Sentry approached, arms folded across his chest. “Brother Sentry....It's you...” The man supporting Lorgan's work, a dwarven man with sad eyes and a gentle face, gasped as he peered up at the paladin. “Well, well, if it isn't the freak.” The other man, a blonde high elf with a disdainful sneer matched Sentry's posture, glaring at the tiefling. “Come to gloat? Come to admire your kind's work?” “Should've figured you'd still be fuckin' stupid, Bill. You never understood Ilmater, and obviously you're not too great on basic logic either because I just got here and I don't even know what's going on.” Sentry scoffed. “Brother Sentry, Father Lorgan is dead....They found him murdered in the basement.” The dwarf explained. He gave Sentry a sympathetic look. “You can pay your respects in the infirmary if you like...” Sentry inhaled deeply and nodded. “Yeah, thanks Clem...And don't let this asshole shake you, Father Lorgan was the best of us. Just cause some people only came here as like a tithe from a wealthy family or whatever...cause they were useless for marriage or something.” He glared daggers at Bill before giving Clements a nod and turning to make his way towards the infirmary.

The scent of the church brought back to many memories. The incense brought back the day he'd first come here, wrapped in Commander Ojeda's cloak as he shuffled in slowly behind her, peering around at the huge windows and the sacred pool at the center of the room. It was warm and big and open. He recalled being set at ease, at least a little, just from these facts alone, how different it was from the hovel in the sewers, from his breeding cage. He remembered those warm, wrinkled brown fingers wrapping around his hand and that kind old face smiling down at him as the Commander had led him into the infirmary. He had whimpered a bit when she'd left him there on the cot and despite himself, he had reached out for her, but she had returned quickly with fresh water and a warm roll. Trailing behind her, an old human man had followed with a healer's kit in hand and smiled reassuringly at Sentry. “Hey, it sounds like someone's arguing.” Jaina's voice snapped Sentry out of his trance and he realized his companions, at least the ones that hadn't returned to camp after the circus, had joined him. He followed Jaina's gaze to an elderly halfling woman gesturing furiously as she spoke to a strange fluttering creature with yellow-gold skin and a long trunk, a jaunty hat perched between its large winged ears and a finely made pipe hanging from its mouth. “So...far be it for me to question your judgment, but...why are we in a church getting involved in whatever this is?” Astarion frowned, gesturing broadly around him. Sentry for once glared at Astarion, his expression probably colder than he had meant it to be. “I grew up here....This place is important to me...” He replied quietly, pushing past without leaving space for a response as he approached the arguing duo. Astarion frowned, a pang of guilt tugging at his chest upon seeing Sentry's reaction to his response.

“Yannis, the case is closed. Father Lorgan was murdered by one of the very refugees he meant to protect, Brilgor then killed himself out of guilt. That's all there is to it.” The creature, a Hollyphant, Sentry realized, drawled boredly. “But Inspector Valeria....” The old halfling began. “Unless you have some sort of further evidence, as I said, the case is closed.” The Hollyphant insisted. “Ha...I'm sure it is, good old Flaming Fist detective work, yeah? Whatever gets you done and out the door in time for happy hour, right?” Sentry sneered disdainfully at Valeria. “Hey! Watch it, my brother's with The Fist.” Jaina frowned, hands on her hips.

“I said what I said.” Sentry replied bluntly before turning back to the conversation. “Yannis has better instincts than your whole department, if she says there's something rotten, then something's rotten.” “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Brother Sentry...but I don't think you'll get her to see reason...” The halfling wrinkled her nose as she glared at the Hollyphant. “Don't worry, if she won't do her job, I'll do it for her. What's not adding up?” Sentry asked, practically shoving Valeria aside, much to the creature's annoyance. “Well if you see fit to waste your time on a case that's already solved, be my guest.” Valeria sniffed, turning and flying from the room. “Shitey little elephant...” Yannis rolled her eyes, shaking her head and looking up at Sentry. “Thanks, Brother Sentry....What's bothering me is they never found the murder weapon...now if Brilgor had killed Lorgan and then himself, wouldn't he have still had it?”

Sentry nodded in agreement. “It's like I said, you've got a nose for this, Yannis...” He managed a small, sad smile. “Gods, I still remember hating when you were on kitchen duty...you somehow always knew it was me stealing treats. And I like to think I was pretty clever.” The halfling shook her head with a sad smile of her own. “Brother Sentry, you were about as subtle as a horde of ogres storming a village.” “Whatever....but you also noticed when the others were bullying me..and so...like...I owe you...and also thanks...” Sentry scratched the back of his head, looking away. “And don't worry, I'm gonna solve this. Lorgan was a good man, he didn't deserve to die...”

----

Arriving in the infirmary, Sentry approached the cot where Lorgan's body lay. The attending cleric gave him a distrustful look, but still stepped out of his way. The tiefling gently brushed his fingers over the corpse's hand, the hand that was always so careful and gentle in respecting the boundaries of a frightened boy coming from a bad situation, the gentle voice always explaining calmly and evenly so Sentry could feel safe. “I'm going to help you to put on your belt now, Sentry.” He had so gently, careful to avoid any accidental contact with the tiefling's body, helped Sentry to buckle his belt just right to hide the curve of his waist and match better to the other boys his age. “There now. A perfect little gentleman ready for kitchen duty. Now no sneaking treats again. Sweets are for after evening prayers and only sometimes.” “Yes, Father Lorgan...” Sentry droned, rolling his eyes and puffing out his cheeks. “I'll tell you what. If you and Donnick can get all the dishes clean and package up the meals for the destitute, then you can each have a sweet roll.” The old priest relented. “But the meals are the most important part, mind you!” “You're going to spoil him.” Commander Ojeda's smooth, pleasant accent drifted from the room Sentry had just come from. “I'm fond of the boy too, but he is an acolyte still.”But her smile never left her face. “I'm still right here.” Sentry had pouted. “I know, mijo...but you should hear too, after all, we can't have all this doting go to your head.” She'd ruffled his silver hair and sent him on his way. Back in the present, Sentry looked to his companions. “He was the deadspeaker for our church...there aren't any here right now besides him and I think whoever killed him knew that...” He explained quietly, shaking his head. “But...they didn't expect I'd come back...He taught me a few things....” Sentry shakily rose to his feet and lifted a hand. “Cum mortuis in lingua mortua...” He murmured, eyes glowing a pale, deathly green.

Father Lorgan's body rose into the air and Sentry regarded it sadly. “Father...I'm so sorry this happened...I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you...” The corpse was silent, dead eyes gazing upwards. Sentry inhaled deeply and nodded his head. “Alright...Father Lorgan, who killed you?” “A dwarf....dressed in....red...” The corpse gasped. Sentry frowned. Why was that familiar? He noted out of the corner of his eye that Wyll and Jaina seemed to be taking note of the answers, so he continued. “What were you doing when it happened, father?” “Hiding...Brilgor...from...the Fist...” The corpse replied. Sentry made a mental note to find this Brilgor's body next and ask it a few things as well. He knew this was his last question, he had to make it count. “Where did you die, father?” Tears stung Sentry's eyes. He had wanted to ask about Ilmater's domain, about Commander Mum, but he couldn't waste a question, he couldn't risk missing something important and letting someone he cared for go unavenged. “The tunnels...beneath the temple...You often....played there...as a boy...I scolded you...For It...I'm Sorry” The corpse managed before going silent. Sentry slumped back into the chair and rested his head in his hands. “Well, we already knew it wasn't Brilgor, but at least we have a few more leads....I'd like to question him as well, I really would, after all, a dwarf in red could be a Fist, this could have been a frame job...But I don't know...what if the killer is still there? What if we could catch him before he gets away?” Wyll frowned softly, gently placing a hand on Sentry's back and kneeling beside him. “Sentry, if they found Lorgan's body where he died, it's likely that even if the killer remained after, he's run by now, afraid they'll search the area. We should question this other victim, especially if no one else in this church can speak with the dead, else the killer might think to dispose of the body before you have a chance...”

Sentry nodded with a sad smile. “You're right Wyll...Gods...you know the messed up thing? The thing that's true fucked here?” He shook his head. “This is right out of the copper dreadfuls I love, or the detective games I played as a kid....fucking hells...” “Well, then allow me to be your colleague. I was fond of those sorts of games too.” Wyll offered with a gentle smile, which Sentry found himself returning. ---- Jaina and Astarion made their way to the gardens of the temple to search for clues, rationalizing that splitting up may make it easier to cover more ground. Meanwhile, Halsin took the form of a large wolf and accompanied Sentry and Wyll onward into the kitchens, where they came face to face with a half-elf probably around Sentry's age. “Oi Donnick.” Sentry nodded amicably. “How have you been?” “Brother Sentry, it's good to see you, but as you've just come from the infirmary, you can certainly guess how I've been...” The young man sighed, shaking his head. Sentry frowned and sighed deeply. “I'm sorry about Father Lorgan. He was a good man....That's actually why I'm here...Donnick, remember when I used to sneak off when we were on kitchen duty?” “Yeah, and leave me to do all the work?” The other man snorted. “I definitely remember that.” “Well, those tunnels I used to play in, where's the access to them now since that rock slide closed off the way I used to get in?” Sentry asked.

“You mean you didn't know?” The half-elf blinked. “Sentry, those tunnels connect to the catacombs and the funeral chapel.” “Wait, what? No!” Sentry gasped, his eyes traveling to a trap door nearby, where Halsin in his wolf form already stood sniffing at the ground, tail raised and wagging. “Yeah, Lorgan had a secret passage he could open, we used it to hide refugees who needed a place to lay low...There were food stores, beds, everything.” Donnick continued. “Look, I'll unlock it for you if you want...Haven't got much else to do since the sentiment around here against refugees has effectively shut down the soup kitchen...” He sighed, shaking his head as he made his way to the trap door, kneeling down and opening it. “Thanks, Donnick...I owe you one.” Sentry nodded as he followed Halsin down the steps, Wyll close behind. “That's the same thing you said every time you'd sneak off and leave me with all the work too...” He sighed as he returned to his kitchen duties. --- Sentry remembered the basement well. He and the other acolytes had been tasked with its upkeep many a time under the watchful eyes of Commander Ojeda and Father Lorgan. He remembered prayer services down here when the upstairs cloister was occupied, and he remembered being sent down here for healing potions or bandages before...and of course being locked in the supply closet as a joke by his tormentors. But of course, Father Lorgan often came down here, Sentry had thought for prayer and solitude, and was quick to rescue him, shooing him back upstairs when he was sure Sentry was safe and unharmed. He'd always thought he was sent away lest he disrupt silent reflection, but all this time...He sighed. He wished Father Lorgan had trusted him to help with the refugees back then. If anyone would have understood their plight, he knew he could have, rescued from the streets as he was. Maybe if he'd known too, he might have prevented Lorgan's death...but then, that was foolish, the murder had occurred before he'd even returned home. That was wishful thinking at its finest.

He recalled that he'd looked back once on his way up the stairs and seen Father Lorgan near the altar, so perhaps whatever mechanism was around there. His theory was confirmed as Wyll pointed out the sconces on the wall. “Sentry, these are positioned strangely, don't you think? They're not flush to the surface, as if to give them space to move.” Wyll explained, running a finger along the edge of the sconce. “A sure sign of a secret entrance if I ever saw one.” Sentry nodded. “I think you're right, let's try it out.” He stood at the sconce opposite the one Wyll stood by and the two pulled them down. A haunted groan echoed through the room as the wall itself slid away, revealing a dark, damp passage. Halsin hurried forward in his wolf form, nose still against the ground as he sniffed along. ---- “I just don't see why it means so much to him. This place couldn't have been all that much of a home if he left it.” Astarion sighed, arms folded across his chest as Jaina picked her way through the barracks, wrinkling her nose at some of the absolutely filthy clothes the young men had left lying about, picking it aside distastefully with a carefully summoned mage hand to get to letters and books that might have provided a clue. “Well, clearly you care about him, so why not talk to him about it?” She asked, a hint of annoyance to her voice. “I mean, you've got plenty of time to practice what to say since you're doing absolutely nothing to help right now.” “Ugh! I am waiting for the very moment I can be useful, Miss Thalassia. But I don't see a single lock in need of picking or a trap in need of disarming.” He examined his nails nonchalantly. “These churchgoing types are just so trusting.” Jaina frowned, tossing aside yet another useless item. “Alright, the gate to the cemetery. Why don't you unlock that? I saw the gestures Sentry made and I heard the words he used, so I can speak to Brilgor for him, just to make his life a little easier.”

“There we go...now what about a please?” Astarion taunted. “PLEASE unlock the cemetery gate or I'll conjure a storm and you can have fun re-styling that perfect hair of yours without a mirror.” The sorcerer replied with a too-wide smile crossing her face.

“Fine, alright...And here I thought you were fun.” Astarion rolled his eyes, crossing to the gate and kneeling down at the lock.

“A teacher has to balance fun and firm in equal measure or else the students would practice color spray and conjuring bubbles all day and never learn another thing. Clearly you've never worked with toddlers.” She chuckled, pushing the gate open and walking into the graveyard after the lock popped audibly and Astarion stepped back. “Can't say I have, nor would I want to, they sound beastly.” The elf shuddered.

----- Wyll, Halsin, and Sentry stood in the aftermath of an ambush, they had stumbled upon what appeared to be a cleanup crew of dopplegangers crowding the scene of the murder. Halsin had transformed back into his elven form and was currently healing a nasty slash at Wyll's shoulder. Sentry, meanwhile, caught sight of something shimmering nearby. Could it be the murder weapon Yannis had mentioned never being found? With trembling fingers, Sentry gripped the tip of the ornate dagger and raised it up to look at it. His eyes widened as another memory coursed through his brain, synapses firing as his body felt practically pulled back.

He stood in front of a mirror, frowning a bit. “Ffion said these looked good on me, but I'm not so sure...I feel so...visible.” Sentry wrinkled his nose as his eyes took in the rich, lush purple of the fabric he wore. “My dear Sentry, there hasn't been a garment made you wouldn't be stunning in.” Enver Gortash's voice. Right behind him. The tyrant kissed him gently on the neck, sliding his arms around Sentry's waist and holding him close. “Besides, I'll be simply devastated to find colors besides black don't suit you, after all, I've brought you a gift.” He released Sentry, crossing the room and picking up an ornate wooden box, purple heartwood with black and silver etchings in the shape of Bhaal and Bane's two symbols intertwined. Sentry looked at him curiously, crossing to the bed and sitting down, cocking his head curiously as Gortash pressed the box into his hands. Opening it eagerly, Sentry saw inside lay a beautiful dagger of green and gold, glossy as if treated with a fine venom. His breath caught in his throat. “I know how naked you feel without your halberd when we go to these functions, so I thought something a bit easier to hide might be a fair compromise.” Those handsome lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Enver, it's beautiful....” He had gasped, gazing up at Gortash. A happy little giggle escaped his throat and he threw his arms around his love, ever so carefully angling the knife to just barely avoid pricking his flesh as it rested dangerously close to his neck. “Maybe this will be the one that takes your life upon father's altar...when it's just you and I and our heir left...” He whispered into his ear, sharp tiefling canines nipping at the skin hungrily.

That same knife now rested again in Sentry's grasp. Anger boiled in his belly and his lips curled into a snarl. Someone had stolen his precious gift....No! No that wasn't right, no! The real crime here was poor Father Lorgan, and the refugees he'd been protecting to boot! But....But even so, the memory was real, Sentry knew it was...This knife belonged to him, and there had to be punishment for that trespass as well....

[aristotela]

episode 1:

“The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.” — Joseph Conrad.  

“All is a riddle, and the key to a riddle...is another riddle.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

“Try again, fail again. Fail better.” — Samuel Beckett. 

“Try not, do or do not.” —Yoda.

“The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you will see.” — Winston Churchill.  

“When you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks into you.” —Friedrich Nietzsche.

episode 2:

“Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.” —Albert Einstein

“There are certain clues at a crime scene which by their very nature do not lend themselves to being collected or examined. How's one collect love, rage, hatred, fear...? These are things that we're trained to look for.” —James Reese

“Don't bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.” —William Faulkner

episode 3:

“Almost all absurdity of conduct arises from the imitation of those whom we cannot resemble.” —Samuel Johnson

episode 4:

“Don't forget that I cannot see myself -- that my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror.” —Jacques Rigaut

“Birds sing after a storm. Why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?” —Rose Kennedy

episode 5:

“When a good man is hurt, all who would be called good must suffer with him.” —Euripides

“When love is in excess, it brings a man no honor, nor worthiness.” —Euripides

episode 6:

“The irrationality of a thing is not an argument against its existence, rather, a condition of it.” —Friedrich Nietzsche

“Nothing is so common as the wish to be remarkable.” —William Shakespeare

episode 7:

“With foxes, we must play the fox.” —Thomas Fuller

episode 8:

“There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough, and liked it, never really care for anything else.” —Ernest Hemingway

“The healthy man does not torture others. Generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers.” —Carl Jung

episode 9:

“A belief is not merely an idea the mind possesses. It is an idea that possesses the mind.” —Robert Oxton Bolton

“The question that sometimes drives me hazy: Am I, or the others crazy?” —Albert Einstein

episode 10:

“Unfortunately, a super-abundance of dreams is paid for by a growing potential for nightmares.” —Sir Peter Ustinov

“Ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together.” —Eugene Ionesco

episode 11:

“The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.” —Harriet Beecher Stowe

episode 12:

“Evil is always unspectacular and always human. And shares our bed...and eats at our table.” —W.H. Auden

“Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.” —Elizabeth Barrett Browning

episode 13:

“What is food to one is to others bitter poison.” —Lucretious

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” —Confucius

episode 14:

“Who so sheddeth man's blood by man shall his blood be shed.” —Genesis 9:6

“What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world, remains and is immortal.” —Mason Albert Pike

episode 15:

“It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us.” —Norman Maclean

“Who in his mind has not probe the dark water?” —John Steinbeck

“In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present.” —Sir Francis Bacon

“In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years.” —Abraham Lincoln

episode 16:

“The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe.” —Friedrich Nietzsche

episode 17:

“Murder is unique in that it abolishes the party it injures, so that society must take the place of the victim, and on his behalf demand atonement or grant forgiveness.” —W.H. Auden

“It is better to be violent if there is violence in our hearts than to put on the cloak of non-violence to cover impotence.” —Mahatma Gandhi

“I object to violence because when it appears to do good, the good is only temporary. The evil it does is permanent.” —Mahatma Gandhi

episode 18:

“A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you, the less you know.” —Diane Arbus

“An American has no sense of privacy. He does not know what it means. There is no such thing in the country.” —George Bernard Shaw

episode 19:

“Other things may change us, but we start and end with family.” —Anthony Brandt

“The house does not rest on the ground, but upon a woman.” —Mexican proverb

episode 20:

“There are some that only employ words for the purpose of disguising their thoughts.” —Voltaire

“We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves.” —François de la Rochefoucauld

episode 21:

“Whoever undertakes to set himself up as judge in the field of truth and knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods.” —Albert Einstein

“In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.” —George Orwell

episode 22:

“No man needs a vacation so much as the man who has just had one.” —Elbert Hubbard

I’m a die-hard Criminal Minds fan and I’ve been re-watching all the season for like the seventh time and I thought why not make a list of all the quotes? So here it is! (I’ll probably be making list of the other seasons). 

Hope you find this helpful. Please reblog, like and share!