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tiredfox64 · 4 months ago

Note

I had this idea based on Tomas's intro with Ashra about having nightmares about demons, that Tomas would have nightmares on the enenra but the nightmares would also include the reader getting hurt and fearing for her safety that something might happen to her, Tomas would keep his distance and avoid the reader as much as he can to try to keep her safe even going far as talking to other female warriors to make the reader think he has no interest in her which would leave her confused and heartbroken where she struggles with training and shuts down a lot leaving Hanzo, Kaui Liang and Harumi worried about the reader enough to send her to Wu She Academy.

Kuai Liang finally gets answers from Tomas and sends him to the academy to have Liu Kang help Tomas with his issue. Upon arrival, the reader does everything she can to avoid Tomas who feels extremely guilty, chases her down until they are in a room alone together and he breaks down to the reader.

The Pain You Made Me Face

Yip notes: It appears that we don’t want peace WE WANT PROBLEMS

Pairing: Tomas x Afab reader

Warnings‼️: Angst

“The worst are the Enenra,” that’s what Ashrah told Tomas once. He found her words to be true.

For many nights he has experienced the horrors of demons that were made of pure smoke and darkness. Malevolent beings that only the purest of hearts could witness. Yet they decide to infect his dreams with their retched forms.

With mouths as their heads and claws for hands, they’ve come to cause harm to the one he loves the most. You.

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A low, continuous groan is let out. There is a slight wheeze to it like the body it’s coming from has little to no air left. Tomas’ eyes turn to look for the source of the pained noise. His eyes land on your body as you lie on the ground.

He doesn’t want to believe it’s you but it seems too real. The cuts on your back are as fresh as could be. Your clothes were sunken into cut flesh. It looked like a ravenous beast ambushed you. Tomas wanted to run to you and help you, he needed to know who attacked you. The moment he took a step towards you a figure manifested behind you. A hunchbacked monster stood above your body. Its body waved like smoke off of a flame.

The Enenra started to shift and change its body. It slowly morphed into a more human shape. Tomas was frozen in place, forced to watch the Enenra become something else. It was changing itself to look like Tomas.

It was the shape of Tomas, but it was not him. Its body was still made of black smoke. Its hand reached down and grabbed hold of your hair. You didn’t make a sound. You were too tired to make a sound. You’re not gonna survive through this. Their other hand came around and showed that it was holding Tomas’ karambit. It gripped it tightly like there was rage involved. The hand lifted with the intent to strike your head with the sharp blade.

“NO!” Tomas yelled as he ran towards you.

The hand swung down with the point being inches away from your frontal lobe.

Gasp

And just like that Tomas was back in his bed. His body broke out in a cold sweat. His heart slammed against his chest before realizing that it was just another nightmare. A nightmare that is always the same. Visions of demons that come to attack you. This was the worst of them all. Morphing into him was a foul move. Yet it got him badly.

Tomas has been theorizing that his nightmares were bad omens. They were signs that something bad would happen to you. Why else would you be involved?

But this one really struck a nerve in him. He took a moment to think about what this nightmare meant. The Enenra became him before striking you. Could that mean that…he will hurt you? His heart dropped the second he thought of that conclusion. Even if it won’t be him that hurts you he feels like this demon will harm you because of him. He doesn’t want any harm to come to you. He’d never forgive himself.

This concern has been building up for so long and that last nightmare was the nail in the coffin. He loves you. You’re the one person who he finds solace in. When he’s with you he feels safe. The moment he sees you, the nightmare flashes in his head before he remembers it’s just a dream. You’re alive and well right in front of his eyes. And you look as beautiful as ever.

But he doesn’t want to sit around and wait for something bad to happen. He doesn’t want to wake up one day and find that you are no longer alive. A shiver ran up his spine just thinking about finding you the same way he sees you in his dreams. It’s sickening.

He had to make a choice. Continue spending time with you and risking your death, or distance himself and save you from a painful demise. He preferred the second option.

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It’s been nearly a month since Tomas started ignoring you. At first, you thought he was just tired from hunting down Bi-Han and dealing with restless sleep. He told you at some point that he was having nightmares constantly. He never went into specifics of what they were about, he just said they were nightmares. You reassured him that they were probably due to stress.

But no matter how hard you tried to make him relax he always experienced nightmares. You did everything you could, made him food, cheered him on during training, helped out with Hanzo, and much more. It did nothing to ease the tension inside of him. What did that leave you with?

Nothing. You had nothing. Not a thank you or a question if you could do something specific for him. All you got was him ignoring you.

You saw he wasn’t eating your cooking. Alright, maybe he wasn’t craving the dish you made. But then he started training by himself. The moment you’d walk up to him he’d say he just finished and walk off. He always seemed to be in a hurry to leave, like he wanted to get away from you immediately. It broke your heart when Hanzo started talking about how weird Tomas was when it came to you. When you asked what he meant he laid it all out.

“He won’t allow me to practice with you. When I’ve asked why, he says I can but he won’t stick around for it. And when I asked if he could bring you over so you could rewrap my wounds he told me to find you myself. That was rude.” Hanzo let out a huff since he was irritated by his mentor’s aggression.

You immediately reacted to that news. You felt your heart squeeze, it physically hurt.

“O-oh well…let’s deal with your bandages first.” You said softly.

Hanzo could see that you were trying to hold yourself together. You gave him a weak smile to reassure him that things were fine. But the sadness in your eyes says otherwise. He’s not dumb, he understands that something is wrong. Though he can see that you are just as clueless as him. He doesn’t say anything else for the remainder of the time.

Later that day you decided to confront Tomas on his behavior. You needed to know what was going on with him. Was he stressed? Did you say something? Was there an unknown reason? You had to find out. When you found him you were surprised by what he was doing.

He was surrounded by some of the female members. They were acting like lovesick teens who were talking to their crush at school. You could hear what they were saying to him.

“I wish you talked to us earlier, you’re so nice.” “Do you think you can help me practice later? I could really use your help.” “Damn, you’re really strong. I bet you could pick me up.” “You seem cuter up close.”

What is going on? Since when did he become a womanizer?

Your heart shattered the moment you realized what he was doing. He wanted you to see this. He wanted you to hear everything they were saying. How do you know? He was looking at you. Tomas was occasional glancing at you. He knew you were there. And yet he wasn’t giving you the time of day. He was smiling at these girls as they praised and flirted with him.

All went numb. You barely felt your heart pumping. The noises around you became dull as you turned around and walked away. With your back towards Tomas, you missed as his eyes lost any hint of happiness in them. When you were out of sight he excused himself from the girls and walked away. There, it was done. Maybe now you’ll keep your distance.

You did just that. You kept your distance…from everyone. That wasn’t his plan.

You were so confused and heartbroken by Tomas’ actions. You felt like you were being led on this whole time. He was playing with your heart, pulling at the heartstrings before cutting them in one fell swoop. You are left with the remnants of your heart. You tried to put it back together and continue living but it was harder than you could imagine. Everyone could see how you struggled except Tomas.

Hanzo already knew you were in a tough place. He went to check on you the day after he spoke with you, only to hear you crying in your room. He felt in his gut that something bad happened. He’s not good at dealing with other’s emotions, he can’t even control his own, so he walked off. He tried getting your mind off whatever happened by asking you two to train together but that fell flat. He would ask if you could teach him something you’ve been wanting to teach him, only for you to forget what that move was. When you two tried to spar, your arms were in a weak position. It was like you forgot how to fight. Hanzo knew that it was really bad then. He told Kuai Liang about your situation since he could only do so much.

Kuai Liang thought it would be good if Harumi checked in first. It might be a woman issue. One day she came knocking at your door and asking if she could come in. You let out an unenthusiastic ‘sure” and she came in. She thought bringing you some mixed fruits would make you feel better. A fresh bowl of your favorite fruits, how could you say no?

She sat with you and slowly tried to work her way into the issue. She would ask how you’ve been feeling and how training was going. You’d start talking but then just stop. Harumi thought you were trying to think but then you would tell her you forgot what you were about to say. You did the same with the fruit. You would start taking bites then suddenly stop. It’s like you were repulsed by it and would put the half-bitten honeydew back into the bowl. Then a minute later you’d go back to eating. There was certainly a disruption in your mind to be causing these pauses.

Harumi made the mistake of saying something about Tomas. She never knew there was a problem between you two.

“Did you want me to bring Tomas here? I know he makes you feel better.” She gave you a warm smile, thinking that was the right move.

She grew worried once she saw your lips quiver before you bit your bottom lip. You swallowed hard; she could see it was difficult for you to do that. You looked like you were in pain from doing that.

“I’m…feeling tired. I think I should take a nap.”

You didn’t give Harumi time to respond to that. You lay down and curled up. She took the bowl of fruit and said okay. All the progress she made was trashed the moment she talked about Tomas. It did give her an idea that it was him that was troubling you. She said goodbye and to rest well. The moment she closed the door you felt tears slip down your face.

Harumi informed Kuai Liang of everything. Now he believes this is more of a him issue since it’s his brother. He gave you time to nap, or cry actually, and he would talk to you the next day.

The next day rolled around and he saw you wandering around outside. Your movements seemed as sluggish as a zombie’s. You were clearly not okay. He went up to you and walked by your side. He didn’t say anything for a minute, he waited to see if you wanted to speak first. But since you didn’t he would say something.

“I have heard from others that you have not been yourself recently. Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked in a firm but warm tone.

“…no, I’m fine, just tired.”

“Is that so? Are you sure it has nothing to do with Tomas?” he asked bluntly.

You stopped in your tracks. Your body shook as the tears came rolling out. Your loud cries told Kuai Liang how upset you were. He pulled you into a warm embrace in an effort to comfort you. He hears you ask why continuously. There was more that you wanted to say but your tears choked you up. Kuai Liang guided you to a nearby bench to sit on.

He waited for you to calm down so he could ask what the problem was. For a good five minutes, you were unable to say much. You’d cough and stop breathing for a second every time you wanted to say something. You collected yourself eventually and you spilled everything. You talked about Tomas’ distance and how he’s purposely doing it. You saw it with your own eyes and you don’t know what you could have done to deserve this.

Kuai Liang was shocked to hear that his brother was doing all that. He knew how crazy Tomas was about you. He knew he was planning to ask you out eventually. Why would he switch up like this? No one said this grandmaster mess would be easy.

This was a messy situation and he had to organize it. He knew keeping you with the Shirai Ryu would do no good. Having Tomas close by and having people continuously ask you what’s wrong won’t help. He would have to sadly send you away. But he knows a place that will openly accept you.

“I want you to listen to me. I want you to go to the Shaolin at the Wu Shi Academy. They will help with this heartache. I will figure out the problem. But you cannot continue going on in this state. I want you to feel better. Once you are better, you will be with the Shirai Ryu again.”

You listened to Kuai Liang and what he suggested. You knew he wasn’t kicking you out. He only wants you to heal. To heal, you must separate yourself from the situation. The Shaolin will definitely help with that.

You accepted his proposal. He said he would send you off in the morning and told you to pack your essentials. You got up and started packing for your healing journey.

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A few days passed since you went to the Wu Shi. That information stayed between Kuai Liang, Harumi, and Hanzo. Only they knew where you were. Word spreads fast however and soon lots of people realized you were missing. That word got to Tomas. His heart stopped the moment he found out you with MIA. His thoughts were interrupted when Kuai Liang asked to speak with him.

Kuai Liang took him to his office to speak in private. The moment the door closed Tomas was quick to ask if he knew where you were.

“Kuai Liang, I’ve been hearing from others that they haven’t seen-“

“Yes, I know. She is fine. I know where she is.” He responded bluntly.

Tomas let out a sigh of relief knowing that you were still alive. Worry set in again once he saw the disappointed look in Kuai Liang’s eyes.

“The reason I had to send her away,” Kuai Liang hesitated to say the last part, “…was because of you.”

“What?! Me? I know I wanted to distance myself from her but I didn’t mean for her to leave the clan.”

“So you admit that you did it on purpose? What is the matter with you? I thought you loved her. You do not drive people that you love away. So tell me, why did you do it?” Kuai Liang’s harsh tone got to Tomas. It made him feel like the bad guy when all he wanted to do was keep you safe.

He gave in. He told his brother the truth. He explained the dreams about the Enenra and how you always got hurt. He explained how traumatic the last one seemed to him and it was his breaking point. He felt like he would be the cause of your pain or even your death. He could never live with himself if he saw the signs and did nothing about it.

Kuai Liang saw how erratic Tomas was acting. The guilt and fear were eating the man alive. He found Tomas’ actions to be idiotic but he knew he would make a mistake himself if he were in the same situation. If this Enenra issue was truly a cause for concern he would have to fix it immediately. He can’t help his brother but maybe Liu Kang could. He’s a god, why wouldn’t he deal with demons?

“Tomas, you need to fix this, all of this. Go to Liu Kang to see if he can help you. If not, the Wu Shi could definitely do something for you. While you are there, I want you to apologize for what you have done.” He left it at that.

Tomas was a bit confused by the last part but he understood that he needed help for this. He agreed to leave in the morning to see Liu Kang at the Wu Shi Academy. After that, he will make everything right with you. That’s if he can fix your broken heart.

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Tomas was at the academy by the next day. He urgently asked to see Liu Kang but the monks informed him that Liu Kang was in Outworld right now. They told him he would return in a few days. They let him know he could stay in a spare room until Liu Kang returned since they could see Tomas was a mess. He was in desperate need of the fire god.

He settled down quickly and thought about finding Kung Lao and Raiden to catch up with them. When he went around looking for them he was surprised to see a familiar face. It was you. You were with Kung Lao and Raiden. You were sparing with Kung Lao who was going easy on you since you were still recovering. What Kuai Liang said before now made sense to Tomas. He needed to apologize to you. He walked up to you which stopped Kung Lao in his tracks. You were confused until you turned around to see the man who broke your heart. Your expression turned sour quickly.

“Hey…” He said softly.

“Hey…I gotta go.” Without letting him speak you walked away from him. It didn’t matter if you weren’t finished with your fight, you needed to leave.

You left Tomas stunned as Kung Lao gave him a disapproving nod. He would be experiencing that until Liu Kang returned.

Tomas wanted to apologize for his actions. He wanted to say he was sorry for hurting you and explain why he did it. He knows his fears are not an excuse, but you still deserve to know the reason. But every attempt was a failure. You treated him like he treated you.

You walked away and acted like you had somewhere to be. You spent your time around Raiden and Kung Lao, almost using them as bodyguards. You would meditate for hours with the other monks to prevent Tomas from disturbing you. You pulled a reverse on him.

Every failure made his heart hurt. He sees that what he did was stupid and did more harm than good. He learned his lesson and he wants to beg you to give him a chance. The guilt inside of him will drive him insane. Even if Liu Kang helps him with his Enenra problem the guilt will stay with him forever. He’s made everything worse by being a fool.

It got to the point that Raiden and Kung Lao had to confront him. Raiden was more passive while Kung Lao was giving him a mean eye. They told him to back off. They said they knew what happened and don’t think it’s a good idea to make amends now. Tomas begged them to help him out. He explained everything and Raiden actually grew concerned about the Enenra problem.

Although they understood, they told him they couldn’t force you to accept an apology right now. They will be easier on him but they won’t force you to do anything. Tomas was still on his own in this situation.

It would still be another day till Liu Kang returned. If Tomas is gonna make it up to you he has to do it now. He had patience and waited for nighttime. You’d be pretty tired by the point so it’d be easier to catch you. The moment he saw you walking into the building you were staying in he followed you.

You didn’t see Tomas once and you thought he took the hint to leave you be. But when you went to close the door to your room it was stopped by someone. You looked back to see Tomas who did not look like the same man you loved before. His eyes were tired like he hadn’t slept for days. There was no sparkle to them. It’s just a void of guilt left behind. For a second you wanted to forget the pain he put you through and hug him. But to deny what happened won’t fix anything. He has to live with the consequences of his actions.

“Please, I know you are mad at me but I want to make this right. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry is not gonna cut it. Just leave me alone already.” You tried pushing the door but he was much stronger than you. He pushed his way in and shut the door behind him.

“I know it won’t but I’ll make it up to you. I never meant to hurt you I swear. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“Safe? From what exactly? You’re not making any sense!”

“I’ll explain everything if you give me a chance! Just please believe me when I say I never meant to harm you.” His voice cracked as he struggled to keep himself together.

Your eyes widened after hearing him speak. His eyes grew wet and soon you heard him take deep, shaky breaths. Tomas ran up to you and hugged you tight. He hugged you as if he were to lose you again. He let out all of his emotions. Tears streamed down his face and droplets fell onto your back.

“I’m…so sorry. You’re the best thing…that’s ever happened to me. I’m an idiot for driving away the woman I love.”

Your arms slowly went up as you decided to hug him back. It was by instinct; your mind was more occupied with what he was saying.

“I just couldn’t imagine finding you dead one day…because of me. I saw it happen so many times I couldn’t take it anymore!”

“Tomas!” You had to yell to get his attention, “You’re still not making any sense. Breathe, we’re gonna figure this out right now.”

You pulled away from him so you could guide him to your bed. You had him lie with you. You waited for him to calm down and gather his thoughts to tell you why he was acting up. Once he did, he explained the whole situation. The nightmares, the Enenra, your death, and the mimic. He told you how scared he would be in his dreams and when he’d wake up. He talked about how he thought it was a bad omen that would eventually happen and it would be his fault for not doing anything.

“Tomas…why didn’t you tell me from the start?”

“I didn’t want to scare you. I was scared myself.” His eyes shifted down as he struggled to look into your eyes after saying that.

You took hold of his head and forced him to look at you, “Even if I was scared, I’d know you would never hurt me. I would have done everything to help you figure out what was wrong. I love you too much to let you go through this alone.”

Your vision blurred as the tears came up again. It’s fine, Tomas has the same blurred vision since he’s about to cry as well. You brought his head closer to yours and gave him a gentle kiss. It was a kiss that told him that everything would be alright and you loved him.

He brought you close to him and held you in his arms. He wanted to have you close after distancing himself for so long. He wanted to smell your scent and have his fingers play with your hair. He wanted you.

Emotions are quite draining. It sure made you two sleepy. The tears died down and the only emotions left were relief and love. You held each other and slowly fell asleep. Your once weakened bond was now strengthened.

That was the first night Tomas had no nightmares.

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Morning came and Tomas told you that he had to see Liu Kang immediately. He let you know that he wanted to ask the god for help. You two walked hand in hand to find Liu Kang to sort out this situation.

The fire god was surprised to see you two here. He immediately knew something was wrong when he looked at Tomas’ tired expression. Once again he went over the whole Enenra problem which Liu Kang took seriously. He asked Ashrah for help to deal with this pesky demon. The duo got to work as you stayed by Tomas’ side.

For hours they tried to figure out where this all was coming from. And although there was an Enenra messing with Tomas’ mind, that’s all it did. It could do nothing else to him. It was only there to weaken him into an unhealthy state. It wanted to gain a hold of his physical form. Seeking out Liu Kang was the right decision since the task became unworthy to the demon.

So in the end, the Enenra failed. Those nightmares were purely nightmares.

“See, told you they were just dreams.” You said.

“No need to rub it in.”

Yap notes: So when I first started writing this I was watching As Above, So Below cause I'm a sucker for Dante's Inferno stuff. Tell me why they threw a smoke bomb in the movie. Where do you just casually get one? It was in France so things could be a little unorganized. Also I'm too emotional sometimes. I want to sleep now. Adiós!

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punderdome · 4 months ago

Text

The Fine Print: Chapter 8

Summary: Tav seeks out a set of Infernal translations from the Archivist.

[AO3]

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

Chapter 8: The Archivist

Tav woke alone in the Archduke’s chambers. She was stiff and slightly sore but knew what she had to do. Raphael enjoyed it when she spoke Infernal to him. How much? What could she convince him to do using the Devil’s tongue? What would the devil's tongue do if she spoke the Devil's tongue?

First, she needed a competent translator that wasn’t her husband or his incubus. Since she had negotiated for the ability to speak to the staff, the Archivist was her best bet for a translator, but he had never even looked at her before. There was no way he was going to translate filthy lines unless she managed to gain some rapport with him.

Tav visited the archives after breakfast.

The Archivist was pouring over a tome and making notes on the side about a pair of gauntlets sitting on his desk. They hummed with Weave and required a thorough characterization.

“Good morning,” Tav greeted warmly. For the first time, the Archivist looked up at her and caught her gaze. He seemed displeased by the interruption but completely unwilling to express it to the Master’s wife.

“How may I assist you, my Lady?” he asked patiently.

“What is your name? I’m Tav - Tavara,” she corrected, unsure if he would ever consider using her name or if titles were all she was going to be given.

“Kilzire Ozvius, Master Archivist of the House of Hope,” he returned the gesture. “Now, what can I help you with, Lady Tav?”

“I am trying to learn proper Devilish Infernal, can you help me with a few translations?” Tav held out the Infernal copy of the book on Asmodeus that he loaned to her a few days prior. The Tiefling considered her question for a brief moment before he nodded. He gestured for her to show him the passages she was struggling with.

“I have been struggling with this passage that describes Asmodeus’s true serpentine form. I initially read this as ‘wounds dripping of acid black blood’ but the Common tongue version says ‘a series of never-healing wounds that exude blood blackened by sin and torment.’ Can you help me understand the difference?” Tav requested.

He took a second to understand her request before going through the section rune by rune. “I see,” there was a look of slight hesitation in his eyes. “So you’ve never studied Devilish Infernal before?”

Tav swallowed. “No. My lack of study is what led me here.” Kilzire had a look in his eye that twinged with embarrassment, though whether it was from her husband’s view on Tiefling Infernal or some sort of forbidden knowledge of how she actually became the Archduchess, she couldn’t say.

He pointed out the runes that described the blood of Asmodeus. “This word means never-healing wound in Infernal, but in Tiefling Infernal it means just wound.” He gave her a different word in Infernal to indicate that the wound could be healed, then added a suffix to indicate that the wound was in the process of being healed.

“May I have some parchment and a quill, I would like to take notes.” She wrote down the new terminology along with other examples of various types of wounds that may or may not be healable, in the process of being healed, mostly healed, failed to be healed, festering, fouled, necrotic, infected, and filled with devilish black pus. He went through and explained the subtle differences between them, often with only a single letter difference or a change in inflection or tone marked by the slight changes in angle of the letters.

“In spoken Infernal, your original reading would be sufficient to communicate most of your ideas, but written down or in a contract, the translation provided would be the correct way to interpret the writing.” Kilzire walked out from behind his desk and into the stacks. He returned with a relatively thin book bound in brown leather.

“Wound Treatments for the Front Line of the Blood War?” Tav asked as she read the title on the cover.

“Should you wish to practice your new knowledge,” Kilzire explained briefly.

Tav realized how much of his time she had used, and she only asked for clarification on a single word. “Thank you, Kilzire.” She collected the two books and her notes and returned to her room.

She lay the books on her table. She had an eternity to learn to properly read the works in front of her. It was the only way she was going to be able to correct her mistakes.

That evening, Tav was summoned to dinner with her husband in the dining hall.

The table was set with entirely too much food for the two of them to eat but nowhere nearly as lavish as the feasts for their first days of marriage. She stood alone in the dining hall to wait for Raphael. He came from behind her, probably having relocated from his study.

“Dear husband, how was your day?” Tav started the pleasantries. She took an offered elbow, and they sat together at the dining table.

“Quite challenging, I’m afraid,” Raphael responded, starting to serve himself a large portion of some sort of dark meat that dripped black juices as he cut into it. Tav declined to serve herself from that platter.

“With contracts?” Tav probed. She took a buttery roll from the breadbasket and noticed an unappetizing yet familiar meat stew lurking behind it. A platter of whole roasted fish on the table seemed like a safe choice.

“I was repairing the Orb of Karsus,” as he spoke of the artifact, Tav could sense his frustration as his knife cut deeper and more firmly into the flesh in front of him.

“I see, I’m sure it will be done soon enough,” Tav offered politely. “Whenever it is ready, I’m curious to see it.”

Raphael chuckled slightly. “How did it feel when it was within you?” he asked, taking a sip of wine.

Tav cocked her head slightly, startled by his question. “I didn’t know that it was there, but for me I guess it felt more like an ache.” She brushed her fingertips over the scales on her sternum. “Like my stomach was upset because I consumed too much whiskey or that sensation when you poke at a bruise.”

“Such an adept description, I felt a similar sensation upon testing it. I shall have it complete soon, and then I will show you its dark beauty.”

When they finished eating, Tav took Raphael’s offered elbow and they strolled through the corridors together. Tav pulled him gently towards the balcony that they had fucked on the day prior. He chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“Again?” Raphael teased.

“I didn’t really get to look at the horizon last time, as I was preoccupied,” Tav teased back. She smirked at his radiating smugness. She paused and gave a short chuckle. “And yes, that position did feel very good,” she added, trying to play coy. “Perhaps we should do that again,” she suggested with a smile. The growl in Raphael’s chest was almost imperceptible.

Tav gazed over the reddish horizon at the low, inhospitable rocky mountains. The land was jagged and barren, it was hard to believe that this was the site of so much conquering and conflict. This was the place her dear husband wanted to claim. This was the place she would eternally call home.

Raphael offered her a hand to lead her back to their chambers. Tav was lost in thought as they headed back to his bedchamber for the evening. They walked together in silence, her hand wrapped around his arm at the elbow.

She was starting to observe how Raphael took her contact. The Infernal flirting was hot and exciting. Direct requests were met with more challenges and demands. When he fingered her it was an ‘indulgence.’

When they entered his bedchamber, Raphael wasted no time undressing her as soon as the latch clicked shut.

“Why don’t we take our time?” Tav suggested as Raphael slid her smallclothes down her thighs. “We can relax and savor it.” Her suggestion gave him a slight pause. Now that she was bare, he lowered his mouth to hers and started to kiss her softly and slowly.

Tav took her time exploring him over his clothes. She was hoping that he would find the experience enjoyable enough to reciprocate.

“Come,” Tav bade him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the bed. She motioned for him to lay down, but he stayed standing. Alright, standing it would be.

Tav circled around to his back. She let her hands roam softly over the Infernal ridges hidden by his doublet. She gently ran her hands through the hair at the back of his neck. She stroked the skin of his wings gently, feeling the softness of the greater membrane and gently contrasting it to the firm leathery skin that covered the bones and muscles beneath. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and felt a deep, contented hum emanate from his chest.

Raphael sighed slowly, as Tav started undressing him. She undid every button on his doublet slowly, and removed it from his body. She unlaced his undershirt, tracing over his chest with her hands lightly, trying to tease him, and a quick tension in his breath indicated it was working. He pulled the undershirt off over his head and discarded it.

Tav rested her cheek against his chest as she started to trace the hem of the waistband of his pants with her fingertips, eliciting a breathy growl from her devilish husband. She unlaced his pants and slid them off, leaving both of them bare.

She met her husband’s gaze. He was eager and hungry, with an erection to support that assessment. Her hands gripped his shaft and gave a few eager pumps, and deep groans emanated from his Infernal chest.

Tav took his hands and placed them over her breasts, encouraging him to touch. She grabbed one of his hands and moved it to her ass, encouraging him to squeeze. She moved the hand that was groping her ass between her legs, encouraging him to stroke. She moaned into the sensation of Raphael pleasuring her.

Within the next ten seconds, Raphael had decided foreplay was done, and Tav was deposited on the bed for the evening’s activities.

***

Tav visited the archive the next morning. She was prepared with the first test of what Kilzare was willing to translate for her, and it was prudent to start with something benign. The Archivist was in the process of cataloging old tomes.

“Good morning, Kilzare,” she greeted warmly.

“Good morning, Lady Tav. Did you need something? More reading materials perhaps?”

“You know well enough that I am trying to learn Devilish Infernal, can you help me with a phrase?”

“Why of course, I speak all forms fluently,” he asserted gently with a smile.

“Can you teach me to say ‘I want you to kiss me all night’?” Tav requested.

He laughed and gave a bright smile. “For the Master of the House, I presume. I’m sure he will respond well to your gesture of romance.” He spoke the words in Devilish Infernal, and Tav took detailed notes, documenting the word differences between the translation she anticipated and the one she was presented with. “Should you require additional reading materials or inspiration, that section contains poetry and there is a section in the back for romantic classics of both Faerun and the Nine Hells of Baator.” Tav smiled at him sweetly.

She pointed out a section of his translation. “And this word, how does it mean ‘all night?’” she asked for clarification repeating the confusing part of the sentence.

“Without the suffix, it means ‘at nighttime’ but with the suffix it means ‘for all nighttime.' As you can gather, that doesn’t get much use here in Avernus.” Tav laughed, nodding at the clarification.

“Thank you, Kilzare.”

Tav smiled to herself as she walked the corridors of the House of Hope. The Archivist had been willing to translate romantic lines, so there was a chance he might be willing to assist her with a more carnal set of translations. Still, this evening would be a small test on how willing Raphael was willing to follow verbal instructions or requests before he lost patience and claimed his pleasure.

***

The test of Raphael’s patience and interest had not gone well. Tav whispered in Raphael’s ear, “I want to kiss you all night,” in a voice as seductive as she could make the harsh language sound. He grinned and was highly amenable to a passionate make out session on the settee, for a while at least.

His control over himself for quite some time, and he even managed some light groping while keeping his composure. Before long, he had dumped her on the bed and was quickly unlacing her corset. His mouth was still on hers, locked in a deep kiss and a low groan emanating from his throat. Then, they fucked. Twice.

Raphael lay wrapped around her, running his claws through her curls. “My love,” he whispered in her ear before they fell asleep.

The next morning, Raphael had left to finalize contracts in his study, leaving Tav free for the day to visit the archive at her leisure. Maybe a more seductive statement would lead to a better outcome.

Tav walked into the archive, and saw Kilzire taking copious notes on a scroll over something he had been reading. He gave a slight smile as she approached.

“Good morning, Lady Tav, how may I assist you?”

“I need a Devilish Infernal translation of something. Can you help me smooth out the language?”

“Why yes, of course. Whatever do you need?”

“I need you to teach me to say ‘I want you to trace my entire body with your tongue, ” Tav explained.

Any warmth that had been in his guise or his voice immediately vanished. “You must be joking.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“You realize that there is an entire section dedicated to erotica right over there! ” He pointed wildly at a back corner. She would have to investigate it later.

She steadied her emotions. “Will you help me or not?”

“Yes,” he bit back, rubbing his temples in an act of self soothing. He gave her the correct translation and slumped over his desk.

“Thank you,” Tav said quietly as she left the archive. Kilzare irritably waved her away with the back of his hand.

After dinner that evening, Raphael eagerly took her back to their bedroom to continue celebrating their honeymoon.

Tav whispered the Infernal line to Raphael telling him how she wanted him to trace her entire body with his tongue, and he immediately leapt at the opportunity. He was attentive and eager, holding, kneading, stroking and licking. They both gave warm moans of arousal as he traced each of her nipples slowly. He just couldn’t make it any lower than that. As soon as his tongue finished tracing both breasts, it was time for sex. He just couldn’t wait any longer and was eager to be pleasured.

Tav finished herself off that night while Raphael was asleep, curled tightly around her.

She would have to think of other things much filthier to compel her husband to follow her instructions in his bedchamber.

***

After a tenday of honeymoon beddings, the appropriate number of nara root tea doses, and Kilzare’s flustered breakdowns, Tav sat frustrated at her vanity in her room, preparing to meet her Lord husband for dinner.

He wanted her every day, and usually twice. He had never once given her an orgasm. The times she was close to coming when they fucked, he finished too quickly for her to reach that peak. He didn’t like it when she touched herself, and he always swatted her fingers away from her clit when she stroked herself. It was like he was jealous that her hands could give her pleasure without him being involved.

She couldn’t just ask Raphael to eat her out. Everything with him was a negotiation. If she asked him to pleasure her with his mouth, he definitely would demand she did the same to him in return. He wouldn’t even finger her to orgasm, and there was no chance she was going to suck his cock if he wouldn’t put in the minimum amount of effort when they fucked.

Tav wasn’t sure the Infernal seduction phrases were working on her husband. They seemed to only make him more eager to discontinue foreplay and move straight into fucking.

There was a knock at her door. “My Lady, the Master of the House has requested you join him for dinner,” a maid relayed through the door.

“Very well,” Tav responded through the closed door. She donned a red dress and the silver bracelet Raphael gifted her as a wedding gift. He had enjoyed fucking her several times while she was wearing only the bracelet.

Raphael stood waiting in the dining hall. “My beloved,” he greeted her magnanimously, grinning ear to ear.

Tav smiled nervously. “You seem delighted, husband. Are contracts going well?”

Raphael didn’t answer, he pulled back a chair and motioned her to sit. Tav sat down and allowed him to indulge her. He took his place by her side.

“I have mended the Orb of Karsus, and this merits a celebration.” He poured two goblets of wine and passed one to her.

“Well, now you are in possession of the full Regalia of Karsus. So much power at your fingertips,” Tav complimented. Powerful fingertips that couldn’t be bothered to bring her to orgasm.

“It is indeed, my love,” Raphael grinned. “The godlike power of the Regalia will enable me to take over the nine Hells.” He grabbed portions of the meat dishes nearest to him. Raphael cut into the toughest cuts with glee.

Tav served herself vegetables and a dish she was confident was beef. “I have full confidence in your abilities,” she offered up in conversation.

“When I have spent more time exploring the power of the Regalia, I would love for you to see a demonstration.”

“I look forward to it, husband.” Tav took a slow sip of her wine. If Raphael had the Regalia already, maybe the Hells would leave her alone. She was clearly not a threat. There was light conversation as they finished their meals.

“I have a gift for you, my beautiful wife,” Raphael moved behind her. He snapped and an object appeared in his hands that Tav couldn’t see. He extended something around her neck and she immediately recognized the coldness of jewelry. “I asked for five pendant rubies this time instead of one.” He idly grasped her hand that bore the ruby bracelet from his wedding gift. He turned her wrist over several times. “One gemstone wasn’t enough.”

Tav brought a hand up to her throat, feeling the coldness of the silver. “Thank you, dear husband.”

Raphael extended a hand. “Shall we go to bed?” he asked with a grin. Tav sighed and took it.

***

Tav was pretty sure her plan wasn’t going to work, but at present she had no better ideas. Maybe she could have a reliable way of making him come quickly when she just wasn’t excited about her husband’s affections.

Tav entered the archive, and Kilzare gave an audible groan.

“I don’t want to hear it, my Lady Tav,” he protested.

“Raphael needs to hear it, Kilzare.”

“Hells, what do you want me to translate now?” he demanded, the look on his face indicating that he was eager to get back to his work and to put the very concept of his boss having active nether regions out of his mind.

“ ‘Give me your fingers, so I can show you just how much I desire you,’ ” Tav answered in an absurdly straightforward fashion.

Kilzire stared at her. His mouth tightened in a deep frown.

“I studied at the top universities to be competent enough to serve an Archduke of the Hells. Now, here I am, doing this,” he lamented.

“Think about it,” Tav started with her prepared argument, “has Raphael hurt you or threatened to hurt you since we started our honeymoon? Who has he flayed?”

His eyes hit the rafters and he swallowed slowly in a deep show of indignity. “No one, Lady Tav.”

“Do you want to keep it that way?” Tav inquired.

Kilzare took a deep sigh before translating the sexually charged statement for her. He gave her the phrase in Devilish Infernal, and Tav took detailed notes about each word choice he made. There were only a few small adjustments from the initial translation that she had fabricated earlier. “Can I just translate them in bulk?” he asked with a twinge of disgust.

Tav sighed, trying to respect his boundaries but also trying not to betray the real reason that she needed the phrase list updated daily. “Not really,” she grimaced.

Tav’s assessment of her husband’s reaction to infernal seduction turned out to be correct. He was never going to do what she asked, and it made him too excited to last long. Tav utilized the second half of the effects many times, much to her displeasure.

***

One night, Tav woke to cambion claws gently tracing her naked curves and a very hard erection pressed into her lower back.

“Raphael?” she asked, still slightly sleepy. He hummed a throaty acknowledgement into her ear. They were spooning, with Raphael draped around her and caressing her with his free hand. The one laying beneath her grasped her stomach.

“There you are, my dearest. I was just admiring you.” His fingers traced circles around her nipples, making them hard. Tav sucked in a breath of anticipation.

Raphael traced his forked tongue down the back of her neck. His tail had crept all the way up her thigh and squeezed gently in a subconscious rhythm. He left kisses down her back and shoulder.

Tav moved to try to roll under him, but his tail and the arm stroking her wouldn’t let her move. “Naughty, eager Little Mouse,” Raphael whispered in her ear. “I want you just like this. A slow, languid bit of pleasure for us to enjoy.”

Though he held her facing away from him, she reached back around him to grab his ass and run her hands over the ridges on his hip bone. He raised his hand to trace a claw over her jawbone, and Tav lifted her top thigh, so his legs could entwine with hers. He shifted her so that the arm that rested under her was able to assist in soft caresses. Tav brought her hand to her clit and pressed in firm, slow circles. She let out a soft, breathless moan.

His free hand grabbed his hardness and pushed it between her legs, waiting to enter her. Tav quickly tested how wet she was.

“Not yet, I’m not wet enough,” she breathed before going back to touch herself. Raphael continued to kiss her back and shoulders, though they became staccatoed instead of soft with an undercurrent of frustration. As Tav let out another soft groan of pleasure, Raphael replaced her hand with his and took her place pleasuring her. She could feel his restlessness pulse through his tail and his erection between her legs.

Tav pressed two fingers into her entrance and scissored and thrust them in a rhythm she liked. The moan she let out was no longer soft or breathless. Raphael grabbed her hand and removed her fingers. He brought her slick fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.

“Now?” Raphael asked softly with an air of tension in his voice.

“This feels so good, finish me,” Tav moaned as Raphael continued to stroke her.

He stopped stroking her and ran his hand over her breasts. “Such a greedy, greedy Little Mouse,” he growled in response. Her husband thrust deeply into her. He was slow and languid as he moved with a consistent rhythm.

Tav angled her hips properly for Raphael’s movements, and he began to take his pleasure in earnest. He held her tightly within his arms, one hand gripping her hips while the other wrapped around her torso with his hand gripping between her shoulder and collarbone. She enjoyed the joining and the pleasurable way his ridges dragged within her, but this angle refused her friction where she wanted it.

Tav reached between her legs to stroke her clit. Her breathy moans met Raphael’s. After a few more thrusts, Raphael grabbed the hand stroking her clit and removed it. He replaced her fingers with his own.

“I am your pleasure, my Little Mouse,” he growled into her ear. He gave a few more thrusts before coming inside her. “My beloved,” he purred in her ear. He held her tightly and fell asleep again still inside her.

It had been two tendays of their honeymoon trying to get Raphael to do anything to please her. The Infernal flirting and seduction had only served to wind him up more. He didn’t actually listen to anything she asked for or consider anything she wanted. It was so much simpler for him to buy her things and fuck her rather than to try to build some sort of actual relationship. S he really was just an object to him, exactly what Haarlep had told her. She was his new sex toy. That was all she was ever going to be. Forever.

Tav closed her eyes tightly as the cambion lay wrapped around her and softened inside her. Sleep was not going to come easily. She had a new plan, and she had to begin tomorrow.

She was going to find the divorce loophole for her contract.

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 the fine print

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soraviie · 2 years ago

Text

chasing after you.txt

━ type: bts x f! reader ━ navigation

━ about: dynamics in order: Joon - one-night stand + enemies to lovers, Yoongi - neighbours with a bit of a bad boy influence, Jin - sort of arranged marriage au, Hoseok - exes to lovers, Jimin - sugar daddy/fake dating au, Taehyung - tease x anger issues/clingy + tsundere/f2l, Jungkook - bodyguard x ward

━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: "Aw, fuck, who invited that guy?" you growled, whilst rolling your eyes at the corner where Namjoon had been so precariously sat like an asshole. You hated everything about him - the smug smile, the cocky tone of his voice, the winks he threw your way. Kim Namjoon was nothing but a sure way to get your blood pressure up and stay that way all through the night.

"Probably one of his fri- Shit! He's coming this way!" as your friend dipped over the bar and away into the crowd, courageous as ever, you snatched your drink partially pondering about throwing it into his face.

"You look lonely," he cooed with that shit-eating grin that you had wanted to smack away since the first meeting. And maybe to kiss but he didn't need to know that. "Why don't I keep you company?"

"Keep company with your left hand like you usually do," you yelled over the music.

"Well it does pair well with certain memories of you," he smirked and you groaned in disgust.

A misguided February 14th evening could lead to many foul things - unexpected pregnancy, STDs, Kim Namjoon having the delusional idea that you liked him.

Frankly, you'd rather endure a yeast infection than have this 6 feet fuckboy in the disguise of a pacifistic art lover keep chasing you every night out. More than once you wanted to slap your younger self only to come to their defence over and over again.

Namjoon was big. Big man. Big muscles. Big...well you get it.

And that may have made you a little bit stupid once! But not twice.

Yes.

"I can't stand you," you sneered at him with the most contempt you could possibly muster

"Sit on my lap then, baby."

You took a long swig to finish your drink, sliding it across the bartop and walking backwards, you levelled him down with a:

"You'd only cream your jeans, caveman."

"That's possible," he reckoned with a soft smile watching you mingle with the dancing crowd.

And for a while, it all went well, you'd find someone to at least waste some time with only for them to suddenly start sprinting away for their lives. You frowned after them, coming to a screeching halt in the fun.

Did your breath smell or something?

Taken with dancing, you hadn't noticed the broad-chested giant charging forth, smoke practically fuming from his nostril as his eyes glinted devilishly when tracking down the opponent. As the music changed, you found your waist circled by a shovel-sized palm.

"You really have no luck out here. You keep on being stuck with lil' old me," he whispered in your ear, causing long trails of goosebumps where his breath landed and you elbowed him, hard, in the gut.

He didn't even seem to mind.

"I don't know who you think you are Kim Namjoon but I will never-!"

"Oh, how you hate me," he lets out a burst of raspy laughter, head thrown back on the pillow, pulling you closer as much as he can despite you both being considerably sweaty.

"S-shut up," you grunt back, thighs aching but just a little bit more and you'll be in your happy place even if it was with this obnoxious gym rat. "You're just a cock on legs to me."

"Oh, for sure," he smirks and then prompts himself upwards to bite on your neck. "But you might think of screaming a tad quieter if you want to be really convincing."

It's a sick sense of deja-vu to wake up sore and aching all over in a sun-filled room overstuffed with cacti and a very soft blanket. The bed was empty and as you clamber to the toilet wearing a shirt found on the floor, struggling to walk, you stumble upon him in the kitchen - Cheshire grin spread all over his lips.

"Good morning," Namjoon greets. "You want some eggs, babe?"

YOONGI: His eyes track your movement as though it's dazed him and it's in moments like these you wish he was a criminal or something, a certified member of a mafia. A flag touch redder.

Stay away from Min Yoongi, they said, he's trouble but what to do when he doesn't stay away from you?

"So a kitten does come out to play," he purrs pressing one of those veiny palms against the elevator doors, halting it in its tracks and climbing in. You roll your eyes and straighten your back to appear more threatening. Yoongi, of course, couldn't give less of a shit.

"You're one to speak," you counter. "The most walking you do is through your apartment. It's like a herd of elephants."

"Well then don't listen in on what I do, you little pervert," he smirks, pressing the 8 on the elevator and it jerkily moves through the floors, reminding you once again to be grateful for life.

"Give it here," without waiting for a reply, he grabs the hold of your bags and goes straight to your apartment doors. Once inside he makes himself right at home, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

"What are we eating?" he questions gruffly, examining the produce with no small amount of judgment.

"You're speaking French now?" you push him away, relinquishing the rightful ownership of a pair of avocados you bought. "Whose "we"?"

He doesn't bother gracing it with a comment as anyhow a doorbell rings and you see his tongue poke against the cheek.

"Who the hell are you?" he questions sharply and you peer into the doorway.

"Oh, hello," you greet your coworker with a reserved smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, what are you doing here?" Yoongi echoes, placing his hand above your head and on the very edge of the door.

"Just interested if you're going to the uh... team bonding activities," he replies, fretfully glancing at Yoongi.

"Ignore him, I do," you smirk up at Yoongi. "And-"

"She has plans," Yoongi interrupts, pushing you back into the kitchen with his palm against your back.

"Oh, okay," your coworker stutters awkwardly, trying to lean in somehow. "See you around?"

"No," Yoongi cheerfully replies and smacks the door right into his face.

"You're such a dick," you groan.

"Did you have plans?" he asks with a teasing lilt, voice dropping nearly an octave lower. "And are you going to lie that it wasn't with me?"

"My jumbo-sized Charmander plushie and I are doing well on our own," you point at him with a packet of tomatoes. "Where you fit into the equation is a mystery."

"I'll tell you where I can fit," he laughed, wagging his eyebrows.

"No, no, goodbye," you wrinkle your nose in disgust, pushing his still laughing back out of the door. "Leave."

"Wait, what if I need some sugar?" he objects and you furrow your eyebrows, glaring up at him in suspicion.

"Do you?"

"No," he shrugs carelessly. "But what if."

"Begone, demon," you push against him harder but he seems to only enjoy it.

"Come to my game. It's right across the street in that park. I need a good luck charm."

"Will you be throwing a ball in your face? If no, then I'm not interested."

As you slam the door shut there still comes a raspy whine.

"Come on, short ass, come."

And if you do happen to drop by the nearest park with its shitty basketball court it's because you have nothing better to do and you needed some ice cream. Yoongi, uncharacteristically brazen for him, smirks at then winks in the middle of the game.

And promptly receives a ball to the face.

JIN: "Eat more garlic!"

"Straighten your hair with an iron!"

"Belch really, really loudly!"

You try to recall all of your friends' sage advice whilst pacifying your nerves. Being late nearly an hour didn't sit well with you but this guy was...determined. Insanely determined. So the ends justify the means.

When at last you arrive at the three Michelin star restaurant it's an hour later than what your family had set and you're wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Your face may burn with shame at such a display but certainly, this would beat this broad-shouldered man off the path. This was beyond and above rude. You're already prepared to be yelled at, scorned and insulted but Seokjin merely blooms into an eager smile. Doesn't even blink twice at your choice of wear.

He dismisses the host with a polite nod and pulls a chair out.

"Hello, _________," he greets innocently. "Traffic is hell, right."

There was no traffic and he knew it only making excuses to achieve whatever nefarious goal he had set out to.

"Just give him a chance," your mother pleaded over the phone. "He's been asking about you forever. Please, he's rich and handsome, what's not to like."

What's not to like? Well, probably something. Kim Seokjin in your mind had always stood as that annoying guy who'd dropped a water bomb on your head when you were about to take the most glorious profile picture ever. Spinning in overlapping social circles, you'd seen too much of him growing up and had to endure several of your friends flailing over him especially when the pool season began. He was like a jar of honey to their fly status. And as such only a tar in your own pot of sweetness.

He was old. You had not exactly a criminal age difference but still more than 2 years. He was a creep, you firmly plant that idea into the recesses of your mind.

Why oh why, was he so insistent on asking about you?

"Good idea," he praises, pointing at your outfit. "It's best to be comfortable. I should have done that as well, this is quite uncomfortable," he waves a disappointed hand over the blue three-piece suit.

The waiter along with the menu serves you a freshly plucked side eye.

"Yeah, that's why I did it," dryly you mutter back, hiding behind the menu.

Think, think, think, what else turns off snooty men?

"Fucking shit," you cry out to your own amazement. "These prices are ridiculous. I'm not paying for this!"

"That's fine," Jin shrugs with that seemingly permanently etched expression of a tender smile. "I invited you here, I'll pay."

You groan.

"I'll fart," you threaten.

He shrugs and gracefully pours you a glass of wine.

"Everyone does that. It's a part of life."

You slobber your dinner up like a beast.

"Hmm, you're making the meal look more delicious," he nods.

And not even when you "accidentally" spill a mango sauce on his pants worth more than your apartment, does he weigh the thought of becoming angry in his mind.

"Ah, it's a perfect colour now," he merely congratulates with a jubilant cry and you let your head fall on the table with a thud, only it hits his palm as he had stretched it out at the last second.

"Are you insane?" you breathe out in sheer desperation. "Why are you not running over the hills?"

"Do you really think I can't see that you're doing this on purpose?" he smirks in amusement, over the rim of the wine glass. "We've known each other for a while, I know you better than that."

"Exactly!" you yell before falling into a hush as numerous daggers shoot your way. "You know me! As the annoying friend of your cousin! Why are you asking after me all of a sudden?! What joke are you playing?"

"Well, first of all," Jin corrects all too self-congratulatory. "I've never thought you were annoying. Maybe except when you were like 14 but who isn't the worst person in the world at that age? And secondly," his ears abruptly turn quite pink and he lets the wine glass rest on the table, nervously fiddling with its stem. "I asked for you because as you may know your mother is quite eagerly seeking various wedlock opportunities. For you specifically."

That makes you groan only louder.

"Don't remind me. So, so what? You want to get married to me?" you snort at the idea but then, for the first time ever, Jin is not laughing.

"Yes," he says dead serious.

"Wait, is this a prank?" you glance all around in an attempt to find the hidden cameras. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"I'm pulling no legs. What a weird thing to do," Jin muses and you narrow him down.

"Don't joke. It's not funny. Say "got you" or something. You can't be serious?!"

"Listen, ___________, I've liked you for a while now. I wanted to ask you before you began university but then you brought Jae home and..."

"Jae? Jin, that was...that was five years ago! You couldn't have liked me for five years?"

He averts his eyes and sips on his champagne. Even his neck is red.

"Five years?" you cry out. "And you kept quiet?!"

"Well, I told you now!" he objects with some indignation but even more of a burning shame. "All you need to do is to decide what you're going to do. 'Cause I'll accept you as you are, belching, sweatpant wearing and all. Even if you straighten your hair with an iron."

For a second you sit still and stupefied on this ridiculously over-padded chair ad then you feel yourself match the heat blooming on his face.

"You know Giulia?" you ask, downing the entire wine while desperately trying not to smile at the soft amusement in his eyes.

"Of course, I know Giulia," Jin chuckles self-consciously. "Who do you think gave me the genius advice of this stuffy suit?"

HOSEOK: You should have known from the start that this would lead to nothing good. What else could wait for you at the end of the nondescript hallways of conference rooms? One thing you didn't expect however was the loathsome face of your ex-boyfriend. Hoseok was sitting already by the table, beautiful as ever, leg nervously bouncing against the floor and treacherously a click of a lock snapping in its place echoes behind you.

He springs up from the seat, nervously glancing at where you tried to somehow break through the door. Or the wall, whichever came first.

"Oh, hell no," you growled, nails scraping against the doorknob. The betraying Brutus of a friend he had bribed to text you to come here will find an egg on their window for sure.

"_____________, please, let's just talk," he pleads. "Just let...let me explain."

"I don't want to hear any explanation," you hissed, turning to glare at him. From the way his eyebrows sloped, you could tell he was deadset serious but then it comes too clearly back into your mind.

That you were weird, not his type, that he doesn't understand you. But instead of simply crying about it you left. To cry about it in your own space. And also then turn incredibly bitter over it.

"I just meant that..."

"That I'm a freak? Yeah, I got it," you snarled before yanking harder on the knob. "Open the damn door!"

"No. If you're going to leave then please do the courtesy of letting me memorize your face."

You close your eyes, steeling your resolve. Don't give in, you reminded yourself, not after a whole year of hunkering through yet another heartbreak. Hoseok was just like the rest. Taking weirdness in all the things you liked, that you were. Why should you ever change for anyone else?

"It's been a year," you note sternly, having slid on the floor. He's also there, watching away from the small distance with a crease of a frown between his brows.

"Exactly. This year was one of the worst I've ever had," he confesses, supposedly earnestly. "I admit the things that I said were wrong but I did not mean it like that!"

"________________ is just a bit weird. You know the people I used to date, there's a bit of a difference, softly said," you quote him word for word. "And you said that to someone else! You opened your mouth, said that shit and thought it was okay!"

The sun behind the window had nearly slipped over the horizon and the office space was illuminated with a soft orange glow.

"You know the first time I met you, that was a lie," he mutters into the air. No one had come to open the door despite you nearly beating it off the hinges.

"Oh, that too was a lie, wonderful," you groaned, rolling your eyes but Hoseok remains sitting sadly by, occasionally passively twirling his shoe laces.

"I actually went past you on the street. Remember the crossroad by that small confectionery?"

You did remember. You lived right above it for a while, making your hair smell perpetually of candy for half a year.

"I...I got lost around there and walked past you, and you were sort of listening to your headphones, not looking around. I remember," he chuckled as though taken by an old memory. "You wore that knitted jumper that kept falling off your shoulder, the faded beige one and I just...I was so jealous of you, you were so carefree."

You glanced at him surprised. As far as you knew the first time Hoseok and you met was at a graduation gathering, a friend of a friend sort of a situation. And as you sat there, enjoying your barbecue by the side, wondering whether to dip your ketchup-stained hand in some weed brownies, he came up to you with the brightest smile, talking as though he knew you. Guess he did then know you.

"And the next day I went there again. I didn't even know why but I just did and you were there again. And I kept returning," he smiled at the ground but it quickly vanished. "Every day for a month before I met you at that gathering. Sometimes you were there, a lot of times - not but when you did it lit up my entire day. I didn't know how to approach you though, it's not a thing you do in the middle of the street, you know?"

"No," you affirm faintly.

"And when you left..." Hoseok winced at the mere mention of it. "I still kept going back," his breath was nothing more than a whisper stained with regret. The look in his eyes was downright depressing and you wondered if he had roamed around bearing the same heavy chip that you had. "And our favourite cafe. And your favourite park spot. I was there like...like a ghost lingering in your presence."

"But why did you say then that I was weird?" you sniffled, letting, for the joke of your own mental stability, some of that defence down. Attempting to look at Hoseok without the veil of contempt you've draped over him for a year. Dragging yourself back from hell was hard, dragging yourself from hell when thrust there by the one person you thought wouldn't do that - even harder. But by peeling off at least one cover, you saw many wonderful memories behind it, as slightly tainted as they were.

"I don't know," he groaned, hiding his face in the palm of his hands. "I was stupid. I meant in my heart that you were unlike anyone I've been with before. Not bad but different. And, yes, sometimes I don't understand you but I want to," he rouses to look into your eyes across the room. "I want to. And even if I never fully understand, I would like to make you feel heard and stand by your side nonetheless."

You stare into the sun to avoid crying. Stupid thought as no one ever stared into this glowing orb of light hanging in the sky in order to not get misty-eyed.

"What I said there was, I admit, crass. I was scared because I...with you I don't want to leave. I don't want to call quits when it becomes uncomfortable or becomes uneasy, I want us to grow together. And that scares me because, for the first time, I can really truly get hurt," he exhaled a heavy sigh, voice growing strained. "So when you left, no explanation, just gone in the wind..." he glimpsed over the horizon. "Anyway, I recognise me cornering you like this is wrong but...if you ran away because you felt unloved, I just wanted to show that I'd be chasing after."

Hoseok wiped at his eyes and briskly got up.

"But if you didn't and don't want me, I'll open the doors," from the pocket of his jeans, he fished out a glinting silver key. "I really just wanted to memorize you for as long as I could. I'm sorry."

He opens the doors and you called out -

"Hoseok!"

JIMIN: The phone kept ringing. You'd put it on mute but even so the bright light of the flashing screen stirred you awake and after a brief wrangle of putting the chip bowl actually on the table nearby, kicking your leg free from the grasp of the blanket, you simply watched it ring. After eventually growing into silence, it went to the 45 unanswered calls like the rest. You sighed turned to your side and slid the eye mask over the face, trying to somehow coerce yourself into immediate and indisputable slumber.

This was just the outward manifestation of his bruised ego, nothing more. You don't think anyone had ever rejected Park Jimin so this must be a new, unfamiliar feeling, one he'll get over in time and then maybe even laugh about it years down the line.

I mean, come on, you thought to yourself cutting the words like bloodied post-it notes in your own mind. There's no such thing as a rich handsome guy genuinely falling for someone so...

The disgusting words sprung too freely on the tip of your tongue so you settle for normal. To not at least give into self-hatred so easy. Such was the plot of romantic dramas and fantasies hence why it was fiction. Rich, beautiful people went for other rich beautiful people, normal folks went for normal folks. Dogs did not mix with chickens or pandas with capybaras. It was simply nonsense.

But as you close your eyes, the memories make it harder to be as clinically objective. All too well, you remember. His hands on your face, grasping as though he feared you would leave.

"Why don't you ever believe me?" he asked with heated desperation. "Nothing I say is ever good enough. Nothing is trustworthy!"

You tried to pry him gently away.

"Because how can I believe you? Look at yourself and look at me. This is not even opposites it's...unfathomables!"

You wished partially that he'd go to the good old Mr Park of the beginning, one who'd walked up to you in a cafe and asked if for a fair amount of money you'd be willing to answer his phone and pretend to be his girlfriend. And since the sum he called out was the rate of an onerous monthly rent, you'd plastered the sweetest voice you could in a matter of seconds with no questions asked.

When thinking of all the troubles when he approached you again, completely by accident, you had thought to yourself jail, assault, violence, even cannibalism for good measure, who knew what kind of sicko this stranger could be, but never you considered you'd be scared by the simple fact that he was in love with you. He had been cold, rude and brusque at the start and you had been fine with that, your "job" was to sometimes go to family dinners and lie which while not moral was not a crime.

Only then he invited to accompany him to his office, then to trips, then to movies and then one day you wake up in your bed and Mr Park, once a cold and resigned man, drenched in his own riches, is now making pancakes on your old stovetop and smiles the kindest smile you'd ever seen and asks if you slept well.

How could it not be a scary sight?

"I love you!" he shook you by the shoulders, not hard enough to hurt but as if trying to shake the bad thoughts out. "But you hate yourself! And you never listen!"

"They'll think I'm a gold-digger!" you cried. Just looking around his apartment made you sick. You couldn't even afford his carpet. How could he love someone with whom he shared so little with? He had never known the feeling of counting one's last money to afford bread or not buying something out of impulse. And you had never known the etiquette of polite brutality, of caring about who sits where because one word spoken at the wrong crowd table could destroy your entire livelihood. Love didn't change two profoundly different experiences.

"They don't think that!" he argued. "My parents wanted me to be with someone-"

"Poor?" you interrupted finally wrenching yourself free. Why was he so cruelly saying these things? He will just make you love him and then dump you with nary concern. Like others and then in time you will always think that you should have known better. Should have gotten rid of those rose-tinted glasses sooner not when they're smashed in shatters on the cold concrete.

"No!" Jimin immediately counters. "Of a different social circle! And even if they did, I don't care!"

"But the press-!"

"I don't care!"

"The rest of your relatives and friends-!"

"I don't care!" he yelled back, ripping at his hair, faint tears lingering in his eyes. "What will it take for you to believe me?! Please, why don't you believe me?"

"I can't!" you shrieked back in a sob. "Because better you not love me at all than fall out of it after some time! I don't want to be loved! I don't want to trust! I just want to be alone!"

Alone is what you were now but it felt no better.

"It will," you calmed yourself aloud. "Give it some time and your life will return to how it was."

Boring. Monotone. A single actor performing the most dreadful play to an audience of no spectators. You sniffled punching the pillow. Stupid Park Jimin waltzing into your life and making you think you were not the person you saw in your mind. That you were better. But how can you be when you're always "you"? A nameless face in the crowd, a cog in the machine.

No one, really.

As a sudden hand wraps around your waist, you scream and nearly punch the lights out of the affectionate attacker before in the faint streetlight streaming through the windows you recognized Jimin's eyes.

"How did you get in here?" you rustled in indignation.

"I had a key made. Remember? So I could greet you at home after work," he explained sternly.

"Well, you can't be here now-" you tried to argue, even push him out if needed, but he grasped at your legs and wrestled you to sit atop of him. You always fretted you were too heavy but he never objected.

"I'll leave if you order me to leave. Say those exact words: "Jimin, I want you to leave and never return back."

"I want to be alone," you muttered out of force of habit playing with the neck of his shirt.

"It's not the same," he cupped your cheek. "Until you tell me to piss off in my face, I'll keep chasing you every time you run. You think no one would? I will. Over and over again."

Your lip wobbled.

"It's ungrateful work," you breathed as he tugged you closer into a hug, gently swaying from left to right.

"Not to me."

TAEHYUNG: It takes thirty minutes for your aunt, a known stick in the mud, to go from screaming why was there a whole ass adult man traipsing in the apartment her niece should keep an eye on, to peacefully discussing the best nut selection over the kitchen table with eagerly listening Taehyung on the other side.

You were 35% convinced he knew how to do magic, and 65% convinced he was magic. And if he feasibly could he would live in your asshole. And the worst of all you can't get rid of him.

Well no, the worst of all you don't want to.

Coming from a rough environment, no matter how you slice or dice it, that leaves its own impression upon the mind. Yours being - people leave, people lie, people bad. It was easy to go through life, more than two decades of them in selective solitude, having friends but never letting them too close in and soon after they would stop even being friends. It was easy and predictable and while no one cared for you, you had to care for no one, could go where you wanted, how and when you wanted and fully enjoy doing what you liked.

And then this curly-headed now human reincarnated tiger-bear hybrid showed up. Literally dropping out of nowhere whilst still in university, pointing a finger of his frankly too large of a hand at you and then basically saying: "I want that one, that one's mine". Actually no, he did say exactly those words as you remember faintly chucking a dictionary of law at his head, thinking he'll abduct you or something.

And that's how six years later you were moved in. And he had invaded every part of your life, with his kind words, sopping eyes and chiselled chin.

As Taehyung slowly drifted to sleep, eyes falling heavier, his hand is intertwined with yours. And as you'll go to sleep yourself, despite him having his own bed, inexplicably you'll wake up with his breath against the back of your head.

Which was strange you know. You don't even remember agreeing to be friends with him. But steady as a clockwork, lo' and behold, at two in the morning, Taehyung's thigh squirms in between yours and he sighs in content.

Bizarre to say the least.

"Hey, where are you going?" he asks in wonder, poking his very shirtless body through the crack in the bathroom doors, toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Out?"

"Wait, lemme comme with."

"Can I go out on my own? As the big girl that I am?" you huffed dryly, brows furrowed.

"No," he replied with a smile. Then you walk side by side you glare at your hands, swaying together in the warm air.

"A crazy question, one I'm just putting out there, will you ever...leave?" you ask with a faint frown. There might just be this...supposition, guesswork if you will, in your mind that it might just be that somehow you're...Taehyung's partner now.

"Hmm," he makes an act of pondering it out. "No, no, I don't think I will. Unless you kick me out."

Kick him out. Why didn't you? When previous lovers threw fits about Taehyung always being near, you parted with them with nary of guilt because they were...not your rock. Your rock and safe space had become this strange, occasionally vampiric-looking, a cardigan-loving friend of yours. But he never vocalized it. Or so you thought. He was always teasing you about being hard of emotional hearing, now that you thought about it.

You halted in the middle of the sidewalk and he turns to glimpse at you, curious.

"Taehyung...are you...in love with me?"

Astonishingly, he bursts into a peal of laughter.

"I have been for years now," he chuckles light-heartedly. "Though thank you for finally noticing."

"Wh-why didn't you say something? Anything?"

An expression of deep fondness settles on his face and it warms you like the late summer sun.

"I say "I love you" every day, dumbass. I've chased after you for like six years now. Oh, god," he gasps, sounding suddenly absolutely horrified. "Six years of my life wasted chasing after your stupid head. Oh, I'm an idiot."

"So a moron for a moron, a match made in lower intelligence," you grumble and he snorts at it, crossing the distance once more. When he takes your hand it feels weird for a second. But only for one. You ask yourself what will change and realize - not much.

"That we are Mrs Kim," he coos with a broad grin. "Great! Now I can show you the plans for our shared tombstone I sketched back in the university!"

JUNGKOOK: "He's...will he be staring like that for the entire evening?" your friend asks timidly, voice nearly overshadowed even by the pleasant music of the brunch place. You glimpse over your shoulder to find him aimlessly lounging around. When meeting your gaze, his lips, almost involuntary, spread into a wide grin as his nose scrunches in a manner that is inappropriate for any self-respecting bodyguard. He at least gathers that and sobers with a stern cough.

"Yeah, he's just...my...finance manager," lamely, you trail off but at least they believe it. Considering the last three months it wasn't that believable.

"In a twist of miraculous fate, a poor vintage boutique worker becomes the sole inheritor of the Durhanan Estate," she quotes with a mysterious smile and you squirm awkwardly as you always did when it was bought up. Six years of lawsuits had rendered the luck into a frenzied fever dream one you thought would never come to fruition. Even when the final decision was laid to rest and the lawyers of your great-grandfather popped their champagnes with cheery eyes it all felt so distant. Like a different life. That feeling, you find out, never left.

"Yeah, it's...crazy," you chuckled self-consciously.

"So is the old house haunted?" she questions leaning over the table with keen interest, though every once in a while her gaze does stray worryingly to where Jungkook was standing.

"It's just creepy. It's big...and old," you confess perhaps colouring it with hues too bold, knowing only the answer such as this would satisfy her interest. It was old and entirely too big (who needed thirty-four rooms) but with Jungkook it was less lonely, less of a ghost house and more of a...

No, it's stupid, don't say it, you think to yourself.

"So now that you're rich," she throws a not-so-small of judgemental look over the crystal glass of mimosa. "Will you be forgetting all about us?"

"No," you assure her. "This means nothing. It's just a change of...housing."

But she only scoffs in reply. You think you might not have your best friend much longer.

"You look unhappy," Jungkook reckons quietly, whilst driving back to the Durhanan estate. A nearly 300-year chateau hidden within an unnamed forest deep in the countryside. Once the chief story of the local children's ghost tales and now - your home.

Of sorts.

"I'm just tired," you deny, peering into the rolling landscape of the wilting greenery. A rougher hand suddenly rests atop of yours, stopping them from ripping the skin around the fingernails. Your face swelters with heat and you gently remove his palm.

You were his boss and this was...this was not appropriate.

But Jungkook has other ideas and despite there being thirty-four rooms and whooping nine acres of gardens there's hardly any escape from him.

"My lady, oh, my lady," he calls across the gravel path leading down into the overgrown, ivy-ridden paths. He runs up to you and then gently tucks the bloom of one of the wild roses ravaging the grounds behind your ear. He tries to suppress the smirk on his face and narrows his eyes against the glaring sun.

"You're...you," he stutters. "You doing anything special, tonight?"

You don't quite know why but that question, posed so innocently and presumably out of a need to start a conversation, makes you laugh. It was only you two here, no wifi, piss-poor electricity and the nearest town, a village actually, was thirty-minute drive away and the only thing interesting there was a two-room corner shop.

"Wondering whether we're going to be killed by demons, yes," you laughed lightly.

"I was just wondering whether we could bust out the old reliable solitaire in the library?"

You sigh but it falls more endeared than annoyed.

"Jungkook, stop trying to seduce me."

At first, his face seems to be crestfallen only for a cheeky smirk to appear.

"Trying?" he echoed and slightly leaned into you. A gust of sharp wind broke through the gardens and in sync you glanced at the sky above your heads. A cluster of dark clouds was gathering in the south.

"Let's go in," he urges softly but his body standing behind you flames your back.

A thunder was ripping outside like something crazy, rattling the panes of the window so hard you fretted they would shatter at some point. And the house screamed. Every breeze of the wind seemed to tear into the old floorboards as though they were alive.

Ghosts are not real, ghosts are not real, ghosts are not-

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

You screamed your lungs out, lunging towards the golden candelabra perched on the bedside table.

"You're alright? Are you okay?" Jungkook's voice swims through the dark and you exhale in loud relief.

"Do not! Scare me like that!"

After a moment and a creak of the old floor comes a bashful.

"Sorry."

Another crack of lightning. In the brief flash, you see him standing, unsure but not leaving. It was a bodyguard's duty to protect and he always took his duty quite seriously. Even if this duty was simply to protect you from any unwanted journalists and stalkers where there was none leaving him practically with nothing to do.

"Should I stay here? Protect you...from the storm?"

You raise an eyebrow.

"The storm? That is-"

CRACK!

"Yes, please and thank you," you whimper and not even a second later, the side of your bed dips.

Crickets might as well be chirping at the moment.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" he offers, sweetly, oh so sweetly as if he wasn't a little demon wearing a cheap halo. But still, the house continues its wail. How many lives had been lost in these walls? What stories did they tell?

You didn't want to know and so you agree but as he takes your palm, your hand lands on a very firm set of muscles.

"Jungkook, please retake 9th-grade biology, your six-pack is not a hand."

"It emits the same level of comfort."

He trails your hand higher, over his pecks and lands right on his heart. It drums like a fevered bird underneath your fingertips.

"Why are you so nervous?" you hum and he rolls on his side and settles himself onto the pillow.

"Because I like you. And you like me. Even if you pretend that you don't."

"It's really not ap-"

"Appropriate?" he finishes and then tugs his hands over your waist pulling you closer. "Perhaps not but you know what happens in the spooky old mansion, stays in the spooky old mansion."

His warm palm cups your cheek, stroking it with a dizzied smile.

"And if it doesn't, I'm a really good runner, so you can scurry all you like," a pause. His hand presses you even closer.

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partially-controlled-chaos · 10 months ago

Text

Come Back to Me Pt 5

Pairing: Astarionxf!Tav

Rating: M

Warnings: Hurt/angst, comfort, trauma, fluff, trauma, soft jealous Astarion

Summary: After an attack in the Shadow Cursed Lands, Tavriel is exposed to the toxins of fear inducing mushroom spores, causing her already weakened mind to relive the traumatic horrors of her past. Astarion and Halsin are forced to work quickly to cure her mind of the spores before the effects remain with her permanently.

Also read on AO3! Check there for more frequent updates because I sometimes forget to also post them here.

I also recommend reading my previous fic for some backstory on my Tav! Not totally necessary, but if you’d like some backstory you can find it here!

Masterlist

Come Back to Me: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6

Astarion shook his head as his tadpole disconnected from Tavriel’s, allowing his thoughts to once again be his own. His temples throbbed and his back muscles slightly ached, almost mimicking the true agony Tavriel was still reeling from. He felt his stomach twist into knots as bile began to rise, feeling ill just from witnessing the sadistic nature of Tavriel’s master. She had never shared specific stories with him, only general discussions of her tortures and suffering, but she had never revealed just how cruel Oaklarth was to her. He knew of her scars, but to see exactly how she got them and hear the bone-chilling screams she’d let out in the process coupled with the idea of knowing her master would then use and abuse her body against her will over and over again? It was almost too much to stomach. It reminded him too much of his own past traumas under Cazador.

Tavriel’s movements had once again slowed and she began to settle as she took slow, shallow breaths as the memory faded from her mind. She had grown weaker, her arms barely able to hold herself up, slightly trembling under her weight. Her head hung low, hair cascading over her shoulders as her breath came in slow gasps. Astarion watched helplessly as Tavriel simply sat there, her mind slipping further and further from reality. Anxiety had begun to settle in his chest and he had nearly jumped to his feet to drag the druid in the room before he finally heard the door click open. He wasn’t sure how long his mind had linked with Tavriel’s, but seeing that both Halsin and a cure for Tavriel had yet to come, he was afraid too much time had passed. Halsin appeared in the doorway, a cup of steaming, foul smelling tea resting in his hands. He closed the door behind him, looking to Astarion and then to the weary looking Tavriel who was barely supporting herself on the floor.

“That smells absolutely dreadful.” Astarion sneered as Halsin knelt beside him, carefully looking over Tavriel as he made sure not to spill the tea.

“I cannot promise it’ll be the most palatable drink, but it should cure her ailments. Considering we acted quickly enough, of course.” Halsin lightly lifted her chin with his fingers, only to have her weakly pull away. He gripped her chin a second time, a little more firmly than before, and put the steaming cup of tea to her lips.

“This will help you, my friend. No harm is meant.” He said as he slowly poured the warm liquid into her mouth and down her throat, letting her take small sips to ensure she consumed every drop. Tavriel was too weak to put up much of a fight. The memory she shared with Astarion via the tadpole was enough to weaken her more than ever. She slowly drank the steaming liquid, not particularly fond of the taste, but also not in the right state of mind to really make sense of what was happening. It took a bit of time, but eventually she had reached the bottom of the cup.

“How long will this take to set in?” Astarion asked as Tavriel downed the last of the tea from the cup.

“Not too long, but I cannot give you a certain time. This will make her sleep so her body can fight off the spores. She’ll wake when she is healed, but shouldn’t be more than a few hours. The infection is severe, but I do not think it’s beyond repair. She’ll be back to her usual self before long.” Halsin said as he removed the cup from her lips, watching her closely to make sure she consumed the liquid and didn’t expel it from her mouth. Much to his delight, she swallowed the antidote without fuss and allowed it to set in.

It didn’t take long for the tea to have an impact on Tavriel. Her already tired eyes had drooped, her lids slowly fluttering in an attempt to keep herself awake. The actions were pointless, however, and she soon closed her eyes completely and her head once again hung low to the ground. She gave one final, gentle moan before he body began to sway in exhaustion. Astarion gently grabbed her by the shoulders, helping to guide her down to the ground so she wouldn’t fall and injure herself. The vampire placed her gently along the floor on her side, happy to see that sleep had finally taken over his delirious love and she could finally heal. Both the vampire and the druid watched over her for some time, wanting to be sure there were no complications from the antidote Halsin had prepared. They watched as her breathing began to even out and she seemed to be in a peaceful slumber.

“Thank you.” Astarion said after some time of watching Tavriel rest.

“Of course,” Halsin said with a smile and a pat to Astarion’s shoulder, “I’m just sorry I couldn’t have prevented this. Will you keep watch over her? Or do you need me to step in?”

“Oh no, druid, I’m perfectly capable of keeping watch. Get some rest. I will call you if needed.” Astarion said as he settled on the floor, crossing his legs in the process.

“May Oak Father preserve you, my dear friend.” Halsin said quietly to the sleeping elf, placing a strong hand across his chest as he spoke. After a brief moment, Halsin left the room, giving one final glance to Tavriel before letting the door shut behind him.

After he was certain she was deep in her slumber, Astarion carefully removed the armor from Tavriel’s body in an attempt to make her more comfortable. He made quick and easy work of the leather straps that held her shoulder plates in place, letting them gently slide from her shoulders. He then moved to her sides, loosening the straps there to allow her chest place to be pulled off and tossed aside. He gently rotated her in his arms as he pulled the metal plates from her body, not wanting to disturb her too much, but she remained motionless, unaware of the elf attempting to ease her suffering. Once she was free from her bindings, Astarion scooped Tavriel into his arms, lifting her from the hard floor of their shared room and carried her to bed.

He placed her gently on top of the sheets, slowly letting her seemingly lifeless body sink into the soft mattress they shared, hoping this gesture would ease some of her discomfort. He lifted her head onto a pillow and softly brushed sweat soaked strands of copper hair from her face. She was drenched in dried sweat, no doubt a response from her frantic movements earlier in the evening. Her shirt was saturated as well, but that would be something to be dealt with later when she was once again conscious. After all, he had promised her a bath when she returned. Astarion pressed the back of his fingers to her forehead, checking for a fever as Halsin had, and was satisfied with the lack of heat radiating from her skin. He then moved down to check both cheeks, ensuring they were fever free as well, and softly ran his thumb over each of her cheekbones in the process. He was gentle with his touches, almost acting as if she was the most fragile of flowers that would disintegrate at the slightest touch.

“Is that better, my love?” He asked softly. He hadn’t expected a response, but he still noted the twinge of disappointment when he was answered with nothing but a still silence. His eyes were locked onto her as he sat on the bed beside the wood-elf, continually searching for signs of improvement in his beloved. He was being impatient, but wanted nothing more than to see her return to normal. More than once he found himself leaning over her body to press an ear to her chest, listening for a heartbeat. Her heart rate had slowed tremendously and her breathing had become so slow that he found himself frequently listening for the thumping in her chest to ensure she hadn’t slipped beyond the veil of life. It made him uneasy, seeing her look so lifeless, fearing that she might actually slip away from him.

Astarion climbed onto the bed himself, sitting on her opposite side and crossed his legs, more than ready to sit by her side until she was awake once again. He wrung is hands as he watched over her, anticipating her coming back, but also thankful that she looked as peaceful as she did. Even when they had first started traveling together, he had never known Tavriel to have a decent nights rest. He often found her strolling around the camp at night, eyes always scanning the perimeter as she walked off any nightmares she had relived. She was never truly at rest and admittedly seeing her so still and peaceful was a strange sight. Admittedly, he had grown fond of her late night walks. Given he was usually up late into the night as well, they’d made a habit of quipping back and forth each night and had ultimately grown closer because of it. But tonight was different. There would be no nightmares, no late night strolls, no patrolling to ensure her master hadn’t snuck up on her while she was distracted. Instead, Astarion would take on that role. He vowed to her that he would keep watch and protect her, making sure no harm would come while he was there.

Astarion couldn’t help but admire her features as she slept, his eyes slowly scanning her face as he committed every detail to memory. The corner of his lips twitched into a soft smile as he thought back on their travels in the sun, remembering just how much he found himself enjoying the way the sun would bathe her body. Her hair was a deep copper color and would glow under the warm touch of the sun and her complexion almost radiated a gentle heat. The freckles that littered her cheeks and nose would grow just slightly darker if they spent too long in the light while walking. Before they came to the Shadow Cursed Lands, Astarion had often found himself desiring to kiss Tavriel the way the sun would, with feather light kisses on every freckle he could find from her face to her arms and even the few she had on her stomach and legs.

As far as he was concerned, Tavriel was the sun. Even if he was doomed to forever dwell in the shadows after he rid himself of his brain worm, being with her would be just as satisfying. She was a beaming light of hope, despite her own darknesses, and was the one thing that could bring him true happiness. Alternatively, spending an eternity in the sun without her by his side would void of any joy and positivity. The strongest rays of sunshine would do nothing to break through the dark cloud of her absence.

“You have truly and utterly bewitched me, darling.” He said as he gently placed her bruised hand in his, “You don’t cast magic, but you’ve certainly cast some sort of spell on this dead heart of mine.” He was unsure if she could hear or understand him, but was hoping she would. Despite his feelings towards his companion, he found it difficult to express to her how much she truly meant. It was much easier, in his mind, to open up to her when she was asleep and didn’t have to worry about how she may respond. Not that Tavriel would ever say anything to absolutely crush his heart, but he wasn’t confident that she felt the same way towards him. Tavriel was an incredibly difficult book to read and Astarion couldn’t decipher her feelings towards him. And now, with the offer from the druid, he was even more unsure.

“You have been quite the unexpected surprise on this little adventure,” he continued, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion. You have shown me kindness, even in the worst of times, and I cannot thank you enough for that. It’s a debt that cannot be repaid, although I will do my best; I can promise you that much.” His thumb stroked her hand as he spoke, relishing in the softness of her skin. Tavriel still remained motionless, her chest barely moving with breath. Astarion leaned forward slightly, placing a delicate kiss to the freckle on her wrist before he spoke again.

“I also swear to you that we will find that rat-bastard of a drow and make him suffer for everything he’s done to you. Even if it’s after we deal with these infectious little worms and our little band of misfits parts ways, I will make sure we find him. Let you deliver that final, killing blow and do everything in my power to let you live whatever life you want. The life of freedom that you deserve, my darling.” Tavriel had promised to help Astarion hunt down Cazador and now it was his turn to make the same promise to her. One promise he was more than willing to make. He delivered several soft issues along her knuckles and to the back of the hand he was holding, hoping that maybe just one soft kiss would be enough to stir her from her slumber. However, much to his dismay, Tavriel remained still.

************************************************************************************

“Something is wrong,” Halsin said plainly as he gently lifted one of Tavriel’s eyelids with his thumb, observing the eye underneath, “She should be awake. Her eyes have cleared and there are no traces of the spores.”

Two days had passed and Tavriel still remained unconscious, much to the worry of both the vampire and the druid. Astarion never left the room, not wanting to miss the moment she potentially could open those pretty eyes of hers. Halsin on the other hand would flit back and forth, wanting to check on Tavriel but also not metaphorically step on Astarion’s toes. Because Tavriel had not explicitly stated that she wanted something more from Halsin, the druid wanted to be as respectful as possible to her relationship with Astarion, who had become increasingly protective over his lover the longer she was unconscious.

“Her eyes are no longer clouded by the spores,” Halsin continued as he observed her other eye, “but they’re clouded with something else. It’s as if her mind has left her body.” Astarion peered around Halsin, looking over the unconscious elf on the bed. The druid was right, something was not right with Tavriel. Her normally vibrant green eyes were dull, not quite fogged over, but as if her very soul was missing from them. The light in her eyes had simply disappeared and had been replaced with something cold. A chill caressed Astarion’s spine; the sight of Tavriel was too similar to corpse for his liking.

“What do we do?” Astarion asked after a few moments of silence, “Can you heal her?”

“I’m unsure if I’m being honest,” Halsin said as he stood, pressing his knuckles to her forehead to once again check for a fever, “this is most unusual. I’ve healed many who have been infected with the spores, but they have never reacted like this. They’ve usually stirred a few hours after drinking the antidote, at most overnight, but never days on end.” Satisfied in feeling no fever from Tavriel, Halsin removed his hand and stood quietly, lost in thought.

“Surely there are others you can converse with,” Astarion suggested, “to have a second opinion on if your methods of healing are actually working and where to go from here.” His words with said with the intent to wound the druid for failing to bring Tavriel back immediately, but was disappointed to find that they had simply rolled off Halsin’s back unnoticed.

“Let me speak with the harpers,” Halsin said eventually, “perhaps they know of something I may have missed. Stay with her, if you will, and let me know if she stirs in the meantime. Surely time is not on our side with this matter.” Astarion’s lip curled slightly at his words, but eventually gave a single nod in acknowledgement. Without another word, Halsin left the vampire in charge as he hurried to find a harper in the inn, hid pace quickening with each step. After the door to the room had closed, Astarion turned his attention back to Tavriel.

“Now, darling,” he said as he knelt next to her on the bed, “you made me a promise. And if I remember correctly, you keep your promises.” He gently stroked the spot between her eyebrows with his thumb, the other hand holding one of hers. “Don’t break this promise, my love, please. I can’t do this without you. Hells, you’re still here, but I’m already lost. If you leave, I’ll be lost in this darkness forever. Come back to me, Tavriel.” He planted a single kiss to her forehead before standing, turning to being pacing the room once again.

After a solid day of sitting next to her on the bed with no signs of life, Astarion had to keep himself moving to try to keep unwanted thoughts at bay. He strolled the length of the room slowly, his eyes staring into the dimly glowing embers of the fireplace. He kept one arm folded across his chest, using it to support the other as it nestled under his chin, occasionally running his thumb over his lower lip in thought. Although the pacing helped to a degree, wicked thoughts still managed to creep their way into Astarion’s mind, causing his stomach to knot in disgust.

“This is your fault, you know.” He said to himself as he made another turn in the room, “If you had just been stronger in convincing her not to go, she would be here with you now. But no, you were weak. Pathetic. You rolled over and showed your belly and now she’s as good as dead.” He shook the thoughts from his head, desperately trying to think of anything else in the meantime.

************************************************************************************

Tavriel found herself on her hands and knees on a stone floor, the sharp stones digging into her flesh. She wasn’t sure about where she was, but she knew it was no place she wanted to be for too long. After a moment, she came to realize she was in a room, cold and damp, and it was unsettlingly dark. Even with elven dark vision, she couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her. The darkness was cold and piercing, quickly settling into her rapidly beating heart. Tavriel slowly made her way to her feet, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of another person or, more preferably, an escape.

She dared to take a few steps in front of her, her legs shaking from the pressure of the stones she had been kneeling on. The room was small, yet it seemed never ending. She couldn’t quite make out the wall on the opposite side. Each step she took only seemed to make the wall take a step back from her. After a few more steps she turned, hoping that by going into an opposite direction would lead her to an exit, or at the very least, some answers as to where she was. But no matter the direction she went, Tavriel was lost. She was greeted by nothing but darkness and the never ending loop of a room. She felt tears begin to well in her eyes as she continued pacing, the piercing coldness of the room and the dread of being alone was starting to set in. Gods, how she hated to be alone.

“Darling.” She heard a voice behind her. Quiet and inviting, almost inaudible. She turned, hoping to see a figure standing within her line of sight, but was instead greeted only with more darkness. Her eyebrows knitted together, now wondering if she’d actually heard something or if she had finally lost her mind. She took a few more steps in the direction of the voice, her hand outstretched to prevent her from bumping into any obstacles. Eventually, the tips of her fingers brushed against a piece of damp wood.

A simple, wooden door was nestled in a deep socket of the stone wall, well hidden in the depth of darkness that surrounded her. As she looked over the potential exit, she could see a very soft, faint glow of light peeking through the crack where the wood met the frame. Hesitantly, she approached the heavy door, placing her hands along the wood before pressing her ear to the gap in the frame. She listened closely, hoping to hear the voice once again. Tavriel held her breathing, seeing if it would allow her to hear the voice more clearly. After a few moments of deafening silence, she heard it again. That soft, gentle voice that had called to her previously. She recognized the voice, but couldn’t place a face. She’d heard it many times recently and it was always the same soothing voice each time it visited her. It called to her from the darkness and beckoned her to the light on the opposite side of the door. Her hands fumbled the surface of the door, searching from a handle or lever she could pull. When her fingers touched the seam and the light shining through, she felt a warmth she wasn’t accustomed to feeling. Whatever it was, was loving.

“Come back to me, Tavriel.” The voice called once again as she found her grip on a metal knob. She held it tightly, turning both directions as it spun in her hand. Tavriel pressed against the door, finding it had come give with her weight. The elf tossed her weight more heavily against the wooden door blocking her path, finding that it bent more and more with each shove. She continued, slamming more roughly into the door with each go, until it finally snapped under her movements. The door burst open and Tavriel fell to the ground on the other side with a grunt, fully bathing in the light and warmth that was cascading over her.

************************************************************************************

Tavriel’s eyes opened slowly, her vision blurred and hazy as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. She wasn’t quite sure where she was, other than a bed, but she did know that it did not belong to her master. She stayed silent and turned her head, unsure if she was in safe company or not, and watched as a figure in the room slowly paced back and forth, unaware of her presence. Tavriel blinked repeatedly, trying to remove the fog from her sight as she hoisted herself to a sitting position. Instinctually, she let out a loud groan as she moved, the pain that shot through her body was too much to bear to keep quiet. Everywhere from her head to her legs ached and burned and she had only just noticed the purple bruising that covered her hands. Her ribs felt as if they were breaking with her movements and the scars along her back burned with an intense heat.

Astarion’s head whipped her direction, surprise covering his face as Tavriel seemed to suddenly spring to life. She groaned again, teetering on the precipice of a scream as she placed her feet on the ground, seemingly ready to stand. Astarion quickly closed the gap between them, wanting to reach out to keep her from standing too soon, but froze mere inches from her when he saw the look Tavriel had etched across her face. In her still confused mind, Tavriel couldn’t tell who was approaching her, but assumed it was a threat. She leaned back as far as her aching body would allow her and placed a hand in front of her to stop the figure from coming closer. He watched as her outstretched hand trembled in fear, the familiar feeling of dread once again settling in his heart. His eyes then found hers as she scanned his face, desperately trying to understand who was with her. Tavriel’s breath was as shaky as her hand as she looked over the stranger, still unsure if she was with a friend or an enemy.

After a moment her mind started to clear and she took in the man’s features. Silver hair. Red eyes. Pale skin. Puncture wounds in the neck. She knew this face and knew it well. Both elves remained silent as Tavriel regained her posture, slowly coming back up to a sitting position. Her outstretched and trembling hand soon slowed and reached for the familiar face in front of her. She softly placed the hand on his cheek, wanting to feel him in her grasp to ensure he was real and not just another figment of her imagination. Astarion leaned into her touch, offering her a small smile as her thumb caressed his cheekbone.

“Astarion?” Tavriel asked softly, her voice hoarse from her cries.

“Welcome back, my dear.” He said as his smile slightly grew, relief beginning to wash over him as Tavriel placed her other hand on his opposite cheek. She cupped his face as her eyes continued to scan his features, still half expecting him to fade from her grasp and be plunged back in her masters dungeons.

“...Real?” She asked hesitantly as her grip on his cheeks tightened slightly.

“Oh yes, love. I’m very real.” Before Astarion could say more, Tavriel pulled him to her. One arm snaked around his back and the other hand found purchase in his hair, her fingers gripping his curls tightly to keep him close. It would have almost been painful had Astarion been gripping her with any less force. His hand slid up her back and rested at the base of her head while the other landed on the sheets behind her, keeping the vampire from toppling on top of her after her pull. They stayed still for a few moments, relishing in the embrace of their companion.

With his arm beginning to lose feeling from supporting them both, Astarion stood straight, bringing the other elf with him. Tavriel let out another strained groan as she stood, a wave of pain strong enough to make her vision temporarily blur and see white. She clutched to Astarion, her eyes clenching shut as she waiting for the last twinges of agony to subside. Instinctively, Astarion nudged Tavriel to release her grip and tugged at her shirt, ready to pull it out of the way to look over her wounds. In doing so, he felt her tense and he immediately stopped his movements.

“May I?” He asked cautiously as he lightly tugged at the hem of her shirt, signaling he wanted to remove the article to observe her injuries all while not wanting to frighten or unsettle her more than she already was. Although both elves were very comfortable in being scantily dressed or fully nude in each others presence, the act of actually undressing the other was still tender ground. It reminded both of them what it could easily turn into, even though neither were never in the right mindset for sex. They were happy to take things slow, although in this instance Astarion found it necessary to see just how badly Tavriel was hurt.

“Of course.” She said quietly, still fighting off the last aches from standing. Tavriel slowly raised her arms over her head, trying not to make her winces too noticeable. Astarion lifted her shirt, carefully tugging it over her sore arms and eventually over her head completely. The tips of his fingers ghosted over her wounds, slowly tracing the various bruises and scratches. Her numerous scars were inflamed, almost pulsing under his touch, and dried blood was stuck to some of her deeper scratches.

“You need healing, dear.” Astarion said as he looked over her exposed skin, grimacing at the deep bruises that were self inflicted in her delirium, “Let me go find the druid and see what he can do.”

“No,” Tavriel said with another groan, “I’m fine. There’s no need to waste the resources if I’m not bleeding out. We should save them for someone more important. I’ll heal up in a few days, trust me. I’ve looked, and felt, much worse.” Tavriel reached for her shirt, but Astarion had a firm grip on the ragged fabric, keeping it in his grasp.

“You will do no such thing!” Astarion shouted, a bit more desperate sounding than he had intended, “Darling, I can’t think of a single more important person that needs our bloody supplies more than you do at the moment. Let me help you.” Tavriel placed her hands over his own, shaking her head as she pried her shirt from his grasp, tears threatening to begin pooling on her eyelids.

“I don’t want to cause more trouble than I already have,” she said as she pulled her shirt back over her head, “I’ve made you worry enough as it is. You shouldn’t have to take care of me like this.” The wood-elf gestured to her head, two fingers tapping at her temple.

“But I want to,” he said more gently than before, “and so does every member of our little group. Believe me when I say that everyone wants to see you well. Some more than others, but nonetheless, all members are on board.”

Tavriel sighed heavily, allowing her eyes to close for a moment. She was exhausted and it was beginning to show. The two days she spent in her medicine induced rest didn’t allow her to sleep. Her body was still, but her mind raced; memories flashing, voices floating in and out, and trying to escape the confines of her own mind. Which, of course, had been combined with the sheer panic and terror caused by the mushroom spores, which only drained her energy more. Long nights of no sleep in the Shadow Cursed Lands and the ever present feeling of the mind flayer tadpole swimming behind her eye only added to the exhaustion.

Tavriel was running on empty, her own body threatening to betray her and collapse under the immense pressure she was facing. But even still, she hesitated in accepting help from her companions. She was their leader and the driving force behind finding a cure to the tadpoles that didn’t involve growing a set of tentacles. She couldn’t appear weak in front of them. It would make her look feeble-minded and could cause the others to think she didn’t know what she was doing. Tavriel had convinced herself that she had to be strong for the others. All of her companions had their own host of terrifying and world shattering issues themselves ranging from a magic powered orb threatening to detonate at any time to the looming threat of the goddess of darkness. Compared to them, Tavriel felt inferior. Her issues, as traumatic as they may be to her, seemed insignificant. And yet, here was Astarion, who was spending every waking moment of his undead life running from his former master, desperately trying to convince her that it would be okay to lean on him in her moment of need.

“Okay,” she said with her eyes still closed, “okay.” Astarion felt another wave of relief wash over him at her agreement for just basic healing.

“Now then,” Astarion sighed as he tucked a few stray strands of hair from Tavriel’s face, “you wait here while I go fetch the druid. Once he’s done we can get you that bath I promised and see if I can do something with that dreadful burlap of yours.” Tavriel snorted at his teasing, her eyes snapping open as she remember their conversation from before her journey.

“You’re still on about that?” Tavriel cocked her head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“But of course!” He said with a flourish, “The current state of your hair truly is a crime, love, and I would be a willing accomplice if I didn’t offer my services.” Behind her eyes he could see she was still worn down, but was elated to find that she had easily accepted his gentle teasing.

“I thought you enjoyed the occasional crime?” Her head still tilted to the side as her smile widened. She grabbed onto his arms, firmly holding on to the vampire. Her legs were weak from exhaustion, threatening to collapse under her weight if she didn’t cling to something.

“I have standards, my dear.” He said with a wink. “And, if memory serves me correctly, you did offer me a reward for my hard work. And you do know how fond I am over a piece of treasure.” Astarion offered her a coy smile as he placed his hands on her waist and gently pulled her to him, trying to avoid agitating any wounds on her body while keeping her on her feet.

“Indeed I do.” She said softly. The elf pressed her forehead to his, mirroring their final embrace before she left for the shadows, sighing contently at the contact. They stood there for some time, simply enjoying the others touch.

“Meet me in the baths when you’re ready, my love.” Astarion placed a soft kiss to her temple, his hands lingering on her waist before pulling away and slipping out of the room. Tavriel made her way back to the bed, seating herself on the edge with a grunt of pain. She sat there with her eyes closed, trying to center her thoughts as she waited for Halsin. She found a flurry of butterflies making their way to her stomach as she remembered the conversation she’d had with Halsin before making contact with those dreaded mushrooms. In a way she was thankful for Astarion pushing for Halsin to come heal her. They needed to talk and it simply couldn’t wait.

Tag List:

@meganwritesfanfics

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #tav #astarion #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #spawn astarion #fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #named tav #halsin

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magistralucis · 1 year ago

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Okay, your turn! Unhinged Character Bingo for… Zultanekh

Is Zultanekh an oddball? He is. Has he charmed his way into my heart? He has. Could I resist infecting him with all the angst in The Twice-Dead King and scores more? Certainly, I could not.

While one of the more reasonable characters in the duology by far, I do think Zultanekh has a spot in this bingo, since he is very weird. The things which motivated him to stick with Oltyx's voyage have almost nothing to do with necron ways of thought. He himself is quite well-adjusted, and narrowly avoids a full bingo on all fronts - but by canonically managing to collect both parental issues, from the same person no less, he merits a honorable mention. 😂

Also this made me scribble. Read more for Z/D angst. TDK spoilers.

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Truthfully, he was close to giving up on the idea Djoseras could be entertained, at least in a way they could both share. Zultanekh is, therefore, astonished when the fair kynazh expresses an interest in the art of metallurgy - and even more so when he requests a presentation of Ogdobekh alloys, promptly if at all possible.

"At Vorronezh," is the core of Djoseras's short explanation, the prince retaining a stiffness of tone despite his curiosity. "The foundries - the metals you had in store. There was fine work being done there. Suffice to say my brother now bears the best of it in his hand, and good for him, as good as anything can ever be."

He's referring to an Ithakan victory back in the war. It makes Zultanekh smile. Despite the ages past, and of his brother's bitter exile, he can't resist tilting his chin proudly at the thought; that's all Djoseras, graceful, soft-spoken, and carrying a very big stick (metaphorically or otherwise) ready to strike out at any second. "This one will certainly attest to that glaive's quality, Djoseras, and may it serve the nomarch well. But what purpose would a scion of Ithakas seek in our alloys? The keenest blades? The sturdiest bastions?"

Djoseras defies expectations once more. "Precious metals. One tires of the fighting and the flux."

"So the kynazh appreciates his bright impermanent things!" Zultanekh laughs. Djoseras tenses, reflexively, though just shy of a bristle. Seeing this, the Crown Prince spares him further discomfort, resting a warm and powerful hand upon his shoulder. "Well, have you come to the right place? Yes, you have. For who has the right to the coffers of the Ogdobekh, the finest of our gold and the wealth of ages past? Anathrosis, of course, of the Black Star! … And, yes, well, Zultanekh too, by virtue of heirship to his matriarch. Come, and I will show you."

-----

Nothing about metal is permanent. Many have forgotten this truth, but the Ogdobekh live it still. Living or non-living, a metal is a thing with memory: it is fated to be shaped, and to perhaps hold that form for a long time, but eventually it must be made new again. The concept of memory implies survival. Through countless softenings and forgings it carries on slivers of what it used to be, no one fold nor join identical to one that came before it. A metal's past directly informs its future behaviour. Zultanekh would not call this trait heka - no form of silver can defy the laws of silverbeing to become a gold, nor can copper become silver, no matter how much one alters their proportions - but he and his metallurgists consider it the metal's will, and they have never been let down by observing it wherever they could.

Precious metals have it the strongest. By virtue of their utility they live closest to their wearer, and whatever they go through the metals also go through: a careful polish, the violence of the theft, excoriated shavings. The wisps of gold woven into Djoseras's necrodermis are a soft and holy thing, whereas the gold that covers his sire is most foul, the shell as ugly and tortured as the being encased within it. No jeweler worth his deben in buillons would ever go near it, unless Unnas were to endure the star gods' furnaces a second time - and since no one has nor should have to do that, the history of Unnas's gold might as well stop there altogether. Zultanekh is careful to say absolutely none of this as he takes Djoseras through the display.

"Electrum - spangold - the greatest deposit of metagold currently known outside of the solar cults," he says as he takes up two alloys, comparing them side by side. "Experiments with strangesteel. Yet so far nothing short of pure metagold seems to recreate living light, or so we call the insidious tricks of the Nephrekh." He puts them down again, though not before glancing meaningfully at the other. "I'd heard your metagold was sacrificed to Antikef's star, all those millions of years ago. I dare say it's a shame, Djoseras; I would have liked to call upon you for assistance."

Djoseras considers this information silently. Sadly the experiments will have to wait, for it is not gold which has captivated the kynazh's oculars tonight; no, it's silver he wants to see, his lithe body glittering like it as he contemplates its pure form. "Such a fussy thing." He comments, and Zultanekh catches not a small hint of self-deprecation. Djoseras tends to be so careful with his speech (the blandness of it drives the Ogdobekh prince mad sometimes), and he had not thought his vocal acutators were capable of such bitterness. "Ever since the flames of biotransference I have been loyal only to this vermeil. It is a mirror no one could bear. So clear, and yet so easily damaged, and the marks will never come out."

He looks up then, right into Zultanekh's oculars. "Have you an alloy for that?"

All of a sudden Zultanekh desires, painfully, to catch his breath.

"All the ones you'd already know."

In truth, silver is not favoured among the Ogdobekh. They like it fine, it's just that it's best off used as it is. The traits that make silver desirable are quickly lost in alloys - gold drowns it out entirely, lesser metals cut its value, whilst strangesteel lends it a sharp iridescent hue that has nothing to do with silver at all - it is a metal that dies, in other words, if it is anything other than itself. And the Ogdobekh so hate to murder. So does Zultanekh, standing beside the finest silver in all of Ithakas, privy to the cracks that lie underneath. For the silver is Ithakas and Ithakas is the silver. And Djoseras is silver. He mirrors equally all the things that surround him, and when Zultanekh stands close he holds all of Zultanekh upon his surface. But he is not visible unless Zultanekh steps away, the ruddy hue vanishing from his calmwater features, alone and exquisite in the ruins of his city. A lake he can never explore, droplets he can never hold.

He could bring the whole galaxy to its knees and Djoseras will never be his.

"You are right, of course. True silver is soft, too delicate to do much with."

But Zultanekh knows better than to bring any of this up, and when he finally finds the words for his vocal emitter, he keeps them objective and measured. Leaning down beside Djoseras, he chooses an alloy sample that looks the least like an alloy, tracing around the orb with a fingertip. "There are limits to what we can mix it with, but it does need a trace of something else to endure. And our ancestors knew, as you and I do, that the strongest silvers are braced with copper." (Was that a twitch from the kynazh? Zultanekh hopes it was. It is so much more interesting than his daytime stillness.) "Look at this: nine parts silver, one part copper, the best our jewelers will work with. But where you could avoid the physical damage, tarnish would follow, and some take that poorly. Fussy, as you say."

Djoseras buzzes quietly in irritation. For the millionth time he considers the other's copperclad attire. "You are so changeable."

"But present." Zultanekh counters. Djoseras might be bothered by the effort the Ogdobekh must put into preening themselves, but he does not feel it to be wasteful, nor would he apologize for what is natural. "Stains are a part of life, Djoseras."

Djoseras's interstitial link slides shut. It will not open again until they leave this chamber, or else the kynazh this planet, and Zultanekh tries to accept it for what it is. Zultanekh is the Crown Prince. Zultanekh is not a petulant child, he reminds himself, noting for the millionth time that it's nothing personal. It's just Djoseras is fragile, iron-brittle beneath his nobility, and he will break if made to bend too far. Zultanekh need not be the hammer. Anyone could do it, the kynazh's own brother has done it, and it will happen again. He could be welded back together, but since metals have a memory, he will never be the same - and there is nothing Zultanekh fears more than to lose Djoseras as he is now, beautiful and so proud, dying like his dynasty around him. Zultanekh is not a victim of melancholy, nor an indecisive wreck.

What Zultanekh is, however, is sorry. Slowly his hand reaches for the other's, pauses halfway, makes do with a comforting touch on the shoulder. Their oculars still fixed upon the sample alloy.

"This one would brace you well," he whispers, "if you'd like."

Probably for the best, he thinks, that neither of them are versed in linguistical ambiguities.

#warhammer 40k #the twice dead king #necron #necrons #zultanekh #djoseras #oltyx #drabble #we live on archipelagos #fanfiction #unhinged character bingo #i am throwing my vote in for 'zultanekh and djoseras evolved into star crossed lovers and they left many many things unsaid'#and it is the pursuit of that memory that moves zultanekh as much as his loyalty #ugh i am headcanoning and i am INSANE

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nedjemetsenen · 1 year ago

Text

Facts, Tutankhamen, and ChatGPT

So I’ve seen a couple people talk about how ChatGPT often gives inaccurate or incomplete answers to questions about historical stuff and I am a curious person by nature, so I went and asked it to tell me how King Tutankhamen died. This is what happened next along with commentary from me about the accuracy of this stuff! Please feel free to fact-check me on any of it! Egyptology is my hobby, not my profession. Also note that I did remove ChatGPT bits that didn’t actually give facts and were more general statements like “The mystery surrounding King Tut's death continues to captivate historians and Egyptologists”

Me: Give me a 200 word summary of how king tut died King Tutankhamun, popularly known as King Tut, was an ancient Egyptian pharaoh who ruled during the 14th century BCE. While the exact cause of his demise is not conclusively determined, several theories exist. The most widely accepted theory suggests that King Tut died from complications resulting from a combination of factors. Recent scientific investigations, including CT scans and genetic analysis of his mummified remains, suggest that he suffered from a number of health issues, including a severe leg fracture that may have become infected. Additionally, genetic evidence indicates that Tut had a cleft palate and a clubfoot, which may have contributed to his physical difficulties. Furthermore, some researchers propose that Tutankhamun's weakened immune system, possibly due to genetic disorders resulting from generations of inbreeding among Egyptian royalty, made him more susceptible to infections. Some even suggest that malaria may have played a role in his demise, as traces of the disease were found in his DNA.

This is somewhat accurate? The broken leg and malaria are real and there is a theory that malaria caused or contributed to his death. Tutankhamun was also the product of generational incest, leading to a lot of health issue. However, reading this, you’d probably think he just got sick and died, but that is NOT the ‘most widely accepted theory’. I don’t actually know if one of those exists as of the time when I’m writing this (June 2023). You see, this explanation is missing some vital data. Let’s see if we can get Chat GPT to add it!

Me: I thought that his death was violent? I apologize for any confusion. While there have been speculations about a violent death for King Tut, the current scientific consensus leans more towards a non-violent cause. The examination of his mummified remains did not reveal any obvious signs of violence or trauma. However, it is important to note that some alternative theories exist. One hypothesis suggests that King Tutankhamun was murdered, possibly by a blow to the head. This theory is based on an X-ray taken in the 1960s that showed a fragment in Tut's skull. However, subsequent examinations and CT scans have cast doubt on this theory, as the fragment is now believed to be a result of the mummification process rather than a fatal injury. While the evidence does not strongly support the notion of a violent death, the possibility of foul play cannot be entirely ruled out.

The bit about the murder theory is accurate. That was a popular theory, but I’m not sure if the lack of a pre- or peri-mortem head injury actually quashed the theory. All it did prove that a blow to the head wasn’t the way that he died. There are still facts that support the idea that something fishy was going on in Egypt around the time of his death and Tutankhamun was the son of a hated king. Read up on Tutankhamun’s widow, Ankhesenamun, if you want to know more. Her Wikipedia page is a pretty good summary of the basics.

That’s not the fun part of this answer, though. The fun part is the bit about there not being "any obvious signs of violence or trauma." To show why that's the fun part, here’s the next bit of my conversation with ChatGPT:

Me: What about his broken ribs? I apologize for any confusion in my previous responses. While there is no consensus on the exact cause of King Tut's death, recent studies have indeed suggested the presence of a significant injury, specifically broken ribs, which may have played a role in his demise. In 2014, a team of researchers conducted a thorough examination of King Tut's mummified remains using CT scans. The scans revealed that Tutankhamun had a fractured rib on the right side of his chest. The break appeared to have occurred shortly before his death. However, the scans did not provide definitive evidence as to whether the injury was a result of an accident or inflicted intentionally. Based on this finding, some experts propose that the broken rib could have been a contributing factor to King Tut's death. It is speculated that the injury may have caused internal bleeding, which, in combination with other health issues he was facing, could have led to complications and ultimately his demise. Nonetheless, the precise circumstances surrounding the injury remain a matter of speculation, and it is difficult to draw definitive conclusions about the specific events leading up to his death.

No obvious signs of violence or trauma, huh?

This reply is accurate, by the way. They did find that Tutankhamun has broken ribs and some people have theorized that he fell from a chariot while on a military campaign or that he got attacked by a hippo (a thing that did happen in ancient Egypt). Oddities about his mummy, which was very much an amateur job, give credence to the idea of a violent or at least odd death. If you want to know more, National Geographic’s documentary Tut’s Treasures: Hidden Secrets is a great, though slightly over-dramatic, watch (It’s on Disney+ and can probably be found elsewhere, too). For something that isn’t behind a paywall, here’s a 25-minute podcast from Youtube, which was also done by National Geographic.

The History of Egypt podcast also has hours of recent content about Tutankhamun because November 2022 marked the 100-year anniversary of the discovery of his tomb.

Thanks for reading. Hopefully you learned a bit about Egypt’s most famous Pharaoh and grew a bit more wary of Chat GPT. For full disclosure, I did ask it more questions and the results were hilariously wrong, but they include things about child loss, so I left them off this post.

#egyptology #chatgpt #making fun of the autocomplete robot #tutankhamun

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wyrd-syster · 2 years ago

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Halbrand/Galadriel fic idea: Just have this scene in my head were Halbrand, dressed in full Sauron armor appears smack in the middle of wherever Galadriel and the other elves are. He then promptly collapses, bleeding out and warning them something worse than him is on it's way to end them all. Galadriel is mad as hell but doesn't want him to die. His wounds become infected and he looks done for. Just as Halbrand's about to breath his last, Galadriel decides to bind him to her light after all

Ooooh anon, I do like how you think! This combines so many of my favorite tropes:

Villain/hero seeking their enemy for comfort because they "have nowhere else to go," (a key hallmark of any good ETL relationship, imho).

Scary strong men who are absolutely pathetic little meow meows for their ladies.

Life-or-death hurt/comfort (extra points for bedside vigils!)

This also reminds me a lot of one of my favorite WIPs right now by the ridiculously talented @thrillofhope called The Lesser of Two Evils. I put the summary below -- if you're not reading it, you absolutely should because it sounds very much like a story you'd be interested in!

Summary: When an old foe returns, Galadriel has little choice but to make an alliance with Sauron, or risk plunging Middle-earth into darkness most foul. They seek to craft a power to protect against the encroaching shadow, but even power put toward good purpose has consequences.

#lindsey posts #fanfiction #haladriel fic ideas #fic rec #personal

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pathfinderunlocked · 2 years ago

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Writhing Sludge Demon - CR19 Demon

A high level demon based on a Magic: The Gathering card.

Artwork by Lie Setiawan on ArtStation. From Magic: The Gathering, copyright Wizards of the Coast.

This creature is based on the artwork from the MtG card Archfiend of the Dross, but Magic cards don’t really have enough abilities for a high level demon. Despite the card’s name, I didn’t actually make this an archfiend in Pathfinder terms, since creating CR 28 stat blocks for demigods sounds pointless and exhausting to me. Also it’s only a 6/6 creature, not that I really made any attempt to accurately replicate the MtG creature here. I just wanted to take some ideas from it in order to make a useful and interesting high level demon.

Writhing sludge demons come from layers of the Abyss full of hazardous chemicals, toxic waste, swamplands, and filth. They are among the most powerful demons, and fly high over these foul lands, watching them from afar. They descend when they see other creatures trying to escape from the caustic muck, whether those creatures are demons, unfortunate souls forced to spend their afterlife in that layer of the Abyss, or invaders from elsewhere. Anyone trying to escape the horrid quagmires is forced back down into the acidic swamps by the writhing sludge demons, after which they return to their lofty oversight from the skies. It’s good to be on top.

The Greater Blighted Critical feat inflicts a random major spellblight on a successful crit. The table of random major spell spellblights is here.

Between the unbound ability, summonstriker ability, and ability to cast Banishment, summoners would be advised to have as little to do with writhing sludge demons as possible. Honestly, though, so would everyone else. These things are nasty.

Writhing Sludge Demon - CR 19

Two massive wings made from what look like ragged muscle tendons hold an almost humanoid-shaped creature aloft, though no one could mistake this misproportioned, skinless, corpse-like figure covered in a blackened carapace for a living person. Dozens of thin, red, writhing tentacles spread downward from its massive shoulders.

XP 204,800 CE Large outsider (aquatic, chaotic, demon, evil, extraplanar) Init +10 Senses darkvision 120 ft., low-light vision, murksight, true seeing; Perception +36 Aura sludge aura (100 ft., DC 29)

DEFENSE

AC 36, touch 24, flat-footed 29 (+6 Dex, +1 dodge, +12 natural, +8 profane, -1 size) hp 332 (19d10+228); fast healing 15 Fort +22, Ref +17, Will +18 Defensive Abilities horrible recovery, rusting acid armor, unbound DR 15/cold iron and good Immune acid, death effects, disease, electricity, poison Resist cold 10, fire 10 SR 30

OFFENSE

Speed 40 ft., fly 90 ft. (perfect), swim 40 ft. Melee 2 claws +27 (2d8+8/19-20 plus 4d8 acid plus infection), 6 tentacles +24 (1d8+4 plus grab) Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with tentacles) Special Attacks infection, summonstriker

Spell-Like Abilities (CL 19th; concentration +29) Constant—true seeing At will—arcane eye, greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs. of objects only), rusting grasp (touch +26), touch of slime (touch +26, DC 24) 3/day—banishment (DC 26), reach rusting grasp (ranged touch +24), summon (level 9, 1d2 fiendish bog scums 75%, see text) 1/day—cursed earth, mass suffocation (DC 29)

STATISTICS

Str 26, Dex 23, Con 35, Int 19, Wis 25, Cha 31 Base Atk +19; CMB +28 (+32 grapple); CMD 53 Feats Blighted Critical, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Greater Blighted Critical, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Mobility, Multiattack, Reach Spell-like Ability (rusting grasp), Weapon Focus (claw) Skills Fly +34, Intimidate +29, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +23, Knowledge (planes) +26, Perception +28, Spellcraft +23, Stealth +24, Survival +26, Swim +37, Use Magic Device +29 Languages Abyssal, Celestial, Draconic; telepathy 100 ft. SQ amphibious

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Horrible Recovery (Su) If a writhing sludge demon is subjected to ability damage or ability drain, it recovers 1 point per round. It chooses each round which ability score to recover, and whether to recover damage or drain.

If a writhing sludge demon is subjected to any harmful condition, at the start of its turn, it can lower its spell resistance by 5 points for 24 hours in order to end the condition. This is a standard action, but a writhing sludge demon can do this even if subjected to a condition that would normally prevent it from taking standard actions.

Infection (Ex) A writhing sludge demon’s claws inflict a disease against targets they hit. A target that dies while affected by a writhing sludge demon’s infection transforms into a bog scum with the fiendish template, and cannot be resurrected except with a Wish spell. The save DC is Constitution-based.

Writhing Sludge Infection: disease — claw; save Fort DC 31; onset immediate; frequency 1/day; effect 1d3 Str and 1d3 Dex, target cannot recover hit points while disease persists; cure 2 saves.

Murksight (Ex) A writhing sludge demon can see through natural and magical fog, mist, and rain without penalty, ignoring any concealment bonuses gained from such effects. This ability functions underwater as well, allowing a writhing sludge demon to see in murky water as though it were clear.

Rusting Acid Armor (Su) A writhing sludge demon gains a +8 profane bonus to armor class and a +4 profane bonus to Fortitude saves; these bonuses are already included in its statistics.

Additionally, creatures that strike a writhing sludge demon with an unarmed or natural weapon attack must succeed on a DC 31 Reflex save or take 4d8 acid damage. Creatures that strike a writhing sludge demon with a manufactured weapon must succeed on a DC 31 Reflex save or the weapon takes 4d8 acid damage, and if made of metal, is immediately destroyed by a rust effect. The save DC is Constitution-based.

Sludge Aura (Su) Creatures within 100 feet of a writhing sludge demon must succeed on a DC 29 Reflex save each round at the start of their turns, or be coated in thick sludge, affecting them as though with the Slowing Mud spell with a caster level of 19. The save DC is Charisma-based.

Summon (Sp) When a writhing sludge demon uses the Summon universal monster ability, it has a range of long (typically 1160 feet) instead of short.

Summonstriker (Su) Any time a writhing sludge demon deals damage to a summoned or called creature, the caster of the summoning or calling spell takes half as much damage. Damage in excess of a summoned/called target’s remaining hit points is not transferred to the caster.

Unbound (Su) If a writhing sludge demon is bound using a calling or summoning spell, it is only bound to the caster’s service for 1 minute, after which it receives a Will saving throw each round to break free (even if the spell does not normally allow for a saving throw). If it breaks free, it turns against the caster, and can choose to return to its home plane and end the calling or summoning spell early at any time as a free action.

#D&D #pathfinder 1e #outsider #demon #evil #chaotic #extraplanar #aquatic #magic the gathering

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whispering-kavka · 2 years ago

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just stopping by to say your tag "i don't want hrt i just want everyone to drop gender completely" is such a mood </3 and I hope you are having a nice day (& good luck with the teeth situation!!)

hi!! you have no idea how good it feels to know that more people feel like this 🥺 i'm glad hrt exists and more and more people can access it! but!! being generally okay with one's body and being continually misgendered because of it is very disheartening because there really is no way of balancing it w/ hrt (for me personally at least). but what can one do when they live in somewhere with a gendered language with no good "middle option" :') i hope you're having a nice day too! :D and thank you 😭 so far it's getting worse not getting any better but i'll perservere and hopefully i'll see a dentist on monday :') if it's just an infection i'll ask her for pills because last time i had a similar problem she got me the most foul tasting salve i've had the displeasure of putting in my mouth 😭😭😭 worked wonders tho 👍

i hope you're getting some rest this weekend :] love ya! byeeeee

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othernaut · 4 months ago

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Misadventure kind of business.

Right leg: Biopsy scar. I woke up in the middle of it, which was cool, as the sleepy-sleep drugs wore off before the painkillers did.

Left leg: ECG done on an old-ass machine with a needle that gave me the most dramatic infection I've ever received. Volcano of foulness and corruption. I could have used that thing like a super soaker, if I was able to stand up.

Left forearm: Oven closed on me as if chomping me with its mimic jaws. Oven was still in use at the time.

Right forearm: For some reason, this one specific spot on my right wrist receives like 80% of the bangs, dings, scrapes, cuts, scratches, burns, and general misfortune my body undergoes. This is where the gods have painted Fortuna's bullseye upon me.

Stomach: Decided it was a good idea to melt copper with no shirt on. I... I don't know. I know I was thinking something during that mess, but I cannot describe what it was using human language.

scars in fiction: I got this trying to save my lover from an assassin- but tragically, I was too late. now I carry the mark of my failure with me always, and I can never forget~

scars in real life: so I was trying to open macaroni sauce with a paring knife

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breathe2-fr · 2 months ago

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The Day The Shade Came (pt 3)

(pt 2)

After the battle, dragons were hurried back into the tree's trunk to tend to their wounds. The skydancer mage Winter was exhausted and fell asleep, so it was left to others to care for the injured the old fashioned way. Her mid-battle healing had been mostly emergency care, and infections were still a risk for the remaining injuries. Bandages were made from long strands of thick grass that grew along the pond, and a few dragons flew out in search for medicine. Baerka surveyed the grounds, walking slowly with his nose to the ground. The things had smelled strange to him - distinct in a way he couldn't describe. A foul stench that shouldn't exist, but faint enough that the noses of other dragons may not pick it up. And though Winter had closed his wound in the middle of battle, he could detect the stench on himself where the creature struck him. During the fight, Spelldancer had pulled the dragons who'd stayed in the tree into the Dream Realm. This was mostly hatchlings and those too scared or weak to fight. Only a small number of the population, but now with Spelldancer back in the realm of Windsinger, Baerka could see that this was still no easy feat for his fae partner. "Spelldancer. Are you able to bring everyone to the Dream Realm at once?" Baerka knew the answer, but still needed to ask. "N-no..." She looked disappointed in herself. "It takes a lot out of me to bring even one person. Unless they're asleep. Then it's almost no effort." "So if everyone is asleep, you could do it?" Spelldancer paused, scanning the floor as she thought. "I don't know. And if I can, I'm not sure how to bring them all back afterwards." Baerka nodded and nuzzled her cheek with his. Then continued his patrol of the grounds.

As the wounded were tended to, Gloam started counting heads. Thirteen dragons weren't accounted for - the dragons who'd been pulled into the darkness hadn't returned. Gloam brought this news to Baerka, whose brow furrowed in anguish, but he said nothing as he continued to ponder. Survivors realizing their friends and pairs were gone began to mourn. Some loudly, bawling and crying out; some quietly. But not a single dragon in the willow was left unscarred by the battle. As the day wore on, no words were spoken outside of what had happened. Dragons began speculating what these monsters were but no one could agree. Finally, someone asked, "could this have been... the Shade?" The Shade. They'd all heard the stories of the Eleven and how they defeated the malevolent force - not once, but twice. But the truth was, it was rare to actually have an encounter with it. Most dragons who claimed to see it weren't believed. There was no solid information on what the Shade even was, what it looked like, or how it behaved, as accounts of it varied wildly. Spelldancer looked to Baerka, who continued to stay in his thoughts. If it was the Shade, why would they attack their little pondside lair? Could the shifting hues of the willow tree have drawn it in? But this was the only answer that made any sort of sense. The horrifying darkness, blacking out the entire sky around their home. The amalgalous, ever-shifting shapes of the creatures. The strange whisps of darkness that covered their eyes like silk before the attack began... Excitement began to rise in the room as more dragons settled on the idea. "The Shade! It was the Shade!" "It must have been!" The volume rose as all dragons started feverishly chattering. How could such a small clan fend off The Shade? Were they being targeted by it? What if it came back? The room buzzed as all voices began competing to be heard, until Baerka slammed his paw down and roared - instantly silencing his clan. Baerka paused before he spoke, making sure all eyes were on him. "We do not know it was the Shade. We cannot make assumptions on what we do not know. I know everyone is shaken right now, but that does not mean we give into our fear." A wildclaw interrupted, "then what's the plan, Baerka? You can't expect us to--" "KING Baerka!" cried Gloam, angrily. The interruption surprised the wildclaw, but it seemed to be just what they needed to rethink their words. "King Baerka. If that is the Shade, we were lucky to escape with our lives. If that happens again, we might not survive." Baerka nodded. "I understand that." He turned and looked to Venomous, who lay in the corner. She was still covered in wounds that had been bound in leaf bandages, but she seemed to ignore the pain as she curled protectively around Winter - yet her eyes were locked on the king as she listened. Baerka continued, "I think it best we assume that my own fang and claw are no longer enough to provide safety for our growing clan. And so, any of you who are willing, I will be speaking with shortly to begin the formation of our own guard." Spelldancer stepped forward. "And those of you who need protection... I know who most of you are already. But please, if you ever feel threatened, come to my side. I promise I will protect you." She looked to Baerka before continuing. "And... I think that if this is The Shade, we must inform the Windsinger immediately." The dragons looked to one another. It was almost impossible to get an audience with Windsinger - he was so large and so fast that most dragons were simply too small to be noticed as he weaves through the clouds. How would they accomplish that?

The day slipped into evening. Baerka and Spelldancer spent the time discussing their plans with various dragons. Baerka's guard, which he named the War Party, was established. Baerka would lead his warriors with Venom being second in command. There were four other members, including Winter and a spiral named Paladin who had been born into the clan. Paladin's father was one of the dragons who'd been dragged into the darkness, and he decided to turn his grief into something productive. Though he had little experience in battle, he was ready to learn.

Meanwhile, Spelldancer began to plot out how to get Windsinger's attention. A party of dragons would be sent out to head him off. His movements could be predicted by the currents of the wind themselves, and so it was merely a task of finding the strongest wind streams and waiting. It took only a few days for the deity to circle the planet and he always came home to his own territory - thus he was never gone from the Plateau for more than a week. So surely he would be back within the next few days. The party would have to find the strongest windstream in the region and stay with it as it moved, potentially staying airborne for several days or more in wait.

Spelldancer called over the white pearlcatcher SnowyMorning. As a Wind dragon, she knew he would be capable of handling the intense winds their deity would be coasting. Paladin, a Wind dragon despite looking like a Light dragon, would be accompanying the party as well, and his combat training would start with Baerka after they returned.

Snowy suggested large kites would help with being seen and Spelldancer readily agreed they should be prepared. "There's a field not too far from here," Snowy said, "with some crazy-large wild plants growing. Their leaves are huge! They'd make great kites." He went on and on talking about bamboo supports and how the leaves of the willow tree would make great tails. His excitement brought some relief to Spelldancer, whose anxiety was running wild; she allowed her friend to distract her if only for a moment with kite construction theory.

It was decided preparations would begin the next day. Unfortunately, the night would be their next major hurdle.

#shifting wing clan lore #flight rising #fr lore #flight rising lore

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punderdome · 4 months ago

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WIP Wednesday!

The Fine Print: Chapter 7: The Honeymoon

Summary: Raphael convinces Tav to share a honeymoon with him, and the Archivist provides her with some critical knowledge to help her survive it.

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

The Archivist absolutely needs a name, especially after all the shit Tav is about to put him through.

Tav visited the archives after breakfast, allowing Raphael the chance to get some contracts finalized. The Archivist was pouring over a tome and making notes on the side about a pair of gauntlets sitting on his desk. They hummed with Weave and required a thorough characterization.

“How may I assist you, my Lady?” he asked patiently.

“What is your name? I’m Tav - Tavara,” she corrected, unsure if he would ever consider using her name or if titles were all she was going to be given.

“Kilzire Ozvius, Master Archivist of the House of Hope,” he returned the gesture. “Now, what can I help you with, Lady Tav?”

“Wound Treatments for the Front Line of the Blood War?” Tav asked as she read the title on the cover.

“Should you wish to practice your new knowledge,” Kilzire explained briefly.

Tav realized how much of his time she had used, and she only asked for clarification on a single word. “Thank you, Kilzire.” She collected the two books and her notes and returned to her room.

She lay the books on her table. She had an eternity to learn to properly read the works in front of her. It was the only way she was going to be able to correct her mistakes.

***

Tav walked into the archive, and saw Kilzire taking copious notes on a scroll over something he had been reading. He gave a slight smile as she approached.

“Good morning, Lady Tav, how may I assist you?”

“I need a Devilish Infernal translation of something. Can you help me smooth out the language?”

“Why yes, of course. Whatever do you need?”

“I need you to teach me to say ‘I belong completely to you, and you’re the only one who will ever have my body ever again’ in Devilish Infernal,” Tav explained.

Any warmth that had been in his guise or his voice immediately vanished. “You must be joking.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“You realize that there is an entire section dedicated to erotica right over there!” He pointed wildly at a back corner. She would have to investigate it later.

She steadied her emotions. “Will you help me or not?”

“I studied at the top universities to be competent enough to serve an Archduke of the Hells. Now, here I am, doing this,” he lamented. He gave her the phrase in Devilish Infernal, and Tav took detailed notes about each word choice he made. There were only a few small adjustments from the initial translation that she had fabricated earlier.

“Thank you,” Tav said quietly as she left the archive.

***

Tav entered the archive, and Kilzare gave an audible groan.

“I don’t want to hear it, my Lady Tav,” he protested.

“Raphael needs to hear it, Kilzare.”

“Hells, what do you want me to translate now?” he demanded, the look on his face indicated he was eager to get back to his work and to get the very idea of his boss having active nether regions out of his mind.

“‘I want you to trace my entire body with your tongue,’” Tav answered in an absurdly straightforward fashion.

Kilzire stared at her. His mouth tightened in a deep frown.

“Think about it,” Tav started with her prepared argument, “has Raphael hurt you or threatened to hurt you since we started our honeymoon? Who has he flayed?”

His eyes hit the rafters and he swallowed slowly in a deep show of indignity. “No one, Lady Tav.”

“Do you want to keep it that way?” Tav inquired.

Kilzare took a deep sigh before translating the sexually charged statement for her. “Can I just translate them in bulk?” he asked with a twinge of disgust.

Tav sighed, trying to respect his boundaries but also trying not to betray the reason that she needed the phrase list updated daily. “Not really,” she grimaced.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #bg3 the fine print

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sowaran · 3 months ago

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My (dramatized) experience with the book of Bill.

~by Ramiel. C:

DISCLAIMER: EVERYTHING YOU WILL SEE I THIS STORY IS AN ALTERED VERSION OF REAL LIFE EVENTS!!!.

Ahem~

My copy was very cursed.

When it arrived from the flying owl's right into my bedchamber windows I felt something was wrong.

It was as if it was constructed by nomes. I didn't really think much of it at first, but the moment I unleashed it from it's magical coffer sealed away with great care.

And then... The STENCH!!! THE FOUL FUMES INFECTED MY EVERY INCH AND IT SLIPPED RIGHT INTO MY SOUL FROM THE FIRST MOMENT I DARED TO UNLEASH IT'S DARK MAGIC.

Ohhh AND THEN!!

AND THENNNN!!!

My BROTHER THAT I LOVE VERY MUCH DECIDED THAT IT WAS A REALLY GOOD IDEA TO OPEN IT AND RECITE IT'S...

¡¡¡CURSING SPELLS!!!!!!

Anyways, up to this point i STILL wasn't thinking much of it.

I mean, it's a dark magic book, of course, it's expected.

But the longer it lingered.. The worse I felt.

My senses were taking a hold of me as I was enchanting another incantation into my cauldron so bad THAT I COULDN'T FINISH IT!!!!

So i knew that something was VERY WRONG!!

And I started investigating into a counter spell.

So I figured that one way to make the reeking cursed miasma go away from such magical objects (don't get me wrong, I wasn't trying to INHALATE the magic from this book, I was just trying to figure out a way for that book not to be POISONOUS enough to be unable to read).

And within lost knowledge concentrated on the wildest and most abandoned parts of my libraries (and a bit of help with word of mouth) I found the formula.

To enclose this book back into its coffer and shower it in fairy dust (to UNCURSE IT!!) and grinded unicorn bones (for good smell fragrance, but that's more my own guess).

When I was trying to enclose it back I realized that it tried to BREAK FREE!!

Cursed.

Cuuurrrseeeedddd.

Even when I placed it back into the coffer it looked terribly cursed while trying to escape.

Creepy.

I still can smell the remnants on the air..

Let's just hope my God's blessings manage to heal me from the effects by tomorrow.

Tldr: my book came in and somehow it smelled so badly that it made me nauseous. So i talked to Google and my dad and they told me to place it on a box with baking soda and talc for several days hahshs.

I really don't know how it had such a foul smell, that's why I think it's cursed or something hahshs.

It kinda smells like burnt plastic or dammed souls.

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xtruss · 4 months ago

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An Inhaler For The Administration of Chloroform or Ether, Circa 1848. Photograph: World History Archive/Alamy/Guardian Design

Revolution In The Air: How Laughing Gas Changed The World

Since Its Discovery in the 18th Century, Nitrous Oxide Has Gone From Vaudeville Gimmick to Pioneering Anaesthetic to Modern Party Drug

— By Mark Miodownik | Thursday 4 July 2024

1. Dancing Around The Pneumatic Institute

Playing rugby one day, I mistimed a tackle and dislocated one of my fingers. I felt a stab of pain and sat in the mud staring in disbelief at my hand. One of my fingers was now bent at an unnatural angle. My teammates gathered round, grinning. They made it clear that they expected me to snap my finger back into place. Several of them mimed the action and excitedly made the cracking sound they wanted to hear. This was a test of my toughness, one of many that I have failed in my life.

Instead, I took myself to hospital and sat for hours in a blaze of fluorescent lights in the A&E department, feeling self-conscious with my shorts, muddy legs and odd-looking finger. Later that evening, I was shown into a booth and blue paper curtains were drawn around me for privacy. A young male doctor came in. He seemed distracted, but asked a few questions while consulting a clipboard containing my patient info. “Dislocated finger?” he said. I nodded. He put the clipboard down, took the dislocated finger in his hand and then, with no warning, he yanked it violently. There is an absurd moment from this scene that is freeze-framed in my memory. I am screaming in pain and his face is very close to mine. He is red from the effort of trying to pull my finger back into its socket, but he has failed, and instead has managed to pull me out of my seat and right up close to him. We both fall back towards the wall, like two drunks fighting.

Afterwards, calming me down with a cup of tea, he explained that he was sorry, and that he had been trying to catch me off guard in order to snap the finger back into place – a manoeuvre that had always worked in the past, he said. He then fetched a canister of laughing gas, attached to which were a tube and a mask. He fitted the mask over my nose and mouth, and began fiddling with the valves on the canister. He then asked me to take a deep breath. I did so and felt nothing. The doctor fiddled with the valves some more and asked me to have another go. It felt good, very good. I took another deep breath and soon found myself out of my mind and on a golf course, unable to find my ball.

The story of how a gas that creates delusions became a method of standard pain relief begins in industrial Britain. The air in cities and towns was full of coal smoke and the foul smell of human and animal waste. It was widely believed that bad air could cause disease. This was the miasma theory. It seemed like common sense, because where bad smells were most concentrated, there was the most disease. Outbreaks of cholera, Black Death and other contagious diseases were thought to be caused by clouds of miasma carried in the stench. People died in their millions of respiratory diseases such as consumption (tuberculosis). For thousands of years, it affected rich and poor alike, although because it was an airborne infection, the poor – who lived in crowded conditions – contracted it more often.

If air could carry disease, then perhaps gas could cure them, too. So went the reasoning of Thomas Beddoes, who set up the Pneumatic Institution in 1799 in the city of Bristol. The idea was to find specific gases that could cure specific diseases. Beddoes hired a young chemist called Humphry Davy to carry out the research in gas therapy. Davy tried many gases, none of which seemed to be much help – in fact, quite the opposite: when he tried a new gas called carbon monoxide on himself, he almost died.

Undeterred in his zeal to make great discoveries and help humankind, Davy then inhaled another newly discovered gas, nitrous oxide. The gas tasted slightly sweet and had a very strange effect on him. He started dancing round his laboratory “like a madman”, as he noted later. He laughed. He giggled. It was highly inappropriate, given that he was working in a medical institute, but he couldn’t stop.

A Satirical Cartoon Showing a Royal Institution Demonstration of Laughing Gas with Humphry Davy, Circa 1830. Photograph: Alamy

The effects did wear off after an hour. But how miraculous, how strange, he reflected. He tried it again, sometimes with the same ludicrous effects, and sometimes he was taken out of his mind in a more transcendental way. After one session, he wrote “nothing exists but thoughts”. Davy described breathing nitrous oxide as a sublime experience, an experience that was beyond language, although he did try to capture the feeling in his poetry, describing his limbs as “clad with new-born mightiness”.

Davy thought he would try the gas out on the institute’s patients to assess if it had any therapeutic value for curing diseases such as consumption. It didn’t. But it did make them laugh. He himself found it so delightful that he could not resist carrying on experimenting with nitrous oxide at night. Davy found that breathing the gas heightened his senses – he felt he could see and hear more vividly. He invited friends, writers and poets, such as Samuel Taylor Coleridge, to his laboratory to inhale the gas. They breathed it in and fell into fits of laughter, too, singing and dancing. The poet Robert Southey grandly declared that Davy had invented a new type of pleasure, which gave “delightful sensation in every limb – in every part of the body – to the very teeth”. More and more people came to try this remarkable laughing gas, including the radical poet Anna Barbauld. These laughing gas gatherings gave the Pneumatic Institution a revolutionary air.

During all the partying and dancing, Humphry Davy still had the acumen to deduce something scientifically important about laughing gas: it was not just funny and distracting – it could eliminate pain.

2. Hysteria on Demand

Up until this point, surgery and dentistry had been largely carried out without anaesthetic. For most people, this meant living with the agony of toothache until they could stand the pain no more. They would then reluctantly go to a dentist or doctor, who would remove the tooth by kneeling on their chest and tugging it out with a pair of pliers. Similarly, those with the excruciating pain of gallstones often preferred to live with the pain rather than go for surgery to remove them. Alcohol and herbal concoctions containing opium and henbane (psychoactive substances derived from plants) were offered as sedatives, but patients still felt excruciating pain and writhed in agony because these substances didn’t effectively block pain receptors. To carry out surgery or amputations, the patients were tied down, with a piece of wood or leather in their mouth to stop them screaming.

There was also a belief among western surgeons that pain might be important to the success of the surgery. They thought it might be required for nature’s healing powers to be triggered. Thus there was no obvious demand from medical doctors for the development of anaesthetics. So although Davy discovered nitrous oxide to be a fast-acting anaesthetic, the medical profession wasn’t interested.

A self-taught engineer, Samuel Colt, spotted the potential of Davy’s laughing gas. He had an idea for a new type of gun, but needed money to develop it. In 1832, he decided to tour the US performing laughing gas demonstrations on stage. It wasn’t hard for Colt to learn how to make laughing gas. The formula is N₂O, which means it is made of two nitrogen atoms and one oxygen atom. Since the air we breathe is mostly made up of nitrogen (78%) and oxygen (21%) you might expect that laughing gas would occur naturally. But although the oxygen in the air is very reactive, the nitrogen is not. It occurs as a molecule, N2, which is to say two nitrogen atoms chemically bound together into a single molecule. This molecule is very stable and reacts with very few things – not even the oxygen in air.

The method Colt used to produce nitrous oxide was to heat up ammonium nitrate, which decomposes to produce N₂O gas. But he needed to be careful. Heating it too fast causes a different reaction, creating enormous amounts of nitrogen and nitrogen dioxide gas very quickly. When large amounts of gas are produced, it has to go somewhere, and so it expands outwards. This creates a pressure wave, destroying objects in its path and carrying the smashed pieces along with it. In other words, an explosion.

To avoid blowing himself up, Colt carefully heated ammonium nitrate, keeping the temperature below 300C, and collected the gas that was created in a fine silk bag, which gradually expanded into a balloon. In his stage shows, he would invite volunteers on to the stage to inhale the gas, whereupon they would fall into hysterics, sing and dance. The spectacle of a prim middle-aged nurse suddenly bursting into song, or a shy gentleman transforming into a comedian, provided entertainment to the paying audience.

Keeping the spectacle in the realms of good family entertainment was a priority given the dubious reputation of laughing gas, and so Colt pretended to be a doctor. He stopped doing the shows once he had raised enough cash for his real passion, the development of a hand held pistol with a rotating cylinder: the Colt revolver.

3. The Birth of Anaesthesia

In 1844, a dentist called Horace Wells attended a laughing gas show and wondered whether it might work as pain relief during teeth extraction. He tried it on himself while having a wisdom tooth extracted. He giggled while spitting blood, and realised laughing gas really did block pain.

After trying it on more than 10 other patients, he decided to go public, and performed a tooth extraction in Massachusetts general hospital, before a small audience. Unfortunately for Wells, the patient let out a small cry during the procedure, and although afterwards he said he felt very little pain, the conservative medical establishment who had been in attendance pounced on this as proof of frivolous fairground trickery. They dismissed nitrous oxide and ridiculed Wells. He would later fall into addiction, and killed himself in 1848, but he had ignited an interest in anaesthesia.

Two years after his demonstration, another dentist, William Morton, used a different substance to anaesthetise a patient in the same hospital. The gas was a vapour of a mysterious liquid called ether.

Ether is a clear but very powerful liquid. If you sniff a bottle of ether you will immediately feel woozy. Like ethanol, the alcohol in beer and wine, it is made of two carbon atoms, six hydrogen atoms and one oxygen. But the two molecules differ in the way the atoms are bonded together, which has a big impact on their properties. For instance, their boiling points, the temperatures at which they change from liquid into a gas, are very different. The boiling point of ether is 35C, while the boiling point of ethanol is 78C.

A painting symbolising the effects of chloroform on the human body. Photograph: R Cooper/Wellcome Library

Now, 35C is not a high temperature: a glass of ether will boil in front of you on a very hot summer’s day. Although a bottle of pure alcohol will not boil on that same summer’s day, you will be able to smell it, and that means it is still releasing some of its molecules into the air. In fact, as with all liquids, molecules jump into the air and become a gas even before they reach the boiling point: this is called the vapour of a liquid, and is why you can smell liquids – it is the bouquet of wine, the warming aroma from a bowl of soup, a waft of perfume. The lower the boiling point compared with room temperature, the more vapour you get from it, and generally the smellier it is. Ether is very smelly, and no one would describe it as having a pleasant bouquet. It is not dissimilar to the smell of diesel and petrol – to which it is chemically related – and it will knock you out.

If you breathe ether vapour, it goes straight to your lungs, where it infiltrates the bloodstream and causes rapid intoxication in a matter of minutes. As with alcohol, the effect can be pleasant, but there are differences that make the gas useful for anaesthesia. When surgeons gave alcohol to patients being cut open, patients still felt pain, often babbling incoherently and striking out, arms flailing around. Ether’s molecular structure means it affects different pathways in the brain, causing a patient to lose consciousness rapidly and become insensitive to the pain of being cut open. Crucially, they lie still.

Because the boiling point of ether is so low, it can be easily delivered by getting a patient to breathe in the vapour using a vial of the warmed liquid. The trick, of course, is to get the dose of vapour inhalation right. Too much and the patient is poisoned, causing severe side-effects such as breathing difficulties and heart rate abnormalities. Too little and the patient will wake up while being cut open.

Beyond this, the use of ether as an anaesthetic was effective, but not ideal. For a start, like alcohol, it is addictive. So once there was general acceptance of the idea that the benefits of anaesthetics might outweigh the risks, scientists started to explore the vapours of other substances.

4. A Royal Knockout

One of these experimenters was John Simpson, a Scottish obstetrician living in Edinburgh. Every evening, he and two assistants would gather in his sitting room and sniff chemicals to assess their anaesthetic effect. This was a risky thing to do, because the toxicity of these chemicals was completely unknown. On a dark November evening in 1847, they gathered to inhale a sweet-smelling, volatile liquid called chloroform. At first they found it pleasant and were put “into a good humour”, but then they all collapsed.

When they regained consciousness the next morning, Simpson was elated: had he found a new anaesthetic? Not realising he could have killed himself, he next tried it on his niece, who said she felt happy, began singing “I am an angel” and then dropped to the floor unconscious. She survived, and, deeming it safe, Simpson went on to use chloroform in his medical practice, successfully administering it to mothers in labour to ease their pain. It was a miracle he didn’t kill some of them, as getting the dose wrong, as with ether, can be lethal.

A woman in labour taking gas and air to relieve pain. Photograph: Jonathan Littlejohn/Alamy

Other doctors were outraged, but not about the safety issues. The mostly male medical establishment argued that alleviating the pain of childbirth was morally wrong, and that God had ordained that women should suffer while giving birth. The moral issues around pain relief became a hot public debate until Queen Victoria in 1853 was administered chloroform while giving birth to Prince Leopold, after which it received the royal stamp of approval. The queen later wrote to a friend who had also inhaled chloroform for pain relief: “Very glad to hear Minnie is going on so well & had the inestimable blessing of chloroform w. no one can ever be sufficiently grateful for.”

5. Laughing Gas Goes Legit

By the turn of the 20th century, chloroform’s use as a medical anaesthetic was being phased out. It was too toxic, damaging to the liver and kidneys in high doses, but also caused unexpected deaths in surgery by interfering with the rhythm of the heart – the so-called “sudden sniffing death” – which is a dangerous side-effect associated with inhaling many solvents.

This balance between effective pain relief and the risk of side-effects brought laughing gas back into the picture. No, it didn’t knock you out, but yes, it did allow you to experience less pain with fewer side-effects. However, it was unregulated, and the form of administration – a silk or rubber balloon – was not ideal for dentists or medics because balloons are bulky and leak gas over time into the room where they are stored, which, in the case of nitrous oxide, makes everyone giddy. One person who took up the challenge to solve this engineering problem was George Poe, a cousin of the poet and master of the macabre Edgar Allan Poe. He created a factory in New Jersey for the mass manufacturing of nitrous oxide in a liquid form, which he then sold in canisters.

This was a clever choice. Liquids are denser than gases, and so a lot of nitrous oxide could be crammed into a small cylinder. The boiling point of nitrous oxide is –88C, which means that liquid nitrous oxide immediately boils at room temperature. However, pressurising a gas increases its boiling point, allowing it to be kept as a liquid in a pressurised container (such as gas bottles used to store butane for camping). Opening the valve of the canister released the pressure, instantly transforming the liquid into vapour for use in dentists’ practices and hospitals. By 1883, George Poe was supplying 5,000 dentists with medical-grade anaesthetic nitrous oxide in canisters.

Poe was passionate about the power of gases to help people in pain. He patented a respirator as a safe and systematic way of administering gas to a patient. A canister fed gas into brass cylinders and then into a face mask placed over the patient’s nose and mouth. Using this procedure, he claimed it was possible, using pure oxygen, to bring people back from the dead.

Once gases could be compressed cheaply and put in convenient cylinders, they were put to all sorts of unexpected uses throughout the 20th century. For instance, if you add cream to a nitrous oxide gas cylinder, some of the compressed gas dissolves in the fat. If you then open the cylinder, the gas pressure squirts the cream out of the dispenser. As it does this, the gas inside the fat expands rapidly and blows trillions of little bubbles – this instantly whips the cream into a fluffy foam. This delicious messy process was discovered accidentally in the 1930s by a chemistry student who was studying the preservation of dairy cream using compressed gas. He tried other gases too, but nitrous oxide works best for cream because it doesn’t affect the taste. It is also easy and safe to compress into a convenient form called a nitrous oxide whippet, used in commercial kitchens. These look like little bullets that you might load a revolver with, but instead they are designed to fit into a whipped cream gun. Press the trigger and out comes instant and perfect whipped cream: it’s delightful, it’s delicious, it’s a kind of magic.

Discarded laughing gas canisters and balloons. Photograph: Corinne Poleij/Getty Images/iStockphoto

The nitrous oxide used in modern hospitals is stored in cylindrical steel bottles. It was one of those that was used by my doctor on the day I dislocated my finger. I breathed in the gas using a respirator mask, like those pioneered by George Poe. These days it is delivered as a mixture of oxygen and nitrous oxide called “gas and air”. If you give birth in hospital, you are very likely to be offered this mixture to relieve the pain. It is a simple and easy to use system, and a much milder painkiller than the epidurals that are the alternative when someone in labour is in extreme agony. This gas really is part of the life support system of modern hospitals.

Young people, in their endless quest for different ways to inhabit their own minds, have rediscovered laughing gas. They buy boxes of whippets online and use them to blow up balloons of nitrous oxide. They then inhale the gas through the necks of the balloons as a recreational drug. I sometimes find tangible evidence of their hilarious, mad, dangerous (illegal in the UK) and life-changing trips. These are clusters of bright silver whippets that shine in the green grass of our local park.

My own nitrous oxide trip occurred that day in hospital during my dislocated-finger episode. I floated completely out of my mind. Hearing a “clack” sound, I mistook it for the sound of a ball being hit, and became puzzled as to why someone was playing golf in the hospital. Returning to consciousness a few seconds (or minutes?) later, I saw the doctor standing in front of me, but there was no sign of his golf clubs. Instead, my finger was back where it should be. I had felt no pain this time. The doctor looked pleased.

On the way home from hospital, and despite my injury, I felt elated. I was sitting on the top deck of a bus. It was a dark night and London’s grimy streets raced by in the orange glow of the sodium street lamps. Every now and again the bus passed a room on the upper floor of a house in which the occupant had not closed their curtains. I saw snapshots of people in their rooms, some sitting in bed reading a book or working on a computer. Then I saw a woman staring out of her window and we locked stares for an instant. I felt as if I was inside her head, momentarily transported into her consciousness, looking out of her window and seeing a young man on the top deck of a doubledecker bus staring at me.

Later I rationally attributed this out-of-body experience to the residual effects of laughing gas inhalation. My subconscious mind hangs on to this memory, returning to it frequently, feeling its strangeness like a tongue exploring the hole left after dental extraction. Once you have experienced moments like this, and had the idea that you have accessed a different realm of consciousness, it is impossible to let go of them.

— This is an edited extract from It’s a Gas: The Magnificent and Elusive Elements That Expand Our World by Mark Miodownik, published by Viking and available at guardianbookshop.com

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