#kudos to you if you recognize her name

[sunsetzer]

Using this template I present: Vincent's profile! His biography is a shortened, more canon-compliant version of the backstory he has in my own personal writing. For the profile picture I used this avatar maker. If I could I'd draw him myself but I can't really draw anything that isn't cat or dragon-adjacent lmao so this is the best I can do.

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

Thoughts from just another fandom writer

I am not a popular writer in my fandom. You may see that sentence and think, wow, what's about to come next, but just stay with me for a bit. I promise there's a point.

I am not a popular writer in my fandom. You won't see my name splashed across Twitter when a new update posts with the expectation that people are going to flock to my page. People don't recognize my fics by just a name. And none of my fics are ever going to be considered one of THE fics within the fandom.

Do I get sad about that sometimes? Sure. I'm only human. Do I write a fic and think that the amount of pride I have in it and in myself might mean that this is the one that people will recommend to all of their friends because they just HAVE to read it? Also yes. I think we all want that when we put a piece of ourselves out into the world in our art. And that certainly holds true for me, as someone whose huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart is on the outside of her body.

But I also have an incredible group of humans who do loyally read my works, all of them (despite the ridiculous number I've published in just 7 months' time) and leave incredibly kind and thoughtful comments that bring me to tears every time. My writing, from just July until now, when I published a fic for the first time in 10 years because I couldn't fathom going another day without allowing these characters into my mind and heart through the typing of my fingers, has grown immensely, and I want more than anything for it to continue to improve as time goes on.

Which is why I scroll through the feed every day, searching for new works to read by new and old authors alike. Just today, I read a work by someone who was publishing their very first fic, who set it as a New Year's resolution for themselves. And I left a comment for them to see the next time they're online.

It cost me absolutely nothing to hit the kudos button and make a comment. And I hope that, like me, a kind word will go a long way towards encouraging that author to keep writing. To keep sharing their soul with us as a fandom. To keep loving it the way that I love it.

I'm writing this to encourage all of you, regardless of the number of subscribers, hits, kudos, or comments you have, or how many rec lists you've made, or where you are in your writing journey, to always remember that there was once a time when you were a brand new writer, too, and I urge you to remember how much something like a comment meant to you in your journey. I'll leave y'all with one of my favorite song lyrics to further emphasize my point:

When you get where you're goin Don't forget turn back around And help the next one in line Always stay humble and kind

[underdark-dreams]

I just binged all your Rolan x Tav fics on here (about to go to A03 and give kudos ❤️) and just wanted to say 😩😩 Perfect! AND! I saw you wanted suggestions! i would love to see the first interact/first meeting of Rolan and Tav from his POV if you felt inclined! No pressure! Thank you, keep up the good work! ❤️

I've grown so fond of this vague fem Tav I keep pairing with Rolan...so I hope these pronouns are ok for this request! Tav gets her name finally. (Cal and Lia also barged their way into this one in a big way)

Blades and Spells

A sanctimonious soldier isn't Rolan's idea of a good person to know, but is seems Tav is doing her damnedest to prove him wrong. The day of their first meeting at the Grove.

Tags: Fem Tav, Fluff, First Meetings, Sibling Bonding

Word Count: 4,322 [Read on AO3]

"We don't even know these people—"

"They're the closest thing we've got to kin, and you know it!"

The bright and promising midday had been punctured by a bloody ambush at the gate. Kanon was dead—a goblin booyagh's arrow and a nasty fall behind the front wall. No doubt his body was still cooling just a short walk from where the three siblings stood inside the shaded mouth of the Grove.

Their caravan's brief respite was shaken by the attack. Zevlor had retreated to strategize; the other Tieflings were on edge, a few downright panicked, the fresh tension around them only fueling the siblings’ words. 

It had been weeks since he and Lia had a proper fight—Rolan felt all the pent-up anger rolling out now.

Lia stood with fists braced on her hips. "And what about the goblins? I know you're handy with a spell, Rolan, but I seriously don't fancy our chances alone on the Risen Road."

"Did you not see what just happened?" Rolan said, casting an arm behind his sister toward the gate. "That treasure-hunting idiot just led them right down on our heads. There’s bound to be more, and I don’t want us sticking around to find out how many."

"That’s all the more reason to stay!” Lia’s voice rose to match his. “These people aren't fighters, Rolan. We’d be cowards to leave. We can protect them—we should—"

“Or keep making a scene,” Cal said from the sidelines, to no one in particular. The other Tieflings had grown used to their bickering many miles ago.

Lia was undeterred. "Is this about your precious Lorroakan? Because I promise you, Rolan, he'll still be there when we finally get to Baldur's Gate."

Rolan's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh of course not, why would I want to achieve my lifelong dream, see my family finally be safe and provided for along the way—"

"Don't put this on me and Cal," his sister warned. "It's all the same excuse, you'd have left these people yesterday—"

"Because they're not my kin!" Rolan practically shouted, not caring how far his voice carried. "No matter how many times you say it! I'm not going to risk all three of our lives, our futures, on people who can't seem to keep themselves alive. How do you think I'd feel if I let anything happen to you? Either of you?"

"We know, Rolan," Cal interjected, trying to bring a little understanding.

"If you care about me and my future—" Lia jabbed a sharp nail at Rolan's chest—"you won't ask me to turn my back on these people when they need our help."

As Rolan opened his mouth to respond, he caught motion in his periphery. He turned to see an unfamiliar face standing at the edge of their conversation. The stranger rested a hand on her sword pommel, looking on quietly curious at the scene.

"Yes?" Rolan snapped at her. Sticking your nose into a private conversation hardly deserved politeness.

“Wait," Cal piped up beside him. “I saw you at the gate after the goblins."

Lia was quick to follow, disagreement all but forgotten. “You fought out there just now?” She sounded practically jealous. “Sweet hells, that must have been a rush. We owe you.”

"Good timing, that’s all," the stranger replied, shifting her weight a little. From real or false modesty Rolan couldn't tell.

He finally recognized her then—the one he saw speaking with Zevlor for quite a while immediately after the attack. Judging by the flecks of wet blood on her equipment, and on that of her companions behind her, these were the surprise reinforcements he'd already heard other refugees chatting about in energetic tones.

They weren't so impressive in person. Scrappy, in Rolan's private judgment. His eyes passed over the pouting cleric, the murderous-looking Githyanki with a massive sword on her back, the elf who was glancing around himself as though trying to decide which element of his current surroundings he disliked most. 

The other wizard looked sane enough, Rolan allowed. He could practically feel the ripples in the Weave all around the man's shoulders. Perhaps Rolan would have a chance at an intelligent conversation in this place after all.

As for the one in front—she smiled pleasantly at Rolan despite having just walked from a goblin ambush. That, to his mind, marked her as the most eccentric of all.

"Tav," she said, extending her sword hand. Rolan glanced down at the dark stains on her fingers.

Wasn't this hovel filthy enough? His clothes already smelled of smoke and grease from days in close quarters; he drew the line at smearing them with goblin blood.

Tav tracked his eyes, letting out an awkward laugh as she moved to wipe her palm on her pants. From beside him, Lia firmly intercepted the handshake.

"Lia. Forgive my brother, you know how wizards are about their robes." His sister's tone was light, but she shot him a look from the corner of her eye. 

As if Rolan cared what some passing stranger thought of him. If he’d had his way, they wouldn't be here to have this conversation at all. But Cal introduced himself as well, looking a bit starstruck.

“Well met,” Tav told them, Rolan included. “Sorry, I know I’m interrupting.”

Perhaps sensing Rolan was about to agree, Lia jumped in. “Please. It’s a pleasure to meet people willing to risk their necks for a bunch of strangers, especially Tieflings. You all heading to Baldur’s Gate?”

“Aye. Same as you, I imagine—”

The inanity was enough to drive Rolan mad; it was like their first days on the road from Elturel all over again. He crossed his arms and zoned out as she and his sister made their meaningless smalltalk. He'd rather get his tail stepped on than do this painful getting-to-know with one more person they’d never see again. 

Then he heard Lorroakan's name, and his ears perked up.

“He’s taken Rolan as an apprentice,” Cal was telling Tav proudly.

"Have you met Archmage Lorroakan?" Rolan asked her, suddenly interested in the conversation again. Tav looked at him with hesitation.

"Not personally. Gale said—" She glanced down the slope deeper into the Grove, and Rolan realized that the companions behind her had all trickled away in the short moment he hadn’t been paying attention. Seeking rest and recuperation, no doubt. "Gale was saying he's heard of him."

The human wizard, Rolan gathered. Hearing a stranger speak the archwizard’s name somehow rekindled the fire in Rolan’s chest, one he hadn’t realized had grown so low on fuel. He clenched his fist beside his robes and felt the crinkle of Lorroakan’s letter there in his pocket.

Tav was regarding him with a quizzical expression. "I mean, if an archmage that famous has an apprenticeship waiting for you…I guess I can’t blame you for wanting to move on sooner than later."

"Naturally," Rolan said, a bit stiff. It annoyed him that this newcomer could see more sense than his own siblings.

Then she continued. "But Lia's right. You three seem like you can handle yourselves, and I'm not sure the same could be said for everyone here. We'll need every fighting soul to defend against that goblin nest. Especially you—" Tav directed the comment to Rolan. "Having another Weave caster could make all the difference."

Well, so much for sense. Speaking of we and us as if they all had the same goals. A transparent tactic. Rolan wasn't sure what altruistic world Tav had waltzed out of, but he'd heard enough rousing speeches on kinship and unity from people like Zevlor to last him a lifetime. He wasn't about to listen to one from a stranger.

She was correct, however, to acknowledge the value of his skills. No one on the road here had displayed anything close to what Rolan knew he was capable of.

He glanced one more time between his siblings. The set of Lia's jaw told him her mind was well made up. Cal just looked hopeful for a resolution.

Rolan swore. "Fine. We've only taken our damn time getting here, what’s a few more days lost? If we’re lucky, we’ll reach the city with a good story, at least."

"Thank you, Rolan." Lia was meek now that she'd gotten her way.

“You must be quite skilled,” added Tav, sizing him up a bit. "To catch the eye of the Archwizard of Baldur's Gate."

Rolan didn’t miss a beat. "I am.” Cal rolled his eyes over Tav’s shoulder, but Rolan ignored him. “I’ve been manipulating the Weave since I was a child.”

“It’s true,” Lia confirmed. Still feeling guilty about winning the fight, perhaps.

“Really?” Tav broke into a grin, clearly impressed. Rolan drank in the admiration. "Good thing you're staying, then."

Behind his pride, Rolan couldn't help but feel a bit manipulated. Perhaps Tav wasn't the unsophisticated sellsword that she’d appeared at first.

"Well, I should go find the crew before they make too much trouble.” Tav was turning to leave before she paused, sheepish. “Say—don’t suppose druids keep a blacksmith around? One of those worgs’ teeth put a big scratch in my baby here.” As she spoke she looked down at the sword belted to her hip, almost like an indulgent parent.

“Dammon can fix you up,” Lia told her at once. “He’s one of us, a Tiefling. And he’s damn good. Take a left down the hill and you can’t miss him. Follow the loud noises,” she added, with a grin to match.

“Cheers,” Tav told her. “See you all later?”

The three of them watched her figure disappear deeper into the Grove. 

"She stabbed a warg right up close,” Lia murmured, sounding morbidly inspired. “That’s incredible.”

Rolan scoffed at her. “Better to kill it from a distance and not damage your most valuable piece of equipment in the process.”

“Hey.” Cal glanced over to his older brother. “Did you even tell her your name?”

Rolan wasn’t concerned. “I’ll tell her later, if she’s still around.” She and her companions would remember his name soon enough—them and all of Baldur's Gate.

—

In these cramped quarters, it didn’t take long before they encountered Tav again. Her hands swung a bit awkwardly at her sides, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. Her scabbard clanked empty against her greaves; presumably, Dammon was hard at work repairing her blade. 

Cal and Lia practically swooped down beside her as she approached. Rolan tried to hide his scowl at their eagerness.

"Have you been around the place yet? Cal and I can show you around, if you’ve got time.”

“I’d like that,” she told them both with a genuine smile. “Perhaps later, if you’re willing? Zevlor told me about your…druid problem. I promised him I’d have a talk with Kagha.”

Who had elected her emissary? Rolan glowered. "I assure you, the druids will tell you it's a foulblood problem."

It wiped the smile from her face, and Rolan found it difficult to feel bad. She wanted to dig through other people's problems? She could get used to uncovering ugly things.

"Yes…well. I'd prefer to keep an open mind," she told him evenly. With another small comment to his brother and sister, she continued on toward the deep clearing where the druids were gathering in preparation for their rite. A place strictly off-limits for Tieflings.

Lia rounded on him. "I swear, you embarrass me worse than Cal sometimes."

Cal frowned. "Hey—"

"Because you care too much about what people think," Rolan answered his sister. "Believe me, she and her people don't care about us. Didn't you hear her little speech before? She only wants more bodies for the fight."

Internally, Rolan was still bristling at the idea that Tav had complimented and cajoled him into staying at the Grove. He didn’t truly believe that was the reason for his decision, but the fact that she’d gotten to him at all unsettled him.

“Come on.” Lia knocked her arm against his playfully, an effort at reconciliation. “I’m just saying, Rolan. It costs nothing to be a bit nicer to people around here.”

Rolan heaved a sigh. Even he was growing weary from all the bickering they’d done today, though he’d never admit that to his sister. “All right. I’ll try, if it makes you happy. But believe me—people like her look after themselves. And I intend to look after us.”

—

Tav hadn’t been in the heart of the Grove for more than ten minutes before she reappeared, practically stomping up the path from the Kagha’s inner sanctum. Apparently the emissary work wasn’t going so well. Without her sword, her hands were clenched at her sides in empty fists. Her expression was thunderous.

“Have you seen Zevlor?” She asked the three of them as she approached, bypassing the smalltalk Rolan was beginning to expect from her. He directed her back toward the carved door in the corner of the cave. 

“Everything all right?” Rolan asked, curious in spite of himself.

Tav exhaled sharp through her nose. “Kagha was having a grand time interrogating a hostage. That little girl, Arabella.”

“What?” Cal’s voice rang with alarm.

“I guess she tried to steal the druids’ carving of Silvanus,” Tav told him. “The one they need for their ceremony. Her mother was nearly out of her mind…the child’s all right,” she added in haste. “Back safe with her parents now, but shaken up.”

Lia quivered with outrage at Rolan’s side. “Thank the hells you intervened.”

“Of course,” Tav replied at once, as if the situation called for nothing less. “I understand it’s the idol of their deity, but by all the gods…Kagha was ready to call her asp down on a terrified child.”

“That fucking viper." 

Cal wasn’t referring to the snake; his siblings both glanced at him in surprise. He was a gentle soul, but if Cal cared about anything, it was protecting the young ones.

Tav seemed of the same mind. “There’s something about her,” she agreed with a dark look. Abruptly, she wheeled on Rolan. “What do you think?”

She sought his opinion as a wizard, he realized. All three of them were watching him, in fact, hanging on for his answer.

“Ritual magic is quite different from the Weave,” Rolan replied carefully. “Especially druidic magic. I don’t have the same feel for it. But Kagha…” 

He cast his mind back to the first day their bedraggled caravan arrived in the Grove. The lot of them exhausted and bloodied after fighting off goblins and gnolls just up the road. Halsin, the massive elf who was then First Druid, squaring his shoulders above the smaller woman who somehow seemed to tower to his same height.

“She’s powerful,” Rolan decided. “Quite. Where it comes from, I couldn’t say.”

Tav was staring at him with an intensity Rolan hadn’t seen on her face yet. She looked far more intimidating than she had to him before. 

But then she let out a thoughtful hum, and her features were back to their usual lightness. “I guess that’s one more reason to find this Halsin sooner rather than later.”

They all watched her take her leave toward Zevlor’s makeshift war room, the stone door sliding shut again behind her.

—

As the sun dipped below the horizon and a stiff evening breeze picked up at the cave’s entrance, Rolan and his siblings settled toward the insulated back wall of the Grove where Okta was tending hearth. Whatever the old woman had simmering in her massive cauldron smelled a bit like damp wool, but the warmth of the coals underneath was toasty and wonderful against the skin on Rolan’s face and hands.

Cal and Lia were in wistful discussion on either side of him—something about which landmarks of the city they wanted to visit first. Rolan let the feel of the conversation wash over him without hearing the words. His eyes were on the glowing coals, but his mind was also on Baldur's Gate—that and its great archwizard. 

You are fortunate, young Rolan. The flourish with which Lorroakan had written his name floated through his mind's eye. Even the parchment itself was heavy and fine, almost promising of better things. Rolan’s fingers brushed the hip pocket of his robes again as if to assure himself. He still carried the letter with him everywhere, though he’d long since memorized its contents.

From behind him Rolan heard the sounds of a friendly disagreement and turned to look. Tav again. He shouldn’t be surprised; the woman seemed to be everywhere today. 

Across the path, she was engaged in a polite argument with Dammon at his tent. The smith held a hand up as if refusing something. Rolan caught sight of the polished sword pommel back in her scabbard once more, and surmised that Dammon must be turning down payment for the repair job after her help at the gate today. That seemed like his chivalrous style. 

Indeed, Rolan watched her tuck her leather coin purse away and offer a hand instead. Dammon accepted and shook it with a warm smile.

As he continued watching, the two struck up a friendly conversation. Rolan supposed a soldier would find much more to talk about with a smith than with an apprentice wizard. Her hand was draped at rest over her sword hilt again; that seemed to be an idle habit of hers. 

He remembered the city guard back in Elturel displaying the same gesture while posted at watch, and wondered whether she might be in a similar line of work. Back in…wherever it was she hailed from.

Insipid questions that Rolan nevertheless filed away in his mind to ask her at some point. If nothing else, it would make Lia happy to see him making an effort. Being nice.

Rolan glanced again at the dark stains on her fingers. She hadn't taken time to wash and rest yet since the fight. It was all over her, goblin blood and human, small flecks of it visible on her clothing and chestplate and even on the side of her face. Didn't she find it unpleasant? It would drive him mad. But it didn't seem to concern her, and Dammon certainly didn't look bothered.

The smith said something that made her laugh then, and a dimple appeared in Tav's blood-spattered cheek.

Dammon had an easy way about him that always seemed to earn him fast friends. Right now, Rolan found he was a bit envious of the trait. He didn't intend to come off as such a prickly ass, as Lia so affectionately liked to call him—though time and again he seemed to manage it. 

The constant setbacks between them and Baldur's Gate had just soured Rolan's mood in recent weeks, he told himself. His apprenticeship was all his mind could dwell on at rest, and each delay was harder to bear than the last.

But none of that was really Tav's fault. Inwardly, he could admit that Lia would have talked him into staying on her own anyway. Rolan found himself hoping that he'd made a non-terrible impression on the newcomer.

An elbow in his ribs broke his line of thought. "What?" Rolan looked around, rubbing the spot with a hand.

"I said, you're staring," Cal repeated. He and Lia were both looking at him—Rolan didn't like the expression on either face.

"Shut up," he said, though neither of them had spoken. "She's got blood all over her, who wouldn't?"

"I'm just saying." Cal put up both palms, his eyebrows raised. "From your face, you didn't seem that put off."

"Maybe she’d like to see your Thunderwave, Rolan," his sister suggested.

"You're both idiots." Rolan turned around with arms crossed, watching Okta pluck a dead chicken as though it might be interesting. The idiots on either side were not so easily deterred.

"There’s something about a woman in armor, isn't there, Cal?"

"I've always thought so." Cal leaned a forearm on Rolan's shoulder, sounding quite sincere. "Hey, you could offer to magic the bloodstains off her stuff for her. Use that presto—presti—"

"Prestidigitation," Rolan supplied, eyes still on Okta's cooking. A shockingly good idea from Cal. But it would be strange to offer that to a person he'd just met; Rolan dismissed the thought.

"She should've just taken the time to clean it herself before it all dried," Rolan said aloud. "The way her companions did, no doubt. Instead of running back and forth back here all day."

"Yeah," Lia drawled. "Saving little girls from pit vipers. What a waste of time."

“Well, only one way to find out if she’s interested.” Cal turned around and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey, Tav—”

Rolan would have smacked the back of his brother’s head had the woman not already turned toward the sound of her name. She approached their spot near the hearth looking politely curious.

“Lia was just wondering,” Cal started in—leaving Rolan’s name out of it, a smart choice for his skull— “won’t it take a long time to get all the stains out of your armor?” 

“Oh.” Tav sounded taken aback, but glanced down at herself as if just now noticing the state of her equipment. “Oh yeah, this’ll cost me a good half hour at least. And probably both my elbows,” she added with chagrin. “Damn. Got distracted by everything, I guess.”

“Because Rolan can magic it off in a second,” Lia said in a rush.

"Really?" Far from averse, she was looking at Rolan with sudden enthusiasm. "I didn’t know magic could—I mean, of course it can. I guess. Why, are you offering…?” She glanced between him and his siblings then, as if finally picking up on the strange energy between them.

Rolan felt all three pairs of eyes come to rest on him. He could hardly back out now. “If you’re interested,” he told her.

“Hells yes,” Tav laughed. “Are you kidding?”

Lia clapped her hands together softly. “Excellent. Well, since Tav’s interested—” She placed a strange emphasis on the word, one Rolan hoped only he noticed— “Cal and I should get going to set up camp. See you both later?”

“Right,” Cal agreed at once. With that, the pair of them slipped off in a few flicks of the tail. 

What a couple of damned children. Rolan let out a heavy sigh; they seemed determined to try every last slip of patience he had.

Tav followed him to a spot closer to the back corner of the Grove, a bit removed from the sounds and smells. A stream of cool air seeped in from somewhere outside the walls, and Rolan breathed in gratefully. He had found it hard to concentrate in the stale surroundings of this place.

“Right.” She stood opposite him, looking a bit unsure. “How does this work, exactly?”

“Just keep still,” Rolan advised her. This would be easier if she took off the pieces of her half-plate first, but asking her to do that seemed unthinkably familiar.

She did as he directed. “Sure you’re not going to transform me into a pigeon or something? Give me wings?”

“This is the simplest spell there is, I’m not an idiot.” Rolan’s tone was irritable, but it only made her laugh. He realized that she was teasing him.

Regardless, Rolan steadied his stance and reached out to the Weave. Whether or not it was technically correct, it was the way he’d taught himself. 

Breathe in—quiet each thought—feel the air above and the ground below—

Like a warm embrace from the oldest friend, the Weave flowed as a golden light into his cupped hand. Rolan formed the clear intention in his mind and guided the magic toward her. 

“It tickles,” Tav said in surprise, but he could tell she was doing her best to keep still. Her eyes were squeezed shut for some reason.

Rolan blinked at her, not sure how long she had expected this to take. “You can—it’s done.”

“Really?” Tav looked across her chest and shoulders and the greaves on her legs, admiring their new shine. “Wow…neat trick, that. So you’re saying Gale’s been watching us polish our armor and weapons every night when he could just use the Weave for two seconds?”

“The manipulation does take energy,” Rolan told her, not wanting to discredit a fellow wizard while he wasn’t here to defend himself.

Her expression changed a bit. Then she reached a hand to his shoulder. “Thanks for this, Rolan. It might be simple to you, but—” She dropped her arm and cast around with a tired laugh. “Life has honestly been…kind of terrible lately. Thank you for making it better.”

Rolan felt he could stand to hear more of that story, but he doubted she'd want to tell it. “You’re welcome,” he told her instead.

It was a bit awkward traveling back through the winding Grove together toward the entrance, but it could hardly be avoided. Their camps were both in the same direction.

The night patrol were watching vigilantly from the wall; the massive carved gate raised before them as if in anticipation. Rolan stepped out into the dark, cool evening with another grateful breath.

Beside him, Tav sighed wearily. "Well, 'night. Off to enjoy my extra sleep," she said with another smile to him before she turned away.

No such easy goodnight for him, Rolan knew. He imagined Cal and Lia perching awake on their bedrolls, eager to hear what chaos or embarrassment or both their meddling had caused for him this time. 

More concerning to him right now was the way his shoulder seemed to radiate where she'd placed a grateful hand before. Rolan rolled his arm a little, trying to shake the tingling warmth near his collar bone. It didn't quite work.

But perhaps he'd think about that tomorrow.

[blues824]

I loved your Morticia Reader and I was wondering, could you do a Wednesday Addams Reader with the 1st Years? She rarely smiles (Unless someone’s in pain) with her being incredibly morbid, emotionally reserved and her fascination of the macabre and the dark forces? (I love Wednesday) Bonus if you want to; she has Thing with her (I loved how sassy he was in the show) Kudos!

Reader’s gender isn’t specified here, but request calls for female Reader.

Ace Trappola

He was very intimidated by you. You never smiled unless he got hurt or punished, but never when he was intentionally trying to be funny. Not just that, but you had a walking hand accompanying you everywhere. YOU EVEN KNEW WHAT IT WAS SAYING!!!

You were incredibly smart as well. You knew the scientific names of the freaking plants that they were studying, and you knew a magic that was darker than anything he was familiar with. We’re talking about ‘conjuring spirits’ kind of magic. In fact, the time he saw you conjuring Goody Addams, he audibly screamed.

One time, he had been thrown out of Heartslabyul for the nth time and he decided to go to Ramshackle. However, he stopped because he heard something. It sounded like an instrument, one that was deeper than a violin. He kept walking until he saw you through the window, playing a big version of a violin in the living room.

He just bursted in like he owned the place and asked how the heck you know how to play this oversized violin. You threw a knife so close to his head that it cut a piece of his hair off as it flew by. You didn’t even apologize when you corrected him by saying it was a cello.

Everyone is surprised when you both get together. You both are polar opposites: you actually had common sense. You didn’t even know either. Maybe it was the confidence he had carried himself with, even though it got him into a ton of trouble. Plus, he actually understood sarcasm.

Deuce Spade

He was also intimidated by you, but it was in a good way. He found Thing unsettling, but decided that there was no point in being creeped out and decided to learn how to communicate with him. When you are away, they act like middle school girls and gossip about Deuce’s crush on you.

He was in awe of all the pure knowledge you have. In a short amount of time, you were able to rise to the top of your classes. The teachers loved you, so he decided to go to you for tutoring. He had explained how he was an Honor’s Student because of his promise to his mother, and that hit close to home for you.

It was during one of these study sessions where he wasn’t getting the material for some reason, so you suggested a break. You went into your closet and brought out your cello. Deuce was surprised when you got into position and started playing a sad tune.

Another time, he walked in on you performing some sort of ritual. You were even speaking in a whole other language that he didn’t recognize (you were speaking Latin). However, it didn’t seem to work because you let out a frustrated sigh.

When you both get together, no one (besides Ace) was surprised. You both spent a lot of time together, so it did not come as a shock to anyone. Ace was angry that Deuce was able to rizz you up but he hasn’t been able to rizz anyone up since middle school (sounds like Takemichi from Tokyo Revengers).

Jack Howl

Wasn’t intimidated by you at all. In fact, you both held a mutual respect for one another, since you both were the only ones at NRC with common sense. He did find Thing creepy at first, but eventually got used to him. Most of the time, he is often perched on either your shoulder or Jack’s.

You both were good in the academic aspect. You excelled him in many ways, but he was fine with where he was at. There was no way he would be able to remember every little thing the teacher had said in class, but he was happy for you since you could do it. 

During the period where you both were trying to stop Azul, he walked to Ramshackle to try and come up with a plan with you. However, his ears detected the sound of a cello. He continued walking towards your dorm (since that was where the sound was coming from), and was surprised to hear it come directly from inside. He then knocked on the door.

You opened it, and Jack looked inside to see a black cello in the middle of your living room. He complimented your skill and immediately got back to work. You were sort of relieved when he didn’t make a big deal out of it since you did have more pressing matters to focus on.

No one is surprised when you guys get together. In fact, it made sense to everyone. He was the one who helped the most with taking Azul down, so it was only a matter of when he’d ask you out. Sure, you both aren’t very romantic, but you show your love in different ways than what would be considered ‘orthodox’.

Epel Felmier

Was most definitely terrified of you, but tried to act like he wasn’t. He would have to summon so much courage to try and talk to you, only to stutter through each and every one of his sentences. Poor guy doesn’t know when he started to sweat so much. He nearly fainted when he met Thing.

He admires you in an academic aspect because you rose to the top of your class very quickly. You even managed to surpass most of the older students when test scores were released. Later that day, you received an apple in the shape of a skull with a note saying “Good job on the test! -E.F.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was from.

One time, you both agreed to meet up to do some homework. He had been having trouble with a specific problem and figured you would be the best person to go to. When he made it, he heard the sound of a cello coming from inside.

He quietly entered the dorm and hid behind a wall while he listened. Once you finished, he came out of his hiding place while applauding you. You had already known that he was there, but you couldn’t help but feel a smile trying to fight its way onto your face. It never stood a chance against your will to force it down.

I feel like some people were surprised when they found out you both were together, but others weren’t. You both had a temper, but your anger would come out in different ways. You offered him a few different outlets, like mastering an instrument so that he could play alongside you (Vil was totally in favor of this idea, since he thought you played beautifully).

Sebek Zigvolt

He would also act like he wasn’t intimidated by you. It came from a place where he thinks you would do better as one of Malleus’s knights, so he grows scared that Waka-sama might see more value in you than him. Plus, Thing wasn’t helping anything.

You both are instant academic rivals. He always gets frustrated because you always hold yourself in a calm manner and always manage to get top marks while he was stuck in second place. It angered him to no end.

One day, he decides to go and ask you some questions because there was no way that you could beat him in a fencing duel, when he heard a cello coming from inside the rickety dormitory. He had to admit that the player was doing amazingly. He knocked on your door and waited for you to answer. 

When you invited him inside, he saw that you were in the process of putting your cello away. So you were the one playing so beautifully? He acted like he didn’t hear any of it whilst he asked you to a duel. You asked if he would want the bout to go until 15 touches, or until someone drew the first blood. He picked the latter.

The next day, at around the same time, he lay on the ground with a cut on his face. You explain that you had been training since you were 5 years old, and therefore had that much more experience than him. However, when you named your price for winning, he blushed. You asked him out. Every onlooker gasped in surprise, and their eyes went wider when the half-fae accepted.

[ilovereadingandstuff]

BNHA 406 Review!! SPOILERS AHEAD

Love to see her again, resisting the pain and injures. And she really integrated the idea of Izuku as a hero...remembering him by his actual name, as it was the only thing left in this world...It's kind of endearing.

You're prettier every time I see you, Shiggy. That's not fair.

And this little guy over here is gorgeous every chapter too. But he's so haggard. There are probably so many emotions buttling up inside him...(I don't know how to interpret his panels anymore)

I really want to know what's up with this hole in his hand. Shiggy obteined it way back at PLF war, but I still don't understand where it came from. That's from AFO's quirk, right? With that hole is that he and AFO steals quirks from others?

Funny to see you trying to convince yourself of a lie. Try harder, Shigaraki.

That's the face of a maniac. A guy who's laughing at his own pain, a guy who's hitting on the pavement, flying in an insaly high speed...I love him.

Your face is so pretty Mitsuki. I hate you...but you're so pretty.

So it's canon?? IT'S CANON THAT AFO KILLED HIS OWN BROTHER!?! I'm not going to lie: I always supported the idea of 2nd user being the one who actually killed Yoichi...as a way of saving his life because AFO would take him capture again AND also as a way of not letting AFO win with the sweet achievement of getting rid of his own brother...but now that it's canon that AFO killed Yoichi...I like it. Love to know it... Some really good angst there. And now we can most likely say that AFO was crying because of that.

I like this part, right here.

AFO is a narcissistic who does not respect nor see other people besides him. So the simple idea of him actually recognizing someone as a person, like he does with Izuku, All Might or Tomura, is a big deal, but then...the idea of him recognizing someone as a threat...That's HUGE!! EXTRAORDINARY!! UNTHINKABLE!!

Wait, that's 2nd holder's name?? THAT'S 2ND HOLDER ACTUAL NAME??!! I've been...ages...wanting to know what is his true name...And...I accept it. If that's canon, I'm going to embrace it as it is, as the new information we got...But I don't like it. Sorry, but kUdO as his name??!! Could it not be another one?!? There were not other options??! I only like the fact that it starts with a K, similar to K-atsuki. (And how do we mix it with Yoichi's?? How is that even possible?? Kudoichi?? Yodo??).

I don't like that paraphrase of this sentence but the concept it's undertandable.

Good chapter. I was getting impatient, and also the idea of 'Kacchan Bakugo' was getting on my nerves. But now: I'm good.

[kybercrystals94]

I can’t believe February is already over! I had so much fun with this prompt challenge, and I am thrilled to be a completionist!

Congrats to my writing buddy @just-here-with-my-thoughts for also completing all 29 prompts this month! And many thank yous for proofreading some of my fics all the way back in January!

And special thanks to @the-little-moment for your notes of encouragement and check ins! THANK YOU!!

But really, this entire fandom’s community is amazing, both here on Tumblr and over on Ao3! I’ve written for many fandoms over the years, but this is by far the most supportive community I’ve had the privilege of being a part of!

Thank you for all the likes, comments, reblogs, kudos, and bookmarks! Y’all, my little writer’s heart runneth over!

🥹❤️❣️💕

Febuwhump Master List

Ao3 Febuwhump Master List

Day 1 | Prompt 1: Helpless

But She Still Cries

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 350

Excerpt: “My heart hurts,” Omega whispers, voice shaky. Crosshair recognizes the affliction with excruciating clarity, the tight fist of loss and regret.

[Character Focus: Omega, Crosshair]

[Tags: hurt no comfort]

Day 2 | Prompt 2: Solitary Confinement

Roaring Silence

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 180

Excerpt: “I don’t like this test,” Omega says quietly, stopping short of the door, resisting the hand that presses against her back between her shoulder blades.

[Character Focus: Omega]

[Tags: human experimentation, childhood trauma]

Day 3 | Prompt 3: “Bite down on this.” & Day 12 | Prompt 12: Semi-Conscious

Grounded

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr: Part 1 - Part 2)

Rated: T | Words: 1736

Excerpt: Blinding pain greets Crosshair’s return to consciousness, and a sharp gasp ejects from his lungs. A hand clasps hard over his mouth…

[Character Focus: Crosshair, Hunter]

[Tags: broken limb, injury]

Day 4 | Prompt 4: Obedience

Up to Something

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1069

Excerpt: “Hunter always sides with you,” Wrecker grumbles. / Tech rolls his eyes, but plays into the argument. “Not true, but he usually sides with reason, which is more commonly provided by myself.”

[Character Focus: Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair, Hunter]

[Tags: concussion, slight whump, humor]

Day 5 | Prompt 5: Rope Burns

Absolute Privilege

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1091

Excerpt: Omega leans over the cliff, staring into the dark, gaping mouth of the container yawning up at her. She can do this. She has to do this.

[Character Focus: Omega, Tech]

[Tags: sibling relationships, soft Tech, injury]

Day 6 | Prompt 6: “You lied to me.”

Die for a Corpse

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: T | Words: 960

Excerpt: In his arms, the other clone choked for breath, a blaster hole through his chestplate. He didn’t have long. That much Tech gathered as he approached the pair.

[Character Focus: Tech, OC]

[Tags: descriptions of death, hurt no comfort]

Day 7 | Prompt 7: Suffering in Silence

Poisoned

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 328

Excerpt: When Wrecker was too loud in a small space; when Tech couldn’t seem to run out of words to say about an impossibly dull topic; when Hunter lectured them about picking fights with the regs. Crosshair longed for silence in those moments.

[Character Focus: Crosshair]

[Tags: emotional whump, regrets]

Day 8 | Prompt 8: “Why won’t it stop?”

They All Fall Down

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1572

Excerpt: “Hunter,” Wrecker whines, drawing out the last syllable of Hunter’s name to a ridiculous length. “Crosshair won’t stop staring at me.”

[Character Focus: Cadet Batch]

[Tags: humor, sibling relationships, a dash of whump]

Day 9 | Prompt 9: Bees

Hide and Seek and Training

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: T | Words: 2496

Excerpt: Slowly, Omega looks back at where the branch she sits on meets the tree. Tucked into the crook, a muddy looking structure is swarming with the colorful insects. Bees, Omega’s memory supplies frantically.

[Character Focus: Omega, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo]

[Tags: bee stings, slight injuries, sibling relationships, whump and fluff, humor]

Day 10 | Prompt 10: Killing in Self Defense

Flame Snuffed Out

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: T | Words: 457

Excerpt: Wrecker had to grab Tech’s shoulder, give him a shove to get him moving again. Wrecker must’ve told Hunter that. He shouldn’t have hesitated…Death should not influence him. Not him.

[Character Focus: Tech, Hunter]

[Tags: descriptions of death, trauma]

Day 11 | Alternate Prompt 4: Human Weapon

Costly Mistakes

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 542

Excerpt: “How’d you get out here without the others following you?” Hunter asks. / “I didn’t,” Crosshair responds. “But I told them if they didn’t go back to the barracks, I’d make their lives a living hell.” / “And they believed you?” / “Wrecker did. Tech took a hint.”

[Character Focus: Hunter, Crosshair]

[Tags: Cadet Batch, sibling relationships]

Day 12 | Prompt 12: Semi-Conscious

*See Day 3*

Day 13 | Prompt 13: “You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

Exploration

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1781

Summary: An afternoon of exploring takes a slight turn.

[Character Focus: Hunter, Omega, Tech, Wrecker, Echo]

[Tags: minor injury, a touch of whump, fluff, humor]

Day 14 | Prompt 14: “I love you.”

I Love You

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 781

Excerpt: She replayed the words over and over again in her mind, rolling the syllables silently over her tongue. Of course, she knew her brothers loved her, and she loved them. They just never said it. In fact, Omega didn’t think she had ever heard that combination of words in that order out loud in her entire life.

[Character Focus: Omega, Hunter]

[Tags: fluff and emotional whump, sibling relationships]

Day 15 | Prompt 15: “Who did this to you?”

Left Handed

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Word Count: 574

Excerpt: Omega drapes herself further over the back of the seat, arms dangling. “What happened? Were you in a fight?” / “Something like that,” Echo grumbles, avoiding eye contact.

[Character Focus: Echo, Omega, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker]

[Tags: humor, whump, sibling relationships]

Day 16 | Prompt 16: Came Back Wrong

Stay

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 741

Excerpt: Crosshair watches from his perch on a wall as the sun sinks into the sea, dissolving into swatches of reds, yellows, and oranges. Discolored by twilight, sky bleeds through with deep blues and purples. It is beautiful here. Peaceful. Quiet. Safe. He does not belong here.

[Character Focus: Crosshair, Hunter]

[Tags: emotional whump]

Day 17 | Prompt 17: Hostage Situation

The Hostage

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr - Part 1)

Rated: T | Words: —

Summary: Omega is taken hostage.

[Character Focus: Omega, Hunter, Tech, Echo, Wrecker]

[Tags: action, kidnapping]

Day 18 | Alternate Prompt 1: Human Shield

Shields

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 730

Excerpt: “Why can’t you keep your mouth shut once in a while?” Crosshair asked, shoving roughly into Tech as they went into their barracks.

[Character: Cadet Batch]

[Tags: sibling relationships, bullies]

Day 19 | Prompt 19: “Please don’t.”

“Please don’t.”

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 497

Excerpt: Crosshair has experienced headaches. More than his fair share with his optical enhancement. While they were never near as severe as Hunter’s over the years, he’d learned to take them in stride, work through the pain. But this time is different. It is insistent. A sharp, isolated pain that feels as though a blade is being driven through his skull. It’s putting him on edge. Well, this and Hunter.

[Character Focus: Crosshair, Omega]

[Tags: chip activation, Order 66]

Day 20 | Prompt 20: Truth Serum

Embroidered Skulls

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1092

Summary: Exposure to truth serum uncovers some secrets.

[Characters: Tech, Hunter, Echo, Crosshair, Wrecker]

[Tags: humor, barely whump]

Day 21 | Prompt 21: Unresponsive

The Fact Remains

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 641

Summary: After Wrecker is injured on a mission, the brothers wait for him to wake up.

[Character Focus: Hunter, Tech, Crosshair, Wrecker]

[Tags: guilt, sibling relationships]

Day 22 | Prompt 22: “You weren’t meant to be there.”

Impeccable Timing

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: T | Words: 563

Excerpt: The target in his sights moved the moment he pulled the trigger. Gone was the neck shot that would decapitate the battle droid and in its place was the familiar pale gray armor of his brother. There was nothing he could do but watch in horror as the bolt made contact.

[Character Focus: Crosshair, Tech]

[Tags: friendly fire, injury]

Day 23 | Alternate Prompt 6: Immortality

Merriest Days Ahead

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr - Part 1)

Rated: G | Words: —

Summary: A month long holiday on Pabu prompts the Batch to wonder about the legacy they will leave behind.

[Character Focus: Omega, Tech, Crosshair, Hunter, Wrecker]

[Tags: sibling relationships, fluff, emotional whump]

Day 24 | Prompt 24: “I’m doing this because I care about you.”

Belong

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 351

Excerpt: However, she can’t hate her brother no matter how hard she tries to let the words barb the broken flesh of her heart. The words just make her sad, a sullen and persistent ache that makes her cry when she thinks no one will hear her.

[Character Focus: Omega, Hunter]

[Tags: what-if, alternate ending, emotional whump]

Day 25 | Alternate Prompt 7: Last Words

Last Words

Star Wars: The Clone Wars

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: T | Words: 392

Excerpt: Famous last words they say, because, in reality, most last words are not spectacular or special. They aren’t deep or poetic, they don’t inspire greatness or alter the course of history. Often, they are pathetic and small, underrated and thoughtless. Because, often, you didn’t know they would be the last words you ever would speak. Even as you lay dying, you cling to that threadbare hope that you might have a moment longer. But you don’t. You die. The words you said are the last, whether you meant them or not.

[Character Focus: Kix]

[Tags: what-if, alternate ending, descriptions of dying moments]

Day 26 | Prompt 26: “Help them.”

Brave

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 428

Excerpt: She tries. She tries so hard to keep the tears from falling, to keep her breath even. But another hiccuping sob makes her guardian cast her a disapproving glance.

[Character Focus: Omega]

[Tags: big sister, baby Batch, emotional whump]

Day 27 | Prompt 27: Left for Dead

Stories

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 1624

Excerpt: “Crosshair! We’ve been looking for you,” Omega announces, unabashedly intruding on Crosshair’s peace and quiet. / Crosshair cracks open one eye to glare at his sister looming over him. He had found a lush patch of grass under a tree about a five minute walk from their Pabu abode, hidden from the prying eyes of curious neighbors and meddling siblings. Well, evidently not hidden enough.

[Character Focus: Crosshair, Omega, Tech]

[Tags: sibling relationships, emotional whump/angst]

Day 28 | Prompt 28: No…Not like this.

Coded

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 289

Summary: Missing scene from Season 3 Episode 4

[Character Focus: Hunter, Wrecker]

[Tags: emotional whump]

Day 29 | Prompt 29: Not Allowed to Die

Sick Day

Star Wars: The Bad Batch

(Ao3) | (Tumblr)

Rated: G | Words: 516

Summary: Echo is sick with a fever.

[Character Focus: Echo]

[Tags: sick fic, hallucination, hurt no comfort]

[sidekick-hero]

WIP Word Game

Rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

The magnificent @just-my-latest-hyperfixation tagged me and gave me the word KUDOS. This is from my latest fic which will hopefully finished tonight, it isn't over, it's just begun, a kas!eddie pwp. And from the third and last chapter of Hold me close (I'm shaking apart).

K

Kind of. He was still alive, wasn’t he?

U

Until she met the prince who was able to see past all that, to see her, a girl who was smart and kind and worth being loved, so he took her away from her miserable life and gave her a new home and his love and protection from the harshness of the world.

D

“Don’t,” Eddie rasped, his voice raw and jagged, almost unrecognizable.

Ignoring the warning, Steve inched closer, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “Eddie,” he repeated softly, using the name again because he remembered the first time they encountered this version of Eddie—feral, lost, barely recognizing them. Nancy had said to repeat his name often, to remind him of who he was. It became a habit Steve hadn’t been able to shake.

O

Oops.

S

Steve took pity and turned the volume down, but not before belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t help but enjoy the way Eddie looked at him, his attention fixed solely on Steve. If he were being honest, that’s all he’d been craving lately—Eddie’s gaze, his words, his touch.

I'm tagging with lots of admiration and no pressure at all: @judasofsuburbia, @hbyrde36, @pearynice, @steviewashere and @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe

Your word is UNICORN. Have fun!

[elijah-loyal]

liveblog tmagp 7

oh god i forgot how much i hate/love the intro music (see: my post about the fact that parts of it are missing for me bc of my ear and hearing issues <3)

oh no i think celia's smart, oh that poor woman

OH NO SHES DEFINITELY SMART SHE QUESTIONS (pookie no, stay alive </3)

HILLTOP?!!?!!? MOTHERFUCKER NOOOOOOO-

(the chills crawled up my throat and i felt like throwing up <33 thank you episode writer for this horror)

uh oh shouting human face???

hey i think it's funny how she can't remember their names?? whats that all about

"it's all for a good cause" i feel like that's gonna come back to bite them in the ass soon

"personal development sabbatical" my ass

oh god these bitches would have HAD my ass with the printing press and taxidermy vulture and medical equipment

woa who the fuck are these people?? evil anatomy students core??

again, the sound design for this is so beautiful and fucking terrifying, kudos to everyone for that <33

oh god

oh god she recognizes him

oh fuck is it actually jon

is he actually in the fucking computer

(i am on the verge of tears)

SAM

SAM NO

FUCK, JON

JON?!?!

HOLY HSIT OH FUCK NONOJNONN)OIJOIJNJ()IJI

ok im actually crying right now, oh fuck guys, what the fuck

oh shit colin knows

(lmao though bro was funny asf)

everyone just absolutely BASHING on gwen's nepotism lmfao

WAIT HILLTOP BURNING DOWN - HERE'S HOW AGNES MONTAGUE CARRIED HER LEGACY ACROSS UNIVERSES--

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - February Podfic

I got distracted by the podfic of one of my favorite series in a different ship, so this month’s podfic list is not terribly long, but hopefully you enjoy it anyway! Be sure to give a comment/kudos to your podficcer and authors! 

~*~ 

[Podfic] Never Too Late For Love by Cathalinareads (Cathalinaheart)

Steve has always believed that a soulbond is a blessing -- a rare and beautiful miracle, joining the thoughts and feelings of two people forever, from the first time they touch. Steve knows he's not going to be one of the lucky ones. He knows Gail isn't his soulmate. But he loves her, even if they're not soulmates, and he's going to do right by her. After the war's over, he's going to marry her, and they're going to settle down. They'll buy a house. They'll have children. He'll see his family again. Maybe Bucky will live next door. It's going to be a good life. He doesn't need a soulbond. He'll be fine without one.

Then Steve wakes up sixty years in the future to find that his wonderful life has moved on without him. His family is long dead. His fiancée married his best friend. And the only purpose he has left is leading the Ultimates, a misbegotten team of superheroes with flaws too numerous to count. Steve hates everything about the future -- but most of all he detests Tony, flashy and flirtatious, who embodies everything Steve hates about a world he never wanted to live in.

And, oh, yeah, Steve has a soulmate after all: Tony fucking Stark.

[podfic] Degrees of Separation by plingo_kat, reena_jenkins for kalakirya

Oh god, what if Jarvis infected Dummy with, with emotions. Jesus Christ.

Love Is A Masquerade [Podfic] by paraka for Cathalinaheart

When the Avengers are invited to attend Tony Stark's Annual Masquerade Ball, Steve's hoping Iron Man will be there--after all, he can wear a mask and keep his identity secret. So when Steve recognizes Iron Man's distinctive thighs, Steve is SO sure he's found Iron Man's pilot... He's right, but not in a way Steve would ever have guessed...

[Podfic] Veridicality by hopelesse for Sineala

When Steve is accidentally exposed to a truth serum, Tony learns that Steve has been keeping a lot of feelings hidden.

[Podfic] Right All My Wrongs by Amanita_Fierce

Tony needs to clean up his act. Fury has a suggestion. Steve has a proposal.

[Podfic] Your Name on Every Wall by The_Casual_Sounds (the_casual_cheesecake)

The Time Gem throws Steve into the past rather than the future, and in doing so, it gives him the opportunity to undo his past mistakes. But when it turns out that all of his mistakes involve Tony Stark, Steve begins to wonder if he's ever going to be able to mend things between them.

[podfic] Appraise Valuable Assets -> Launce Opportune Navigation (AVALON) by Albuss for gottalovev

The plan was that no one but Tony would know about the AVALON protocol until it was needed. Steve finds out and he's pissed.

[nani-nonny]

-Mention of drinking (and love-drunk babble from nonny)-

TLDR: I love you guys a lot, platonically

I got off work early to visit my papá, and I get there to a shot awaiting me in my lola’s hand, urging me to take shots with my papá because it’s so father-child bonding to take shots with parents (basically tradition)

Anyways, I’m ten shots deep (because I’m drinking for my alcohol-free siblings) and downing my second tamarind whiskey mixed drink and I’m feeling the love <333

I love it when people tell me they like my writing, it’s makes me all ooey gooey inside and I don’t know how to respond in words

I like when people review my writing (I’m looking mainly at you sniper *besito*)

I like when people don’t say anything but give a like or kudos to my fics (I memorized the returning readers and I always recognize you, but I won’t out you in case it makes you uncomfortable. But I see you and love you)

I like when people ask questions

I like when people like my peepaws. I’ve thought about making a role playing blog specifically for my peepaws, wouldn’t that be fun? So we can see it in its own space instead of BYMH?

I like when people draw me stuff inspired by my peepaws, even stupid doodles that FM Radio draws (I love you my dear friend mwah)

I like when I see the same people in my notifications interacting with my stupid snippets or even things I reblog (drifting mwah you’re more than this category but I’m drunk and lazy I think)

I like when people interact with my mundane posts and not related to my fics. You don’t have to do tjat, I’m voicing my inner thoughts to no one, but it makes me feel seen in a way that matters and doesn’t make me feel too perceived

I like writing peepaws

I like others peoples peepaws

I like the turtles not peepaws too

I fucking hate tcest bitches get away don’t perceive my peepaws

I like my drink it has a little sweet and spicy kick

I like my dad when he’s not acting like a toddler /aff lol

I like turtles

My little Jenny thinks it’s snack time whenever I’m snacking haha she’s cute

The kids I work with want to see Jenny but Jenny gets overwhelmed in that kind of scenario so I can’t bring her

I want to play games with my online friends :( I like phy and drifting and sniper and dragon and radio and haha it’s like I’m naming random objects in my room hehe

I shouldn’t have my phone in my hand but I’m responsible enough not to do stupid things

I like autocorrect because it makes me spell right haha

[baileys-3]

Secret Dating Era - New Chapter (#37) now online

Puuhhh ... what shall I say ... 50.000 klicks and over 1100 Kudos ... that is so surreal ... thanks for all of you.

We still have a long way to go :) I just finished chapter 43. Do you know how much words? I tell you: 225000 ... 500 pages ... I just don't believe it that I wrote 500 pages ... oh god.

Then thanks for every comment. I love love love comments :)

And the greatest and biggest Thanks to beta-reading queen @himynameiscookies

So then I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Sneak Peak:

Bailey arrives at work earlier than usual, mostly because John got called in for an emergency in the middle of the night. Which means, that she was alone this morning. And when she's alone, everything just goes a little faster. Despite her early start, it's late morning since she has a later shift today. She hasn't heard from John yet and doesn't know whether that's a good or a bad sign.

Her phone rings right before entering the fire station, and she sees John's name on the screen. Finally! She answers, but she can't manage to say a word as John launches into a tale that seems like it's straight out of a fantasy novel or something. Well, he's definitely taking the lead in the realm of unbelievable stories now. This round clearly goes to the LAPD.

She makes a deal with him that she'll try to come by on her lunch break when he's still at Shawn Memorial and bring food for the whole gang. John mentions that they might need to wait for a bit, considering there are numerous injured individuals, and they are relatively unscathed, except for Tim. He has been hit the hardest.

As expected, she spends her lunch break with John at the hospital. She finds everyone in the waiting area. Well, not quite everyone, she only meets John, Celina and Aaron. The rest is either receiving treatment or being examined. She gives John a quick hug and then they all dive in on the food she brought.

"Maybe you could give the food to the others before it gets cold. They're likely in one of the examination rooms, passing the time until a nurse is available to attend to them. You know how it goes. First, there's waiting... then more waiting... and finally, more waiting." John's assessment seems accurate.

"Yeah, I'll go and find them. It can't be that difficult." With that, she's already on her way with the remaining three bags in her hand. She likes John's colleagues. She likes them a lot. Somehow, they are all like a little family. John has told her all about everything that happened over the years, the drama, the trauma, everything. And that seems to have brought them all extremely close together. She loves spending her free time with Angela, Nyla and Lucy. John's rookie Celina has even slept over several nights and she has become close friends with her. They are not just work colleagues; they are family.

Bailey asks a nurse in which rooms the injured LAPD officers are being treated and whether she can bring them something to eat. The nurse says yes and points to three rooms with sliding doors at the far end of the corridor.

She approaches the first room, finding the door ajar. Peeking inside, she discovers it empty. Alright, on to the next room. As she nears it, she catches hushed voices engaged in conversation—no, not talking, more like whispering. She stops by the wall just outside the open sliding door. Well, that is an exaggeration; it's barely ajar. She isn't sure why she stopped; perhaps it's the quiet nature of their conversation, or maybe it's because she recognizes the voices, or possibly she just doesn't want to interrupt them.

The voices unmistakably belong to Lucy and Tim, although she can't hear exactly what they are saying. Opting not to interrupt, she chooses to wait until they finish their conversation. In general, it is considered impolite to interrupt a conversation between two individuals. So, she is leaning against the wall for a moment, she patiently listens. It doesn't take long before the voices fade.

Assuming that they are finished, she takes a step forward and reaches for the handle with the intention of entering the room. However, just before she does, she looks up again and stops in her tracks. She stands there, frozen in place peeking through the small slit that's not wide enough for her to enter and she refrains from sliding the door further. She can't believe her eyes. She closes and reopens them, blinking several times. She realizes that she is not imagining it; it's really happening. HOLY SHIT!

[couriersiccs]

finished alex hera's slenderverse docuseries and i just want to.. i don't know, collect my thoughts and share them, because the slenderverse had been a huge part of my emotional abuse-ridden adolescence and it was as much a saving grace as it was yet another source of trauma. and it's been really difficult to reconcile that! so here's a long fuckin chunk of text if you wanna read a personal memoir that's mostly just for me ngl.

I can't promise this will be coherent, and it won't have a place in the History of The Verse because it's just my personal experience, but yeah. Wow.

First off, the documentary was beautiful. Well-crafted, impeccably researched, and just very informative and enjoyable to watch overall. Kudos to Alex for the time, passion, and attention to detail that they put into it, because it's exactly what the topic deserves.

Ten years ago, I was an eighteen-year-old just finishing my first year of art school. I was out of my parents house, understanding for the first time that my upbringing was abusive, damaging, and actually pretty shitty. Not "the shittiest," which allowed my parents (specifically my mother, enabled by my father) to downplay it for so long. But it left me deeply scarred. It stunted my development in ways I've only, in recent years, been able to untangle - my ability to recognize and process emotions, my self-worth, how to understand what I need, the value of my wellbeing and basic health, the ways I'm capable of hurting people in my desperate, clawing need to avoid abandonment. Just to name a few key areas, off the top of my head.

I knew none of this when I discovered Slenderman and Marble Hornets when I was fourteen, maybe fifteen. Eventually, I discovered the fandom on Tumblr, and, most importantly, formed the Skype-based chatroom with my friends, known as Hornetcon.

Literally even just reading the name of it, my throat twists up and tears start to form. When I was in high school, as my mom's abuse got worse and worse, my social connections floundered. Nobody knew what I was really going through, because I didn't even know what I was going through. All I knew was that I felt bad about myself because I only ever seemed to make my mom upset. I couldn't understand how wrong it was of her to treat me the way she did until I had distance.

I became isolated. I stopped seeing the friends I'd had that were close to me. The friends I had at school were my friends, but we didn't hang out very often outside of school hours. I loved them and still cherish the fact that they enjoyed my company at all, but I didn't connect with them. My time was mostly spent on my laptop, hiding from whatever batshit alcoholic mood my mom was in that night, and I joined Tumblr at the behest of my school friends.

When Hornetcon started, I was a couple of days away from turning sixteen. I made very good friends there. I met people I connected with, for the very first time as a developing teenager, on a deep, understanding, accepting level. We bonded over the series, excitedly rapid-fire spammed the chat whenever there was an update, joked about shipping, shared fic and fanart, talked about queerness and transness and polyamory and everything my Good White Catholic Suburbs had shielded me from. The Internet was the gateway for my development, now, since I wasn't going to get it in "real life."

(That's probably it's own form of stunted development, but it was the best tool available to me at the time. shit was dire, folks.)

I got close to lot of people there. I loved talking with them, meeting up on tinychat, catching up with them when I got home from school, happily staying up WAY too late just to chat with friends in different timezones. I wasn't being shown, outside of that chatroom, that I was valuable as a person. That my interests were valuable. That people could find me interesting, funny, and even cute. Those were revolutionary concepts to me.

Alex talked about the pedestal the Slenderverse Creators stood on, and I remember how easily we put them there.

Some of them were in our chatroom! We got to talk with them, ask them questions, shoot the shit like fellow creative minds. We spoke with them like we were all on equal ground, but in reality, they really weren't. We showered them with love, with praise, with reassurances when they were having a bad day. We were all friends on Facebook, which signified a level of trust. We got to know them, or thought we did. Started closer, private friendships with some of them.

In retrospect, it's kind of hilarious that the most predatory of them frequented the chat most often. It isn't, but looking back, it's like...... of fucking course they did. Some were cool! Some were very fucking uncool!

I couldn't tell the difference. I didn't even know my own mother was harming me - how was I supposed to know that a friend I trusted, who was part of my refuge from her, was harming me, too? Harming my friends, who only came forward once I did?

How was I supposed to know that when, while visiting the Creators friends I'd made for New Year's 2016, I spent an evening drunkenly cuddling with one who was also a predator? The only reason nothing more happened is because I was unwillingly partnered (complicated for unrelated reasons. lmfao.) at the time, and he decided not to target me.

It wasn't limited to the Creators, though. Non-creators friends I made in that chatroom hurt me, too. When I think of the Slenderverse as a painful part of my life, I include them. And, most importantly, I include myself.

I hurt people, through no intention of hurting them, because I was scared and in pain and had no idea how to communicate with another human being. I had no idea how to handle relationships, how to express myself in my friendships with others. The time I was supposed to have spent developing those skills, I was instead being emotionally slingshotted back and forth by my parents, the people who were supposed to have set an example for me to follow and support me when I made mistakes. I tried to search for that support elsewhere, and I found people who were better, people who were worse, and I only knew the difference after it was too late.

I can only say that I was not capable of being a better person when I wish I had been. It is the only way I've been able to forgive myself and move on with my life, even if I still taste guilt and embarrassment in the back of my throat at the memories. If I were to ever speak to the people I hurt again, on a real, raw emotional level, I wouldn't expect them to forgive me based on "well, see, I was right fucked up and didn't really know it yet."

Thinking about the Slenderverse makes me think about the messy, reactive, depressed, and frankly manipulative person I have been. Being a "people pleaser" is, in my experience, a version of an emotional manipulator. Not for particularly nefarious reasons, but because when someone reached out to offer to me love, a desperate little girl with claws reached back. I didn't mean to hurt people, I didn't abuse a power structure to get what I wanted out of them. I was just utterly graceless with how I handled the emotional wellbeing of both myself and anyone who tried to show any care for me.

Another thing I've been working on is challenging my pattern of "black and white" thinking. Some people really were innocent, and I really did hurt them because I was messy. Some people may have started out innocent, but along the way I realized they wanted what I couldn't give, and I had to let them go. Some people may not have intended to hurt me, but did. Some people may truly have never valued me as a person, and only acted as if they did.

It's all grey. Kind of in a fog, really. I have few clear memories of that time, and I'm grateful that they are mostly good ones. Trying to dig them up by going back through my blog feels like performing open heart surgery on myself. I think it's worth revisiting, even though it feels like retreading over ground that is not a place of honor, where no highly esteemed deed is commemorated, where nothing of value lies.

I don't regularly speak to anyone from that era of my life. Even the friends that I love dearly, that helped me through some of my worst moments. It's like there's ooze all over my thoughts of the Slenderverse, due to the actions of both others and myself, and it's all over anything or anyone tangentially related to it. It isn't their fault. I just needed to move on, get some distance from it. Maybe now's a good time to revisit it, but I don't think I get to just walk back into anyone's life like I never quietly excused myself. I don't even think they see it that way. We all just have our own lives.

But I'm thinking of them, a lot. And I wish I could show them how much better I'm doing beyond the occasional social media post. I'm not living in a utopia or anything, but I'm sure as fuck doing better than I was before. I'm learning how to not hurt people, especially not like I used to, and how to apologize and make things right when I do.

I'm still kinda fucked up and probably always will be, in some ways. But I talk kinder to myself, now. I try to value my wellbeing as often as I can. I point out to myself when something should be communicated. I have fewer, but more solid, sources of support.

I'm doing my best out here. I hope they are, too. All of them.

It would have been funny to see Hornetcon mentioned in the doc. It wasn't a doc about the fans, though, so I get it. But it would've been funny to tell my perspective of the Verse at that point. And I was in it, technically! Behind the camera during the clips they used of the WhisperedFaith BTS video, and one or two of the Shamhouse! I had a place in the Verse solely due to the compassionate, if tumultuous, friendships that were built and later left to decay. I never created a Slenderseries, but I created fanworks, memes, co-created a big fangroup chatroom (though it wasn't an entirely successful or able-to-be-inclusive chatroom, all things considered. imagine a discord server of like a hundred people, dozens active every day, with only one channel. god the days of skype were dark.) I supported, I visited, I loved, I cared deeply. But my experience was only a microcosm of the big picture, and that was already captured quite well. I know where my place in the artistic collaboration was, however extraneous.

And I hope Tharol is doing okay. I was mean to him when he messaged me last, in like 2015, in a furious attempt to rid my life of that Slenderverse-tainted ooze. I wish I could tell him, along with so many others, that I'm sorry.

alright that's all i got, no editing no beta we die like jeff, send post

[onewingedsparrow]

🥰🤔⚔️

🥰 Say one nice thing about me One? I don't know if I can limit myself. How about: one sentence. You are a vibrant soul with a gift for encouragement and affirmation towards others, always looking for opportunities to bless them through your words; I admire your active service in this field—whether you too think of it as service, I do not know, but I certainly recognize a fellow courage warrior when I see one—and I hope the innumerable blessings return to you a thousandfold from the spark of someone as equally warm and kindhearted as yourself.

🤔 What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of me? No thoughts, just: ✨ Seriously 😂 I see your name flash before my eyes and I think "MAIL!" :D first and foremost, before anything else comes to mind. The "actual thoughts" take a moment to load (all those sparkles slow down the framerate, naturally). When I actually think of you, then all our conversations come to mind. Zelda, Fire Emblem, everything. THEN I think about sorrow—how well you capture angst and dump it like championship confetti on TP Zelink.

⚔️ Guess my favorite Zelda game This could totally be a red herring on your part, and if so, kudos for the deception, but the safe guess is Twilight Princess, lol. Why do I believe this to be safe guess? No reason. No particular reason at all.

[reyesstrand]

fic stats meme

thanks for the tag @rmd-writes & @chaotictarlos (edit: & @welcometololaland who’s tag i saw moments after posting ajdnsjd) <3

rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words. (i’m going to be excluding prompt collections here, and only doing lone star works! )

most hits: lit the spark (that set a fire) (tarlos)

It's Judd who explains it to them; that before the accident and before the station was rebuilt from the ground up, the 126 had a long-standing, friendly rivalry with Ladder 102. Their golden boy, Carlos Reyes, well—he kind of knocks TK off his feet.

second most kudos: wanna be still with you (tarlos)

He's too focused on keeping himself upright, feeling woozy from the exertion, that there's a sort of hazy quality to everything around him. TK hears his name being called, and he's—he's certain it's his mind playing tricks on him; he has to be in some dreamlike state where Carlos has found them. But then he feels hands on him—big, sturdy, warm hands he would recognize blindfolded—and he turns his head and sees worried brown eyes and he just about crumbles.

Thankfully, he has Carlos there to catch him.

third most comments: tried and true blue (owen & tk/tarlos)

"She knows," Owen says, his eyes almost too sincere for TK to handle. He clamps his molars together and just stares at his father, because if he lets himself think too hard about all the ways his mom is still here, somehow, he'll probably burst into tears. Owen gives him a sad smile. "She does, TK. She used to talk about when you'd get married all the time."

There's a pause, and TK curls his fingers tighter around his mug, letting everything simmer between them.

"When I got married," TK quietly repeats. "Not if?"

fourth most bookmarks: to be reborn (tarlos)

In a flurry of movement, TK wakes up. TK tells him, voice soft and rough around the edges: "Breathe." And at that moment, Carlos knows the rest can wait.

fifth most words: to which there is no reply (tarlos)

Everything about TK makes him forget. But then it all comes back to him slowly, not unlike a spark to kindling, leaving Carlos swallowing down his grief like the fire it is—trying to consume it all by himself so he’s the only one who feels the burn.

He glances out the half-open window, and sees the white dots of birds drifting on the low tide, and he wonders how he’s supposed to leave it all. The salty air, the pleasant sun, the way TK walks without a line of tension in his shoulders. He knows they’ve transcended all different sorts of honeymoon phases since they gave their relationship a real go a few years ago; he knows that they’ll still be them once Owen picks them up from Austin-Bergstrom and they go home to the loft and work and responsibilities and Lou II. But he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go back to a life without his father.

fic with the least words: hold on to me (nancy/marjan)

She tries to keep herself focused on tiny tasks as she prepares to go home; the shower had been blissful, but now she longs for her own bed. Cap had told them they’d be able to take a few days off to grieve, and so she grabs the dog-eared paperback Carlos leant her a week or two ago and her headphones from her bunk and stuffs it all into her bag, approaching the stairs as she goes. It’s then that Marjan hears it, tiny but distinctive in the quiet firehouse: a thud, followed by the sound of frustrated cries, all suspiciously coming from the ambulance bay.

Marjan moves quickly, maneuvering deftly around workbenches and supplies in the bay, biting on the inside of her cheek when she sees the source of the noise: Nancy, hunched over in front of Tim’s locker, staring down at the box of his belongings that’s tipped over onto its side.

no pressure tagging @paperstorm @theghostofashton @freneticfloetry @alrightbuckaroo @carlos-in-glasses @rosedavid @heartstringsduet @beautifulhigh @marjansmarwani @terramous @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut and anybody else who’d like to try this out! <3

[imperator-titus]

Hey my fic is done!

This is it, and it's long! Thank you to everyone who read, left kudos, comments (<3), bookmarked/subscribed, and so on! I enjoyed writing again, and might be thinking of writing something else soon-ish. If you enjoyed the story, PLEASE feel free to leave a comment, or hit me up somehow to talk about the fic or other stuff! (Please, I'm lonely.) If you haven't read in a while, you might be unaware that I edited the beginning of the fic, so maybe check that out! There is also a spotify playlist I made with the same title as the fic, if that interests you! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Text for those not on Ao3:

You have been formally invited to Ramazith’s Tower in the Upper City of Baldur’s Gate for an evening of dinner, dancing, and friendship. Formal attire is welcome but unnecessary. 

“There’s… quite a few people here,” Astarion remarked with a little bit of trepidation. All around them bustled familiar faces, dancing to jaunty music and talking with plates piled with food in their hands. The tower was lit up with floating candles, shiny baubles, and ribbons. Lorroakan was probably rolling in the ditch Rolan left him in to see this celebration being held in his former sanctuary.

“Rowan convinced Rolan to take in the refugees from the Grove and some of our other friends,” Shadowheart explained after a chuckle, sending a little wave to Mayrina. The young woman seemed stuck between wanting to eat every single thing on the buffet table and never touching another crumb. 

“Yes, that sounds like Rowan,” Astarion mumbled, watching Leon dance with his daughter. Victoria was dressed like a little princess, her hair done up in extravagant curls and bows. He never cared for the girl before, but now it filled him with a little bit of hope to know she was free from the Szarr Palace.

So many smiling faces, all in one place, because of them. Smiling as if the world might not end tomorrow. 

People knew his name. They were thanking him, wishing him luck. What a strange feeling.

When he found Rowan, he almost didn’t recognize her. The ensemble was entirely black, save some accents on the cuffs and some jewelry. The only dressing-up he’d ever seen her do, aside from wearing the necklace and ring he gifted her. Instead of rising up the neck like his, her jacket collar laid flat against her chest. Black slacks in some sleek material hid the top of her black boots, one of the pairs he had made for her. Underneath the jacket was a black shirt whose collar hugged her neck, tucked into her trousers and hidden with a black silk sash decorated with a silver and red pattern. Holding the collar closed was a black cravat with a waterfall of lace and pinned to the center was… a red gem in the shape of a drop of blood and little bat wings?

“My love, where in this gods-damned city did you find this outfit?” Astarion asked in utter disbelief as he approached. The huge smile she flashed him and the proud stance she was using to display herself disappeared in the face of his apparent criticism. 

Upon closer inspection, he realized that the jacket was made of brocade, the pattern made with a slightly shinier black thread that created a subtle texture when light hit it a certain way. Part of what he thought was a shirt was in fact a vest of flat black with silver buttons. At her suit cuffs were silver buttons with red gems at their center. Her hair was freshly cut, the sides returned to their near-scalp length and the rest swept back at perhaps ear-length. Adorning her ears were, well, ears. Silver wire and red gems made up an extension to her ears to make them closer in shape to an elf’s. 

“You don’t like it,” Rowan said quietly in embarrassment, unable to look at him. Her lips were colored slightly more red. He could see the chain of the necklace he gave her poking out under her cravat, worn to keep him close but hidden to not clash with the overall look.

“No! I mean yes! I mean- agh!” Astarion took her hands in his, which prompted her to look up. Grinning, he spread her arms out so he could get a better look at her outfit. “Maybe not exactly to my taste, but the more I look at it… It’s-”

“Fresh?” she asked hesitantly, but hopefully.

“Yes. Fresh . New, but with a hint of old. But most importantly; do you like it?”

“I was worried it was a little much…” Rowan’s cheeks turned red and she looked down at the floor. “I’m rethinking the ear cuffs.”

“I appreciate the obvious influence I have on you,” Astarion told her softly, letting her go. “Who do I have to thank for this lovely view?”

“Rolan.” Astarion tilted his head and she chuckled. “It’s an illusion. I drew it and he changed some clothes for me. Tried to make it a bit like the fashion back home.”

Astarion touched the pin on her cravat and with a smirk he said, “Well, I think you look ravishing.”

“Thank you… I feel silly, but knowing you like it makes me feel a bit better.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re happier when wearing a different skin.” Taking gentle hold of her chin, he pressed his cold lips against hers. Leaning only a few inches away, he whispered, “I’ve grown quite fond of it.”

Rowan was stunned for a moment and then broke into laughter, waving him off. It would’ve irked him before, but now he knew that he’d hit just the right tone and remark to fluster her without making her angry.

“I’d invite you to dance, but I have two left feet,” Rowan told him shyly. Astarion smirked and made a soft sound of amusement in the back of his throat.

“We should have gotten more lessons with Wyll. Who knew the end of the world would involve so much dancing?” Then he offered her his hand. “I would be honored to have you by my side tonight. Dance or no.”

Rowan slipped her hand into his. “At least if everyone dies, no one will remember we made fools of ourselves.”

“That’s the spirit.” Leaning in, Astarion whispered, “Now. Show me where Rolan keeps all of the good stuff.”

----

In the morning, Astarion greeted the sun as it came through the tower’s windows. After putting on his armor and draining a whole barrel of Rowan’s blood, he headed downstairs to meet up with the others. She intercepted him before he got that far.

“I thought you’d be with the others.” 

“I already saw them. I came to give you something.” She took out a small leather pouch and opened it to reveal some marbles. They were of varying sizes and softly glowing blue. “These have some of my magic in them. You should be able to break them and it’ll help you. I tried one, it summoned some sort of spirit.”

It felt weird, holding a manifestation of her mysterious power. It occurred to him that some of it might have once been Cazador’s. Ironic to have his master protecting him now. 

“I gave everyone some, but this is just for you.” She presented him with a sash of the blue-white yarn he'd seen her spinning and knitting in her downtime. She secured it around his bicep like a lady giving a knight her favor. “This has protected me before. I call it fateweave, even if it, well, isn't woven.”

Astarion felt a little overwhelmed. The coming fight was finally real to him. Eyes shut tightly, he took her in his arms and crushed her into his chest. “I promise to come back.”

“You will.”

“Because you can see the future?” he asked a little facetiously, a small smile on his lips.

“I only know the possibilities. I just trust the chances.”

Astarion touched the fateweave tenderly, his smile widening at one corner. “Well, I feel a little less terrified knowing our resident expert isn’t hanging crepe.”

Despite Rowan’s encouraging words, Astarion didn’t always feel so confident. Trudging through bloody sludge, mounting crumbling noble houses. Stepping onto a giant floating brain with a red dragon in his face and mindflayers between them and their goal.

The first time he tried one of Rowan’s little gifts, it was small. He broke it between his fingers and for a moment, he thought it was a dud, as all that came out was a wisp of light. That light turned into a raven that drilled itself with impossible speed through a cultist’s eye, killing them. He briefly caught glimpses of his companions using the beads to heal wounds, summon similar spirits, or imbue them with extra strength. They were probably all a little surprised at, and more grateful for, their little camp follower.

When things felt a little dire in the ruins of the city, and he was sure that he was being dealt a killing blow, the fateweave turned the spell or blade aside. Each time it got a little shorter, like a dandelion shedding its seeds in a strong wind. The biggest of the beads summoned a horde of screaming berserker warriors, lashing out at any foe in their way.

Withers was right. The arrows Rowan forged for them were quite useful, if unorthodox.

With the brain defeated and their bodies hurtling out of the sky, Astarion wondered how Rowan saw this all ending. He felt a brush of something electric on his cheek and thought of her. Did the others, her friends and protectors, feel it too and wonder if it was her?

Thank the gods they made sure everyone could swim. Thank the gods he didn’t need to breathe, but not everyone had that luxury. On the docks, their victory was short-lived. Astarion could feel his cranial passenger die at the Netherbrain’s orders.

Then the sun came up from the horizon. It burned. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. That familiar flash of searing pain as the holy light found his undead skin. He had no choice but to run. He didn’t stop until he was in a hole deep enough in the docks that only the barest rays of sunlight could be found.

Astarion dropped onto the ground, wet and malodorous, and wept. His time in the sun was so short compared to how long he’d gone without, but it meant so much. It hurt so much to have it ripped away, even when he knew it would happen.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure something out,” Rowan said to him gently and that electric tingle ran along his back. Shocked out of his self-pity, Astarion lifted his head from his hands to see the shape of Rowan beside him. It was less detailed than Gale’s mirror image and it was only blue-white in color. It was attached to him by the sash she’d tied around his arm. He could see it smile.

“Is this really you or am I going insane as well?”

“It’s me.” Her image touched his hair, but didn’t move it. It was as if she was speaking to him from across some great distance.

“It hurts,” he sobbed. “I had to run . It was humiliating.”

“They’re your friends. They won’t think less of you.”

They sat for some unknown amount of time in that horrible place. Astarion alternated between shuddering sobs and telling her bits of the adventure that he could remember. She sat and listened, offering sounds of shock and amusement when appropriate. Gods how he wished they were back in that wizard’s tower, the windows blacked out, their bodies interlocked on the freshly-made bed.

“If you want… I can try to protect you from the sun. Just until you get back,” Rowan eventually suggested. From the sound of her voice, it seemed she missed him just as much. “I don’t know how long it’ll last. If you’re careful and stay out of the sun as much as possible it’ll work.”

Astarion did just that. At first, he hesitantly stuck his hand into the sun. It burned for only a moment before it stopped. As he raced through the streets, dodging wailing widows and rubble, he tried to stay in the shadows. Eventually, he managed to get to Sorcerous Sundries.

“Well, that explains why she told Rolan to move everything valuable…” he muttered to himself in the safety of shade. Only the first floor of the building remained. Thankfully, the portal back to Ramazith’s Tower was still intact.

The tower was a flurry of activity as people made plans to help the city or repair damage to the tower itself. Some of them were even busy making food, discussing feeding the valiant heroes of the day and also Baldurians who were now refugees in their own homes.

Unconcerned about all that, Astarion took the portal to a higher floor where Rowan and Rolan spent the day controlling the tower and monitoring the group as they pushed through their final battle.

If it was possible, all of the blood would’ve drained from his face, leaving him paler than ever.

In the middle of the floor, in the middle of his huddled companions, was Rowan. Unmoving. Streaks of black ooze running down her face, from her mouth, her nose, gods her eyes, like tears. Her skin was marked with welts, healed but clear, making red-raw spider webs across a pale background. Halsin and Shadowheart knelt beside her, looking resigned. Rowan’s head laid in Gale’s lap and the wizard was very gingerly petting her hair like he might Tara. Rolan was nearby, flinging books around haphazardly, his voice strained and beyond understanding.

Whatever happened here, they hadn’t told the people sheltered in the tower. None of them said anything to him about this, only greeted him with excitement when he stepped out of the first portal.

Astarion was on his knees, unable to touch his love for fear that he might break her. He didn’t understand what he was looking at. He could hear her shallow breaths, the steady beat of her heart, but there was nothing in her eyes.

“Why haven’t you done something?” he snapped at the healers. They were too tired to flinch.

“We’ve tried everything we know,” Halsin answered, unable to sound reassuring. He was holding one of Rowan’s hands, sometimes feeling for her pulse, but mostly just giving it comforting strokes with his thumb.

“We don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Shadowheart explained further. She moved away to give Astarion space at Rowan’s side.

“Rolan found her standing, but unresponsive, once the Brain was in the Chionthar. He kept everyone downstairs until we arrived,” Gale told Astarion, but his voice was surprisingly quiet and soft. Astarion sometimes forgot that the two were friends before that night in Cazador’s palace. Perhaps they were all regretting that last night’s feast might be the last time they spoke to her. “When we got here, she was like this. She’s been like this for two hours now.”

Unable to deal with this, Astarion asked, “Where are the others?”

When Karlach’s engine started to burn and she was ready to greet death, Wyll convinced her to go back to Avernus with him. He pledged that she would never be alone and they’d find a fix or a cure so she could come back for good. Minsc and Jaheira were running around the city like the folk legends they were, hunting down mindflayers and cultists, saving people in need. Lae’zel had been here, but when it looked like nothing could be done, she went out in search of Astarion.

Astarion grabbed as the fateweave favor on his arm, but it was no more. It was all used up to protect him from the sun. He clutched the spot anyway, vibrating with the horrible pain that was threatening to come out. Fangs extended and a hiss escaped his throat when someone touched him or tried to convince him to let go of her hand.

Then the portal made its characteristic sound and someone stepped out. Victoria, still done-up from the feast, came towards them. Shadowheart leapt to her feet and intercepted the girl before she could see what they were doing.

“Y-you shouldn’t be up here!” Shadowheart warned her, more shocked than angry. Victoria took a step back, looking up at Shadowheart with big eyes. Then the girl extended her fist and opened it to reveal two blue-white orbs.

“I wanted to give these back to Auntie Rowan,” she explained in a hushed voice. “Me and Pa- Papa and I didn’t need them.”

“Oh?” Shadowheart managed to say through her surprise. She held out her hand uncertainly and the girl deposited the beads. Victoria smiled and waved before going back downstairs.

As if possessed by some demon, Astarion snatched the beads from Shadowheart. He was tempted to force-feed them to Rowan, but didn’t want to risk choking her. Instead, he pressed one bead into the palm of her hand and everyone’s eyes went wide as it dissolved into her skin. Frantically, nearly dropping it, he pressed the second one into her hand. A second later, her hand twitched.

“Oakfather be praised. Let us see if anyone else still has one,” Halsin said as he stood, indicating that the others should follow. Gale carefully lifted Rowan’s head from his lap, scooted back, and placed it gently on the floor so he could help. It also left Astarion alone with her, save for Rolan, who was still frantically looking for a spell or some hint as to what happened.

“I don't want to be lonely either,” Astarion sobbed, holding her hand to his cheek. It didn’t feel nearly as warm as it was supposed to be. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

Eventually, the others came back with only a few of Rowan’s beads. Astarion diligently placed them in Rowan’s palm and when he was done, the barest sign of life returned to her eyes. 

“I was hoping for more, but change is good,” Halsin remarked, checking her over again. Astarion had to resist the urge to sink his teeth into the druid’s hand. “Time will tell. In the meantime, we should rest.”

Halsin and Shadowheart left, but Gale remained standing over Astarion’s shoulder. Either someone told Rolan to rest as well or he finally expended his energy.

“Halsin’s right, we should rest and regain our energy. We can’t take care of her if we don’t take care of ourselves,” Gale told Astarion gently, earning himself a sharp glare. Gale leaned away like he was threatened, but he wasn’t. He put up a finger. “You want to say I don’t care. I admit, I can be a bit harsh, strike the wrong tone. I assure you, I care. I care very much, about both of you. I was hoping that, when all this was over, the two of you would be my guests at Waterdeep. We all care, very much. But we’ve all been through several hells today, some of us literally, and exhausting ourselves will not help.”

Eventually, Rowan was “awake” enough that it wasn’t like moving a dead body. It took a lot of encouragement to get her to do what he wanted, like stand up and follow him to a bath. They should’ve been giggling, kissing, filled with post-battle excitement. Instead, he did his best to wash her. Nursemaid wasn’t high on the list of possible careers for someone like Astarion.

“There’s a handsome man under here somewhere,” he said to himself, repeating something from long ago that stuck with him.

At some point, Halsin joined them. The druid was worried that Astarion would insist on carrying a burden he had no clue how to bear. And he was right, really, because what did Astarion know about taking care of someone? He wanted to scoff, to say he was too good for this, that he was meant for more. But how could he? It was killing him all over again, how much he loved her.

Was she still in there? Was this just some husk that he would care for until it wasted away? Did Rowan know this would happen all along?

“I should have waited until nightfall,” Astarion said to himself in a chastising tone. “She would be better than this.”

“We don’t know that,” Halsin reassured him, putting down the spoon he was patiently feeding Rowan with to give Astarion the attention he so obviously needed.

“Rolan said that Rowan was suffering everything that her power protected us from. Every near-death, every spell that was just a little weaker.” Astarion took the spoon rather angrily, taking his turn putting soup to his lover’s lips. “If I hadn’t gone into the sun, she wouldn’t have suffered for me. There would be more of that magic for her to reabsorb.”

“Rowan told you to brave the sun. She wanted you to come back here.”

“For what? She’d get better help from those Ilmater priests. Or you.”

“I would care for her, if it came to that. But I do not think that is what you truly want.”

“What would you know about what I want?” Astarion bit back, both words and eyes sharp.

“Rowan is the first thing you have cared for. Loved. I cannot imagine the guilt of turning away from that.” One of Rowan’s wounds broke as she opened her mouth to receive what Astarion was giving her. With a tender touch, Halsin healed it. “I will not lie; it will not be an easy task. It will be easier if you accept help from your friends.”

“Accepting help and running towards hardship aren’t exactly some of my virtues.”

“Maybe it is time you gave them a try.”

Halsin taught him how to care for her, those annoying everyday things that you took for granted when you’re incapable of them. Shadowheart managed to teach him a minor healing spell to deal with her wounds returning every so often. Gale taught him, and Lia, how to cook human food. Interestingly, Lae’zel taught him patience.

There came a time when Astarion just couldn’t look at Rowan. Looking at her filled him with dread. In such a moment, when he couldn’t make sense of his thoughts, he practically dragged Rowan to the gith’s room and left her there without a word. The sun was low in the sky and so, with some careful footwork, he managed to just… walk around the city.

It was a hellhole, obviously. There were still bodies in some places. Rubble was everywhere and you could still hear the sobs of the aggrieved, even after a few weeks.

When he returned, still afraid, still confused, but feeling guilty for running away, he found a most unexpected sight.

Lae’zel was teaching Rowan how to hold a spoon. She would place the utensil in her hand and after a second or so it would fall down with a soft clatter. Lae’zel merely picked it up and put it back in her hand. “Tighten your grip.”

“She doesn't understand you,” Astarion insisted, crossing his arms. 

“Halsin says that some people must relearn how to do simple tasks,” Lae’zel explained, watching the spoon totter in Rowan’s hand for a moment before clattering once more. “There has been a small increase in time that the spoon remains in her hand.”

“How long have you been at this?”

“An hour.” The spoon fell. Instead of handing it back to Rowan, Lae’zel flipped it around to present the handle to Astarion. “Now it is yourturn.”

“I know how to hold a spoon, even if I don’t need to.” When Lae’zel didn’t budge, he snatched it from her hand.

Astarion managed to do ten minutes of this game before huffing in frustration.

“I’m not living the rest of your life feeding you,” he grumbled as he picked up the spoon. Forcing it into her hand once more, pressing her fingers down on the handle, he said, “Now hold. The damn. SPOON.”

Rowan held the spoon for three seconds before it slipped out from between her fingers. 

Astarion just stared at it. Was this even doing anything? How did Lae’zel of all people sit here and do this for an hour? Was he really that incapable of this simple task?

Sometimes Astarion blamed his bad mood on hunger. Even he could see the moral dilemma of using Rowan as a personal blood donor while in her current state. If he had to eat one more rat in his lifetime, he might actually walk into the sun. Under Cazador, he would have no problem catching the numerous animals running free in the streets, their masters and homes most likely gone. It felt wrong, feeding on something that walked up to him of its own accord, hoping for a treat of its own or just a gentle touch.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to feel bad about draining dry thugs threatening some poor mother bringing home bread for her children or pilfering valuables from ruined manors. Which he then took it upon himself to pilfer. He wasn’t completely reformed. He got a little smirk on his face when he imagined the aneurysm Wyll would have seeing this behavior. 

The first to go were Shadowheart and Lae’zel. They told him, while holding hands, that they were going to find some place quiet outside of the city where Shadowheart’s parents could recuperate after their long imprisonment by the Sharrans.

“Well, make sure to say good-bye to Rowan,” he responded, wondering how he never noticed that the two were a… thing. “Not like she’ll notice, of course.”

Next was Halsin.

“It was not my intention to stay so long in the city,” he explained, obviously aware of the impending fallout. “I am returning to Reithwin. I hope to rebuild it into something new, now that the Shadow Curse has lifted. Thaniel tells me that refugees have already started gathering there.”

“Ah, so it’s a numbers game, is that it? One helpless soul versus hundreds of unwashed masses?” Astarion asked him with clear distaste, all of his irritated sass on display.

“I love Rowan, but I’m certain she is in good hands. This is an opportunity to right my wrongs.”

“Fine.” Astarion probably bit the word off a little more than he intended. He’d apologize later. Maybe. If he remembered. He’d write a letter.

Then there was Gale.

“Where’s the crown?” Astarion asked as soon as he saw that Gale’s things were all packed. That could only mean that the crown was retrieved from Chionthar.

“In Mystra’s hands.” Gale chuckled. “I wasn’t foolish enough to bring it here.”

“Foolish?”

“Is it not obvious? You would’ve insisted I use it to fix Rowan. Or you would take it for yourself.”

“Instead you save yourself.”

“Indeed. Becoming a god would have very likely brought out the worst of me. Who is to say I would have helped her? She belongs more to Kelemvor or Ilmater than to a god like Mystra.”

“I never thought the day would come that I would miss Gale of Waterdeep.” Gale was deeply hurt by this, but only let a fraction of that hurt show.

“Well. Here I thought we were friends. I will blame your grief.” Astarion scoffed derisively.

“Save your blame for when I throw her in the Chionthar.”

Gale gave him a very stern glower. “If you have any intention to harm her, I warn you-”

“I’m not going to kill her! I’m going to spend every fucking waking moment of the rest of her years taking care of her. I get a lecture about accepting help and most of it has left! After what? A couple of weeks? She can’t even manage stairs!”

“I understand your frustration.”

“Frustration? ” Astarion asked, eyes wide, body tilted to the side as if to get a better look at Gale. Then he wagged his finger at the wizard. “No no no. You , and eeeeeveryone else, gets to move on. Sure, you love her, but you have a life to get to. Healing to be done, images of idyllic bliss, going back to your families or making new ones. Meanwhile, I have to watch the only family I have die . Slowly . And she doesn’t even know it. She can’t tell me to go live my life! She can’t throw herself into the sea to spare my feelings!”

Gale was silent. Perhaps ashamed. He wasn’t changing his mind, just recalculating how he felt about the situation. Calculating how to deal with the sight of Astarion’s tear-streaked face.

“You are right.” Gale knelt beside Rowan, who was sitting on a cushion on the floor, a book in her lap. At regular intervals, a mage hand turned the page for her. Gale placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She didn’t react. “Get well. I know you will, just as I know that I will miss you.”

Eventually, Astarion would apologize to Gale as well and he would finally accept that they were friends. Just a little bit.

Astarion was often worried. Worried that she was going to choke on whatever he managed to get down her throat. That he would find her at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck. That he’d wake up with his hands around her throat, begging her to die already.

He felt like she was watching him, even if her eyes weren’t on him. She was judging him for leaving her alone for hours while he found opportunistic thieves and murderers to slack his thirst or just to avoid her. With nowhere to go in this crumbling city, the tieflings were still there, and he told himself that she couldn’t be in that much danger. She was judging him for making the same flavorless soup for every meal of every day for a week.

Astarion even avoided her in his dreams. It scared him, what was behind those strange doors that once connected them. Was it blank? Was she still there, normal as ever? Would she scream at him, hate him?

Another morning. Astarion was still in a strange state between his old schedule and the one he developed during their journey. There were about four hours in the middle of the day when he could meditate. Then he would make her dinner, feed it to her, get her ready for sleep, and leave for the night. When he got back, it was time to get her ready for the day, make breakfast, feed her breakfast, and find something to do.

It was driving him insane, even when people helped.

He kept trying with the spoon, just to prove to Lae’zel he could. Sometimes he tried it with a charcoal pencil, hoping against hope that she would magically be able to communicate.

One day, something hit a window. Astarion stood near it, ears focused on the possibility of a repeat offense. When it didn’t come, he shrugged it off and returned to the table. The pencil fell out of Rowan’s hand and sighing, he went to fix it. At first he brushed the markings off as random, made when her pencil fell. Then he really looked at them. They were a sort of… crude bat?

“Surely not…” Astarion muttered to himself. Rowan dropped the pencil again, letting it roll off her fingers as she slowly turned her palm to the ceiling.

Astarion went out onto the balcony. The sun was low enough that it was practically hidden by the horizon, so he didn’t have to be so careful.

There, in front of the window, was a bat. He poked it with the piece of paper, but as he suspected, it was dead. It probably hit the window and broke its neck. Normally, he would’ve left it, or thrown it off the balcony. This time, he scooped it up with the paper and brought it inside. 

Finally, he’d gone insane. It was bound to happen.

Insane or not, he gently placed the bat in Rowan’s upturned hand. To his surprise, she made a soft ‘shh’ sound. A few moments later, the bat twitched back to life. It seemed confused, licked her hand, then looked up at him with its beady little eyes. Very carefully, before it could start flying around causing havoc, Astarion scooped it back up and took it outside. After a bit, it flew away.

“Bat,” Rowan said quietly upon his return.

“Darling?” he asked excitedly, lifting her face to him.

“Bat.” His shoulders sagged.

“Oh, please ,” Astarion begged, resigning himself to the fact that this was his life now. He was definitely going to go insane if this kept up. With a sigh, he straightened up. “Come along. It’s time you went to bed.”

His nightly walk found him in front of the Szarr Palace. It was surprisingly untouched. In the shadows, he waited, playing mindlessly with the family ring that would open the front door.

Astarion wasn’t afraid of Cazador. At least, not in an active sense. The Cazador he knew was gone, truly gone. Rowan enticed the child within the vampire lord, a long-forgotten part of himself that was innocent, into the afterlife. Somewhere, sometime, that part would be reincarnated. But the part that tortured Astarion was consumed and was now, presumably, completely used up.

That didn’t mean Astarion was excited about going back there.

The place was empty, as he expected but wasn’t prepared to see. Everything was taken and sold to give at least something back to the people Cazador turned. It was honestly impressive that they managed such a thing.

Rowan had locked the place up before the final fight, so he doubted there was anyone there. Still, he wandered the halls, telling himself it was to make sure the place was empty.

Astarion came with the intention of gathering a spawn and bringing it back for Rowan to change back. Even the endless number of cells were empty. All he found was the control staff, broken, and some rotting bodies, presumably the people who chose to move on rather than start over.

Astarion brought Rowan every dead thing he could find. Rats. Dogs. He even dragged her out to Rivington to try it with a cow.

Some things came back, others didn’t. Rowan once said that she just felt when it wasn’t someone’s time. Without her ability to tell him, he just had to keep trying. He once brought her along on a hunt so she could bring his victim back. He’d tout it as a heroic ‘lesson’ or maybe he’d just drain them again. But it didn’t work and the whole time he was worried that it would go badly.

“Duck,” Rowan said quietly, sitting on his bed while he was going through his things. When did he get so much stuff? Most of it was absolutely useless. It just kept piling up and now he couldn’t find anything.

“Yes, darling, duck,” he said back with a sigh. He couldn’t remember what he was looking for. His head felt like it was full of cotton. “ Duck me. Duck this. Duck you.”

“Duck.”

“Yes, dear.” Astarion reached into a bag, touched something smooth, and with a look of confusion, pulled it out.

“Duck.”

“It… is.” Carved from a dark wood, it appeared to be a standard depiction of the common duck. On the underside was the message: “for Rowan, Oakfather’s love.” Of course it was one of Halsin’s. Astarion placed it in her hands. “Here you go, my love. Your duck.”

To his surprise, it didn’t fall out of her hands. Instead, she tightened her grip. The sight of her fingers curling around its shape made him break into tears. 

“Duck… butt,” she said tonelessly. Astarion chuckled through his sobs.

Normally, Astarion would leave Rowan with one of the tieflings. They were all trying to build lives for themselves in the city, usually this involved actually leaving the tower, but someone was always around. Maybe they knew and decided it amongst themselves even though he never asked. They all seemed happy to help, perhaps feeling indebted to Rowan for convincing Rolan to take them in.

After the ‘duck’ discovery, Astarion invited Rowan to spend his mid-day trance with him. For a while, he was afraid to indulge in their old closeness, wanted to distance himself from it. He didn’t deserve it. It was wrong. It would only hurt more when it was over.

But today, seeing her hold that little gift after so many hours of trying to get her to hold a spoon, he felt just a glimmer of hope. With her snuggled up to his side, her head resting on his chest, he indulged in this familiar ritual.

Like many of his ‘dreams’, Astarion found himself in the city. Sometimes things happened, like he’d sneak into some lord’s mansion and steal a prized necklace. This time, his feet took him to the Szarr Palace.

Of course, he didn’t want to go in. Cazador might be dead in the waking world, but anything was possible here. If this was a nightmare, there was no Rowan to come to his rescue.

Despite all of the reasons to walk on by, Astarion opened the door.

Greeted by darkness, his heart sank into his stomach like a stone.

Then the gentle sound of humming struck his ear.

Behind him was Rowan, dressed in the clothes she was wearing when they first met. Kneeling, she was picking things up and putting them back down while humming a song he would eventually recognize.

“Rowan!” he cried, rushing to her side. She didn’t really react to him, other than ceasing her song. His heart even further. Then she picked something up and placed it in his hands. The pin of her cravat from their last party.

“Bat.”

Astarion looked around at the things she’d surrounded herself with.

One of their matching rings, the self-warming wine bottle with the label she made, a bottle of perfume, his burial shroud.

A wooden duck, an acorn, a stone in the shape of a bear, a bundle of herbs.

A book on magic, a purple stone that glowed, a sachet of spice, a small figure of a tressym.

A candle, a gear, a stuffed bear, a broken horn. 

A mirror, a pendant made of opal in the shape of a crescent moon, a carving of a wolf, a potion whose contents swirled on its own.

A bloodstone, a poem about a hero, a basket hilt for a rapier, a pair of dancer’s shoes.

A silver blade, a miniature snoozing dragon, a honing stone, a bright yellow gem.

There were other things scattered about, like a miniature lute or anvil. In front of her was a box. Rowan reached in, pulled out a little figure, admired it with a smile, and put it down. When the box was empty, she would pick up a figure, admire it again, and put it back.

Astarion started sobbing, dropping the pin and hiding his face in his hands. He didn’t know what was worse, finding nothing or finding her like this. All he felt was pain.

“Here,” she said. He didn’t hear her at first. She repeated the word. He opened his eyes to find her looking directly at him, her hand tapping her lap. “Here.”

Astarion got on his side and laid his head on her leg. Rowan started humming again and combed her fingers through his hair. He started sobbing harder.

“Good boy,” Rowan told him in a soothing voice. 

“I miss you so much. It’s so hard. I don’t know what to do.” Rowan stopped petting his head and switched to stroking his arm. “Please tell me what to do. Please come back. I don’t understand.”

Rowan continued to lavish him with touch and emitted a soft shushing sound in between snatches of songs he remembered her singing to herself.

So began Astarion’s true downward spiral.

He would spend the entire day wallowing in hopelessness. Someone would try to be encouraging and he’d threaten to eviscerate them. If he wasn’t afraid of turning Rowan into a meal or letting her starve to death, he would lock the door and never leave.

One day, when he came out of his trance, she was gone. Astarion flew into a panic. He was ready to search every inch of the tower, but when he left their room, it was immediately apparent where she went.

The door to the balcony was open. Sunlight spilled out into the center of the otherwise dark floor of the tower.

Fearing the worst, he rushed into the light. As expected, it burned. Astarion tried to fight it, to grit his teeth and bear it, but he ran back inside before he could find her. Once the effects of the sun subsided, he rushed to the stairs and started yelling for someone, anyone, who could go outside.

It didn’t matter who, but Rolan answered. Confused, he asked, “What in the hells is going on down here?”

Astarion indicated the balcony door, still spewing wonderful, spiteful sunlight. “Rowan went outside.”

Thankfully, Rolan didn’t do that dumb wizard thing where they’re so smart they ask a stupid question, like “what do you mean?” or “why?” Instead, he went in search of her.

Astarion was in knots while he waited, praying to every god he could name. 

When Rolan guided Rowan back through the door and closed it behind them, Astarion leapt to his feet and took hold of her by the shoulders. Shaking her back and forth, he shouted, “What in the hells is wrong with you?! Do you know what you put me through? You ungrateful-”

“Hey!” Rolan yelled, one hand crackling with magic. The other pulled Rowan away from Astarion. The threat of a shocking grasp was unnecessary, as the blind rage bled out of him at the sight of Rowan protecting her head with her arms. Astarion took a step back, wringing his hands to keep them busy.

“I’m sorry,” he told them both sadly, unable to look up from the floor.

“She was messing with the plants,” Rolan started to explain. Astarion looked up in surprise and saw that her hands were covered in dirt and green stains. “I don’t really understand gardening of all things. That’s what the mage hands are for, I guess.”

“Rowan loved to garden,” Astarion said in almost mystified tone, taking hold of her dirty hands. Dusting them off, he went on, “She was always taking care of everyone’s potted plants…”

“Perhaps now that she has some… independence, maybe we should encourage her to do things she liked to do.” After giving it some consideration, he added, “We’ll take turns.”

Astarion was taken by surprise. “You would do that?” 

Rolan looked at him like it was a stupid question. “Of course.”

The matter settled, Astarion softened his eyes and his tone for Rowan. With a gentle smile, he said to her, “Let's get you cleaned up, hm?” 

Astarion did all the hard parts. Admittedly, they got a little less hard as Rowan started doing things for herself, but he was still exhausted. Rolan was probably right, taking her out into the sun to do some of her favorite things had some healing effect. At least Astarion could walk her around the balcony to stargaze and read to her before putting her to bed. They even cooked together, but as someone who didn’t eat, Bex and Lia were much better at it than him.

Sometimes he would come back from his nightly escapades to find her already dressed, sitting at the table, a spoon in her hand. Sometimes he’d find her staring at something, but really staring, not just looking off into space.

Nothing changed in her little dreamscape. Just black emptiness. Little reminders of the people in her life. He tried to keep all of his sadness and frustration inside until he came here, where no one could see him cry or hear him scream. The Rowan inside seemed to react to his emotions with kindness, whereas the one outside reacted with fear.

Every day felt mostly the same. A familiar feeling. At least there was no Cazador. Just the specter of guilt whenever he thought about running away from it all. So, a little like Cazador. Freedom meant he could choose, but he still felt trapped. Cazador trapped him with his love for Astarion. Astarion trapped himself with his love for Rowan. 

Leon and Victoria came to visit sometimes. Despite Rowan’s self-proclaimed disinterest in children, the girl was fond of her. Apparently she had lots of fun going through Rowan’s things when she was being resurrected all those months ago, when Astarion freed himself and the other spawn of Cazador. 

While the two were drawing pictures on the floor, Astarion caught Victoria humming a song Rowan hummed often recently.

“Where did you hear that melody?” he questioned her, maybe a little too harshly, for Leon elbowed him. “Did Rowan teach it to you?”

“Mhm!” Victoria confirmed happily, unaware that she was supposed to expand on that. Leon nudged her with a leading question. “It’s about magic paintings in a vampire’s castle. A very pretty vampire has to kill him, because the other one is mean. Sometimes the castle is upside down!”

An incredibly nonsense explanation that, considering the stories Rowan would tell, made sense. In a rare moment of clarity, Astarion recalled how he would find Rowan standing in front of a painting, humming the very same song. Leon joined him as he went to stare at it, hoping to understand some secret message.

“Just some old wizard, looks like,” Leon remarked, disinterested. “Not particularly good-looking.”

“If I’ve learned anything, coincidences are worth investigating.”

“From what I heard, you weren’t exactly the brains of the operation.” Astarion shot his brother a sharp glare, which Leon laughed off. “Why don’t we take it over to her and see what she does?”

Without waiting for an answer, Leon lifted the painting off its hook. Astarion inhaled sharply, looked behind him quickly, then turned back.

There was Leon and another man, looking back at them.

A magic mirror.

“It’s… me?” When he reached out, the other man reached out. Leon watched him curiously.

“What’s the big deal?”

“It’s my reflection, you git!”

“Right, it’s probably a magic mirror. Did you forget what you look like?”

“Yes!”

“Weird.”

“I was a vampire for two centuries!”

“But, to forget what you look like?” Astarion scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I suppose you didn’t forget everything from before you were turned.”

“Not really. I always wanted to get back to my mother, but I was worried about what she’d say.”

“Well, you were a late addition,” Astarion pointed out, waving his hand dismissively.

“No, I think pretty much everyone remembers things from before. Petras had a sweetheart.”

“What?!” Leon shrugged.

“I think Cazador really had it out for you. You were his favorite, afterall.”

“You were his favorite. You got the big room and the soft bed. I got bugs for dinner and a flaying for breakfast.”

“Vampires are just… really weird. I think he really loved you, in a really weird, fucked up sort of way.”

“I can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth right now.”

“Why would a wizard hide a magic mirror behind a painting?” Leon asked, choosing to move on.

“Who knows. That pompous ass Lorroakan probably didn’t even know. Rolan’s still finding things, mostly by accident…”

“Well, congratulations. Now you can wank off to yourself.” Leon chuckled as he propped the painting up against the wall and went back to his daughter. Astarion spent so long inspecting himself in the magic mirror that their visitors were gone when he managed to tear himself away.

“I apologize, sweetheart,” Astarion told Rowan softly when he returned to her side, placing a kiss on her head. “You’re probably hungry.”

While she ate, he continued to look at himself in the mirror. “They say that you stay the way you were when you were turned. Those Gur must have done a number on me.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No Gur.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I wasn’t killed by a bunch of Gur that I managed to piss off?”

“Yes.”

“Was I even a magistrate?”

“No.”

“How do you know that?” Of course, she didn’t articulate an answer. “Do you have Cazador’s… memories, or something?”

“Mm.”

“Let’s try an easy one: Was I beautiful?”

“Yes.”

“Am I still?”

“Yes.”

“Are you answering at random?”

“No.”

“Hm. That doesn’t really help, does it…” Looking at himself in the magic mirror, he poked at his ears. He thought she was exaggerating with those ear cuff illusions, but he really did have some large ears… He laid the mirror down carefully. Solemnly, he asked, “Do you still love me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to get better?” Again, she gave him a non-answer. His chest hurt. Not really, because he was dead, but his mind imagined the pain. “Am I going to get through this?”

“Yes.”

Astarion placed one of his cold hands on her arm. Rowan stopped holding the edge of her plate and rolled her arm over so her hand was palm up. Gently, he slid his fingers along her exposed skin, tracing the blue veins under milky-white skin, until he interlaced their fingers.

“I don’t even care if you’re just… saying things. It’s nice to hear.” She didn’t respond. He squeezed her hand. “Of all the weirdos I could have fallen for… you might be the weirdest.”

“Yes.”

----

Astarion was surprised by Withers’ invitation to a ‘reunion.’ He debated saying no, but Rowan became more expressive than ever when he spoke of it. So, for about a month, he worked on reversing her sleep schedule. They would have to move at night this time, and maybe a little bit in the late evening or early morning. Astarion didn’t relish the idea of accidentally burning to death on the road, leaving Rowan alone and defenseless.

Rolan gave them as many scrolls and potions as seemed useful, while Bex stuffed as much food as she could into a bag for Rowan. While on the road, Astarion was going back to hunting animals, but he managed to procure two ever-warm bottles of human blood to sip and keep him sharp.

At least their journey would be a bit shorter than last time; the destroyed bridge that forced them to go the long way to Baldur’s Gate was temporarily repaired. Astarion debated going through the Underdark, he at least wouldn’t be threatened by the sun, but with Rowan’s condition, it was just too risky. 

Most exciting, more than seeing someone new for once, was that he managed to get her suit made. He made a few tweaks, of course, because he knew better than her about fashion, but it was essentially the same. The pin was still the same, even if the sight of it made him roll his eyes. So cliche and yet… so adorable. A little tribute to him.

They were the last to arrive, but it was fashionable to be a bit late. Or so he told himself. Really, it was because Rowan’s outfit was a bit more complicated than her normal attire, so he struggled to get it perfect.

“Praise the Oakfather, Rowan appears much better than the last time I saw her,” Halsin remarked, the first to greet them with a broad smile. “You have taken good care of her.”

Astarion wanted to bite back with ‘no thanks to you’, but instead he smiled and bowed his head in humility. “Thank you. It hasn’t been easy, especially dragging her all the way out here.”

“Yes, I imagine so. Unfortunate that Withers chose not to set up in Reithwin, but I admit, it is more meaningful for you all that it is here.” Halsin pulled something out of his bag and placed it in Rowan’s hands. “An owl, just for you. I thought I would branch out.”

“Still fowl.” 

Halsin chuckled and wagged a finger at Astarion. “Owls are not fowl. Perhaps I can have Gale explain it better-”

“It was a joke, Halsin.” Astarion didn’t follow as Rowan wandered over to Jaheira and Minsc, who started doting on her in the strangest way. Halsin cleared his throat.

“And how are you doing, Astarion?” Astarion shook his head slightly, breaking free of his distraction.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t ask because I assumed the answer was ‘busy’ and ‘fucking everything that moves.’ Your usual activities.” Halsin laughed, that bassy sound that resonated in Astarion’s stomach and sent a thrill through him. 

“No, I was not chastising you for being rude. I was asking how youhave been holding up. Even the strongest of people struggle when they must care for someone with many needs.”

“Fine.” Astarion sighed and rolled his eyes in defeat. “Not that fine, but… Things have been better. Not always, but usually. I just remind myself that I love her… and she loved me.”

“That is a special kind of love that many only dream of experiencing.” Halsin placed a hand on his shoulder and Astarion started to shrug it off, but didn’t. “You look in need of a hug.”

“What I need is a fuck,” Astarion retorted bitterly, but then he chuckled. “When this all started, I felt like a starving dog, salivating at the sight of meat. But I didn’t eat, because I couldn’t do that to her. After a while I just… forgot what that hunger was.”

Halsin squeezed his shoulder, and to his surprise, Astarion threw himself into his arms. Thankfully, no one was watching, as they were all gathered around Rowan. Astarion couldn’t say how long he spent in that embrace, but it wasn’t long enough.

Out of nowhere, there was a sound much like a firework exploding. Then a bright crackling light streaked into the sky, circled back towards them, and zipped around them before hurtling back into the sky. It bobbed up there, little bits of colorful light breaking off like confetti. It did loops and spirals until finally it shot straight towards the spot where Astarion’s tent once stood and in a burst of brilliant light, it turned into a… door.

“What in the Hells was that?” Karlach asked, approaching the door cautiously. The others followed behind, peering around her broad shoulders.

“Withers’ idea of entertainment?” Shadowheart remarked.

“Rowan!” Astarion cried out, running towards the door. Throwing it open, he leapt through.

It was more fantastical than he remembered. They were under the boughs of a great tree, small sparkling lights in many colors circling around it. The gardens were sprawling and majestic, but the home still looked much the same. It always made him think of warmth and safety, somewhere calm and welcoming.

From above came a ball of glittering light, lazily spinning down like a leaf dropping in a subtle fall breeze. As it came closer, it became humanoid in shape. When it flipped right-side up and hovered just above the soft grass, its skin appeared white with streaks of blue flame. Much how a vampire burning in the sun might look.

“What sorcery is this?” Minsc cried out behind Astarion, who was too stunned to move. The figure rushed towards him, its arms spread wide.

“My Star, how I’ve missed you!” it cried in Rowan’s voice. It was Rowan. Astarion took a huge step back as it tried to embrace him. The figure, perhaps one of Rowan’s more genderless choices for her form, was actually made of electricity with a thin image over top to give it features and a sense of boundary.

It backed away from him quickly, shrinking slightly. Its feet finally touched the ground. The look on its face and in its eyes was indecipherable, but it gave off an impression of shame and hurt.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?!” Astarion shouted once he had an inkling of understanding.

“Astarion…” Karlach pleaded sadly. Sad on his behalf? Or Rowan’s? He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“No. I’m sorry. I don’t,” the figure answered, shrinking even further, its head lowering.

“I should have spent the last six months in some never-ending epic poem to hedonistic debauchery, drinking more wine than the Chionthar has water, in a pile of sweaty limbs, but instead, I’ve been taking care of you! ” The physical form was absent, despite Halsin’s effort to bring it along. “I’ve had to do everything for you! Do you know how hard that is?!”

The figure said nothing. Knowing Rowan, it was ready to burst into tears, into flame, but it would keep quiet because it knew that it deserved his venom. 

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about throwing you off that tower? Of walking into the sun so I could be free of the millstone you put around my neck? How guilty I felt even thinking those things? For wanting to abandon you? How trapped I feel? How much I prayed for something, anything, to change? To wake up and find that this was all some nightmare and I was still in Cazador’skennels?

“I’ve never known so much joy and hatred as I’ve felt looking at you now.”

With that, Astarion stomped past the figure and into the house, where he found any bottle of wine, uncorked it, and immediately tipped it down his throat. When it was gone, he finally looked around to see if anything was different. There was a painting, which wasn’t different, but now he could see that it was him. Growling, he snatched it off the wall and smashed its frame on the floor. Then he started on a second bottle of wine.

After some time, Gale entered the room.

“Why not leave?” he asked curiously, taking in his surroundings.

“Wine actually tastes like wine here. Why drink vinegar when I can have the best vintages of a land I will never see?”

“Ah, that is a good reason. May I try?” Gale held out his hand and, to his surprise, Astarion handed him the bottle. Sparing no thought for propriety, he took a swallow straight from the source. “Not exactly to my tastes, but I know a few distinguished wizards who would enjoy that.”

“Good. Take her with you.”

“You don’t mean that, Astarion.”

“You are the last person I want to talk to right now.” After a sip, he added, “Second-to-last, anyway.”

“Perhaps, but as is hard to forget, my last love was a goddess, so I might be the one best equipped for this task.” Gale took a deep breath and became very serious, with just an edge of gentleness. “I am not telling you to forgive or forget. You prevailed through a monumentaltask. Not everyone could have done what you did.” 

Astarion made a dismissive noise, but somehow it sounded a little… proud? At this, Gale smiled a little.

“And your feelings- well. We all have our dark thoughts, don’t we? At times I wanted to wander into the Underdark or have some merchant ship drop me in the middle of the ocean so I could be done with this accursed orb.

“That is all to say… You love each other very much. A love many would be jealous to have. I certainly am. And seeing all this, that has been created for the two of you? Even more so. You know each other deeply. Thatis what makes this so hard.”

Astarion sneered at his words, even if they comforted him a little. “You have no idea how I feel.”

“Perhaps not. I cherish our friendship enough that I would readily open my home and heart to you, so you might work through this, give you space in a marvelous city to take comfort in solitude or company, if you so desired. But I think, with all of us gathered here once more… It would be good to hear what Rowan has to say. But no one will make you.”

Astarion sat at the kitchen table for a long time, silently staring out into one of the gardens, draining bottle after bottle of wine that was made just for him. Time was different here, he was well aware, but regardless of that, he had no qualms making them wait.

Eventually, he staggered out, one last bottle in his hand. They were all gathered near the base of the tree. The druids were marveling at the garden, Karlach was trying to cheer Rowan up, and the others discussed the nature of such a place. They all turned to face Astarion.

“Well. Let’s get this over with. Explain yourself,” he slurred angrily, eyes narrowed at her.

Rowan’s form lifted its head and stood in the middle of them all, facing Astarion once it regarded them each in turn.

“There are no words to express how much I regret what has passed.” 

Astarion wagged his finger before slicing the air with his flattened hand. “No apologies. I don’t want to hear them. I want to know why.”

“I will start by saying… I have no idea what happened after the Brain was dominated.” Some of them exchanged questioning glances. “I… remember a searing hot pain, all throughout my body. I saw some of you, some of our friends, hurt by events I couldn’t see. I reached out to them. Then I was here. Like this.”

“You don’t remember talking to me after the sun started to burn? Protecting me from it so I could get to the tower?” Astarion asked with clear mistrust and disbelief.

“I’m s- no. I don’t. It was probably what part of me was left in the fateweave I gave you.” The form bowed its head. “What stands before you is what Jergal saved from oblivion. What you’ve been caring for is the vessel he made to keep me. I didn’t know at the time, but I over-extended myself trying to protect everyone. Without realizing, I used Jergal’s magic to fortify the spells I gave you and others. Without a complete soul, I became detached from the vessel and ended up here.

“Without your care, my vessel would likely be dead, and I would be trapped here forever.”

“How are we here now?” Gale asked academically, hand on chin.

“The place where we all gathered. The hearth around which we became friends and more. It is a place meaningful to me, my… rebirth-place. The veil between this plane and the physical is thin here. When the vessel came back, I could sense it and I knew at least one of you would be with it. I used much of my strength to push through and hopefully get your attention.”

Astarion looked up into the boughs of the tree, at the lights winking out to be replaced by new ones. Their swirling, mixed with the wine, made him dizzy in a giddy sort of way. “This is much different than the last time I was here.”

Rowan looked up as well, a wistful expression hidden on its face. “It is.”

“How do we glue you back together?” Karlach asked, cutting off Rowan’s wistfulness, distress clear in her voice.

“What has been done once, cannot be done again. To tether the two together once and for all? Only a price I will not ask or accept,” Rowan started, regarding her friend fondly. “A soul.”

“You were building a soul from those you helped. Where did it go?” Wyll asked, placing a calming hand on Karlach’s arm.

“I spread it amongst you all, woven into the strands of the weak fates I sheared off of your souls. It protected you from blades and spells, from missing critical strikes. It turned into raging warriors whose history flowed through my blood. It protected you from dragon fire, a doomed engine. The sun.”

“We will find you a new one.” Lae’zel insisted fiercely, puffing out her chest, a fire in her eyes. “We have done the impossible before.”

“Your kindness swells my heart, but your journey is done. You must live your lives.”

“Don’t say shit like that! You’d do the same for me!” Karlach cried, jabbing an accusing finger at Rowan’s form. “For any of us!”

Rowan shook her head. “I am not giving you a choice. I was never supposed to be here. This is how it is supposed to be.” 

“Your vessel worked its magic on dying animals and got better,” Astarion informed her, his voice a mix of annoyance and hope.

“Your care made it better. Animals are small, weak. I didn't derive power from them. Their fates are easily swayed.” 

Rowan regarded them each in turn, her head held high, like a hero saying farewell before sacrificing themselves for the greater good. Solemnly, she said, “I’m sorry that I made you care for me. It made me very happy to be your friend.”

“There must be another way,” Shadowheart pleaded, a determination in her eyes that rivaled Lae’zel’s.

“You would give up so easily?” Halsin asked sadly, voice dripping with heartbreak.

“The girl has made up her mind,” Jaheira retorted with pride, chin raised and admiration in her wizened eyes. 

“A warrior is brave in the face of death.” Minsc puffed out his chest and grinned like a lunatic.

“Please, Rowan, reconsider.” Wyll and Karlach gave her the biggest, wettest eyes. The cracks of Rowan’s form went from blue to red as she emitted a low growl of frustration.

“I have considered! All this time I have considered! That this could have been avoided if I had been more careful. If I found just one more person who could use my help. If I hadn't wasted power on frivolousfancies. If I had found one more zombie, one more spawn.”

Astarion felt hollow. Rowan seemed to perceive this, her cracks bleeding black to blue and her demeanor softening.

“Not you. No , I would never ask you to do that for me, and I wouldn't have accepted it, because it should be your choice, not some sacrifice. No. There were so many souls in those cells that I didn't take, because I wanted them to suffer. I wanted them to remember why I gave them no choice but to rot and die. The ones that hurt you. I didn't want them to become a part of me. I didn't take part of Cazador either, just the power he yielded.

“I thought I had time. In the aftermath, maybe I could find the solution. I wanted to see what life would be like without the threat, when life would have no choice but to change. But there is no more solution. There are no more “if only”s. This is how it is.”

Gale narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing everything he could find in Rowan’s speech and demeanor. “There is something you're not telling us. There is a solution.”

“If I won't tell you, then there is no solution.”

“There are other ways to bond a soul. Some much less nefarious than others.”

“Marriage!” Shadowheart cried, suddenly remembering something. “You asked if I was able to join you in marriage.”

“It was a possibility. Before. To fill in the gap. But now it is all gap.”

“Now you would be relying on them. If they died, you would die. If they wanted to sever the bond, you would die.” Gale turned to Astarion. “If you thought you're trapped now…”

Astarion shot him a sharp glance. “Quiet, you.”

“I've ruined the celebration,” Rowan remarked, obviously trying to change the subject. “I’m sorry. You should be drinking and dancing.”

“It's not a party without you, Ro.”

“I'm afraid you must go without my charming presence tonight.”

“You don't drop a fireball like that on us and wave us off. Didn’t take you for a devil.”

“If you want to stay and visit, feel free. My door remains open to you.”

Everyone stayed for a while, knowing that time outside passed much more slowly. They asked many questions, mostly marveling at what had been happening right underneath their noses. Gale tried to figure out some way for them to all communicate. He insisted that he would come to their old campsite again during Blackstaff’s break in order to visit.

After seeing everyone off, Rowan found Astarion in the bath, another bottle of wine in his hand.

“I’m not leaving,” he growled, emphatically sipping his wine before sinking deeper into the bubbles. 

“You have to leave.”

“Make me.” Rowan stared at him. “Go on. Convince me to leave.”

“The interesting thing about returning to this” Rowan indicated her electrical state “is that I remember. In a calm way, of course. No hysterics like the last time we were all here. I remember their faces, the sound of their voices. I remember how I died: slowly. The kind of death where people are relieved you’re gone, because there’s nothing left of you. You’re just a shell, held together by nothing but their memory of you.”

Astarion rose up a bit and put down his wine. “Rowan, I-”

Rowan held up a hand. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m not ripping my own heart out to turn the tables, to make you apologize to me . I put you in this position. I am sorry. I’m telling you this because I watched people suffer like you’ve suffered these past six months and you need to let me go.”

“No!” Astarion leapt up from the water. “They had to let you go because they couldn't do anything for you. I can do something.”

“Bind your soul to mine and pray we find another 7000 spawn somewhere?”

“I'm a vampire, I'll live forever so long as I stay out of the sun, running bodies of water, and don't get a stake rammed through my heart. I've had a thousand souls tied to mine. What greater romance could there be than becoming my love’s undying phylactery.”

Rowan shook her head. “I can't let you do this.”

“Yes you can. You've become so afraid of trampling on my freedom that you're taking my choices away.” Rowan opened her mouth in shock, then lowered her head in acceptance. Astarion’s firmness and confidence changed to surprise. Placing his hands on his soapy hips, cocked just a little, he went on, “I've made a very good point. Are you sure I wasn't a magister?”

“What?”

Astarion waved his hand about. “The other one. She said I wasn't a magister and that I wasn't killed by Gur. I assumed you knew that.”

“Probably magic from the other side banging around in there. That vessel is more Toril than Earth.”

“I’m sorry, you call your planet dirt?”

“We call our sun “sun” and our moon is “moon”, too.” Astarion scoffed and shook his head.

“I never want to hear you criticize me ever again, that's ridiculous.”

“Hey, I didn't name them! Some old fucks were in charge of that.”

Astarion laughed, head thrown back, body swaying. “How I missedthis.”

“I've missed you too.”

“I said some nasty things-”

“I deserved it.” Astarion held up a finger.

“You did . But I shouldn't have saidthem.”

“It's okay. I don't expect your forgiveness.”

“I'm not forgiving you. Yet .” He took the ring off his finger and held it out to her. “ But… I would like to spend that time learning to forgive you… withyou.”

To his surprise, her form was able to hold the ring. She turned it over in her fingers.

“I don't want you to do this just to save me.”

“Darling, I'm as selfish as they come. I'm doing this because I want you back. All of it. And I don't care if you can't change shape or protect me from the sun or give me barrels of your blood. I want myRowan back. What is pledging to live the rest of your life together if not giving up some freedom for the guarantee that someone will pick you up when you fall and laugh with you when you make a mess of things?”

“If it's what you want.”

“No, my dear. Be honest with me, serve yourself for just a moment: is this what you want?” 

Rowan held out a hand. Astarion offered his. She slipped the ring back on. He admired it a moment as if it was the first time seeing it on his finger.

“Now that that’s settled. Let's have Shadowheart bind our souls together forevermore in the holy bonds of Selunite matrimony, or whatever , and then we can have the loudest, nastiest party that this group of do-gooders are capable of.”

Everyone stared at him expectantly when he reached the other side. There was no time for questions as a streak of lightning zipped out of the door after him. It spiraled up, came down, slammed into the ground, and rolled around a bit as if drunk or confused. It lifted up, shook side to side a few times, and then bobbed over to Rowan’s vessel. It made some loops around it, inspecting, and then tried ramming into it. It bounced off again and again, trying different spots. When the vessel opened its mouth, perhaps to say something inane like ‘owl’, the ball of electricity rushed in.

After some sputtering and coughing, the light in Rowan’s eyes returned to full brilliance. Karlach rushed to hug her, but Rowan held up a warding hand.

“Hold on, think I’m gonna be sick,” she mumbled as she crouched down, putting her head between her knees. “I’m so fucking dizzy.”

“Take your time, Ro.”

“Ugh, I feel like garbage. Did I lose weight?” Rowan rubbed her temples with the heels of her palms. “Why’d you feed me so many carrots?”

Astarion laughed nervously and looked away. “I’m better with a knife than a cauldron.”

Rowan briefly considered giving him a dressing-down, but her expression suddenly changed to abject horror. Tears welled in her eyes and she threw herself at Astarion, crushing him in an embrace.

“I’m so sorryyyy,” she sobbed hysterically, readjusting her hold on him to find the best place to latch on forever. Astarion gave her a few pats on the back.

“Well, at least I won’t resent you forever for not knowing how great I was.” Rowan started crying harder, so Astarion tried to laugh it off as if he’d been joking. “Come on, darling, let’s make this official before you turn back into a turnip.”

“If I’d known this would be a wedding, I would have come better-dressed,” Jaheira said cheekily. “Sorry I didn’t bring a gift.”

“At least the lovely couple looks the part,” Gale pointed out, fixing a wrinkle Rowan made in Astarion’s coat.

“You know, I never answered you. I can’t actuallyperform a wedding,” Shadowheart told Rowan apologetically as she similarly fixed Rowan’s clothes.

Smiling broadly, Halsin raised a hand. “I have. In the name of Silvanus, of course. But I would be honored to do this for you, if you so wished.”

“Not like we have much choice…” Astarion muttered under his breath. Rowan gave Halsin an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“It would have been nice to prepare some words, but we can’t all get what we wish for,” he said sheepishly, finding a good place to stand that seemed ‘official.’

“Don’t overthink it, they’re only the words that will bind us together until one or both of us die.” Astarion laughed as the reality of how true those words were sank in. “Preferably in a really hilarious or romanticway.”

“So be it. In the embrace of Silvanus, do you promise to cherish one another, to be each other’s strength, and each other’s home?”

“I do,” Rowan answered happily.

“I already did all that,” Astarion argued. Lae'zel elbowed him in the ribs. “Oomph . Yes , I promise.”

“Then may you walk as two souls- No. May you walk as one soul in two bodies? Under the su- moonand the Oakfather’s boughs.” Chuckling, Halsin made a gesture, pushing his palms together. “Now you may kiss, to seal this oath and begin your next journey together.”

To great applause, they did. They stared fondly into each other’s eyes like the lovesick protagonists they were. Then Rowan hiccuped and stuck out her tongue in disgust. “Your soul is, like, really bitter.”

“What a lovely thing to say to your new husband,” Astarion complained, but then laughed. “I suppose that does sound just like me.”

“Here you go, Ro, wash it down with this,” Karlach said cheerily, holding out a mug of beer to her. Rowan took an eager sip only to sputter. Most of them laughed.

“That’s even more bitter!”

“Serves you right,” Astarion told her, handing her another mug. “I seem to recall you preferring this.”

Rowan eyed it suspiciously, but it smelled familiar. She took a cautious sip. “Is there something wrong with this? It doesn’t taste right…”

“Tastes fine to me,” Wyll answered, taking a testing sip from the mug.

“I think we turned you into a vampire,” Shadowheart said. Rowan slowly opened her mouth and prodded the points of her teeth. Shadowheart chuckled. “Maybe part-vampire.”

“Still blue,” Astarion pointed out, peering into her eyes. Shadowheart held up a hand mirror, which failed to show either of their reflections. Astarion clicked his tongue. “Oh dear. Well, that’s disappointing. At least we found that magic mirror at Rolan’s.”

“Are you feeling… hungry ?” Jaheira asked in a conspiratorial tone, a little smirk on her lips. Next to her, Minsc’s eyes lit up and he cried out, “Fish! They are all neck. Perfectfor vampires.”

“Honestly… no. I’m not hungry at all,” Rowan answered, face serious.

“Hopefully it stays that way. Aside from never seeing the sun and being Cazador’spuppet, the hunger is probably the worst part.”

“But I liked food…” Gale put a hand on her shoulder and offered her a smile.

“You know, it’s not a wedding without dancing.” Astarion bristled.

“If you think you go first, you’re sadly mistaken, Gale.” 

“Of course not, but I am vying for the second dance. I’ve been practicing.”

Rowan enjoyed dancing, although she wasn’t good at it, and everyone got to tell her what they’d been up to. While listening to Minsc go on about… something or other, Astarion sidled up to her and grabbed her by the arm.

“You’ll have to excuse us, Minsc. Rowan looks a bit overwhelmed.”

“Yes! Minsc does have that effect on people… Especially weird not-quite-a-monster-but-not-normal-either people.”

In the woods, where after the party with the tieflings he fed and she slept, Astarion fixed her with a hungry look in his eyes. “I’m still furious with you… but how I’ve missed you.”

“If it helps, I don’t think I’ve spent a moment not thinking about you since the last time I laid eyes on your beautiful face.” She smirked devilishly at him. “I’ve especially thought a lot about taking care of you, if you catch my meaning.”

Astarion made a soft ‘tch’ noise and tilted his head. “You might have upgraded yourself to ‘angry’, but we’ll see how much all that fantasizing has paid off.”

When they got back, both a little disheveled, they were greeted by mocking, but cheerful, applause.

After patting his arm and giving Astarion a reassuring kiss on the cheek, Rowan went in search of Withers.

“Ah. Thou hast returned.”

“Thanks for inviting them, I guess. You could have saved us a lot of trouble if you just re-glued me, though. What, should I have left you a check?”

“Thy fate was to die, but it has never been known to be… hrm … reliable .” He tilted his head in the barest form of admiration. “You have always been persistent.”

“Thanks, Dad, I know you really mean that.”

“Hrm… Dad…”

Rowan thumped him on the arm and gave him a wink. “Be sure to write every hundred years.”

“So, what are your honeymoon plans?” Wyll asked when she returned. They were all joined around the fire like tender times of old.

“I am taking a long holiday. I will not lift a single spoon or rag for the next six months,” Astarion said after taking a sip of wine. “I will only be removing clothes.”

“I was thinking we’d visit Reithwin on the way back to Baldur’s Gate,” Rowan answered, ignoring Astarion’s not-so-subtle barbs. “I’d like to see everyone so they can know I’m fine. Then maybe we’d do some traveling, visit Waterdeep?”

“Magical! A room will be ready for you on your arrival. You might even fall in love with the place,” Gale said cheerfully, almost desperately.

“Doubtful. Hard to compete with the pile of rubble that’s Baldur’s Gate,” Astarion retorted. Wyll and Karlach sagged a little. He actually felt bad about it. “Sorry. It’s not that awful.”

“You’ve been eating non-Guild thieves and stealing jewelry from dead nobility for the past six months,” Rowan muttered.

“Now, hold on, I’ll have you know, I did many people a service by eating those thieves. There’s just no one to pay me for my good deeds, so… I stole some things. Do you know how expensive all those carrots were?” Rowan gave him a withering glare, then smiled. They both laughed.

“Good to see you two are starting on sure footing,” Shadowheart said with a humored smile.

“I’m going to miss you all so much,” Karlach said, sniffling. Rowan rested her head on her bicep and Karlach crushed her in a sudden hug.

“Oh, I know what I want to do,” Astarion interrupted suddenly, rather excitedly, as if the thought just occurred to him. “I want… to fuck on the ceiling of a temple.”

“Why?” Shadowheart asked, both disgusted, confused, and a little curious.

“It would be humorous,” Lae’zel answered for him, beaming with pride when he pointed at her and winked, a sign that she was right. “I am starting to understand the humor of Fae-run.”

“I think I don’t need to breathe anymore,” Rowan remarked, making Karlach realize that, if she was normal, Rowan would’ve passed out by now with how tightly she was gripping. Hopefully, she asked, “Can I become a necromancer now?”

“NO!” most everyone yelled. Astarion and Rowan emitted a small ‘aww.’ Everyone laughed, except Minsc, who was very serious. 

“Necromancy is no joke. Boo harbors only hatred for necromancers. They smell funny and do not keep tasty snacks around their lairs for him to nibble.”

“We are joking, Minsc. Lighten up a little.”

“How is something as evil as necromancers a joke, Jaheira?”

“They smell funny,” Lae’zel answered. Much to everyone’s surprise, they laughed.

“Regretting it yet?” Rowan asked Astarion as everyone tucked into bed.

“I always resented you a little bit, for protecting me. I didn’t want protection, I didn’t want to admit that I needed it. I wanted to be strong, all on my own, because all I had ever been was weak and I never thought I could trust someone. But then you needed my protection… Despite how painful and frustrating it was… I realized that protecting you felt good. I could express my love without honeyed words, or expensive gifts, or phenomenal sex.” He eyed her, a little smile replacing his thoughtful gaze. “Now, we can protect each other.”

“But you still want the compliments and the gifts and the sex, right?”

“Oh, of course, darling, I haven’t completely changed.” She kissed him and smirked as she pulled away.

“Wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Now let’s just pray we don’t burst into flames or fall into any spike pits.”

“There’s the sarcasm. I was starting to get worried.”

“How long do you think it’ll take? To find 7000 fragments of souls?”

“A very long time, I’d guess.”

“Good thing I stayed a vampire, then.” A moment passed in silence. “Did you know that would happen?”

“Kind of stretching the definition of ‘know.’ I’m not exactly Withers, and even he’s wrong sometimes.” Rowan reached out and plucked something from his shoulder. For once, Astarion saw it: a piece of fate, a wriggling blue-white worm in between her fingers. “This one is you slipping off into the dark when I’m not looking.”

“And you just stoleit from me?”

“It wouldn’t come off so easily if you were seriously considering it. These are more like fleeting fancies.” Rowan stuck the fate in her mouth and slurped it up like a noodle. She smiled in satisfaction. “Mmm, the tragic ones always taste the best. Salty.”

“I forgot how much of a freak you are.”

“You like it.”

Astarion sighed in resignation. “I do. I’m a fool.”

“Too bad Shadowheart and Lae’zel seem pretty retired. If Gale taught me to be a wizard, that would be a pretty balanced party.”

“Already planning another heroic adventure?”

“I’ll be honest, I’m kinda sad I sat at home while you all did the hard part.”

“There’s plenty of people singing your praises in Baldur’s Gate.”

“I don’t want praise. Well, Maybe a little. Would it hurt to have my portrait put up somewhere?”

Astarion laughed. “I think my soul is having more of an effect than I thought.”

“What I really miss… is that you all seem so much closer for having fought beside each other. And crazy stories.” Rowan sighed wistfully. “And imagine how tragic and beautiful it would’ve been if I was on the edge of death in your arms, or some villain used a domination spell to make you rip my throat out with your fangs.”

“That would be a delicious fate.”

“Mmm, like salmon roe. Salty and wet and it pops between your teeth.”

“It’s absolutely tragic that we’ve robbed you of taste. Thankfully, I have enough taste for the both of us.”

“You’re a dork.”

“You have to be nice to me. I’ve been through a lot and I’m very fragile.”

“I meant it as a compliment. Like when you call me a freak.”

“You area freak.”

“And youare a dork.”

“Maybe we should get Lae’zel to teach you to be a warrior. It would be entertaining to see someone bash you over the head.”

“Maybe she should, so I can kick your ass and finally shut your smart mouth.”

“Oh, so we are flirting!” Rowan gasped, hand to chest, offended.

“Flirting? My good sir, who do you take me for! I’m a newly-married lady.” 

“He’s invited too. The more the merrier. He must be a very handsome and charming man to win your hand.”

“That he may be, but he is also dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Sounds exciting. I like a challenge.”

Astarion captured her lips in a kiss. They pushed back against one another until he pushed her to the ground, trapping her under him. Her breath got hot, her body squirmed. Just when he was sure she’d beg for something more, Astarion stopped.

“Okay, I’m bored, time for bed.” Rowan whined as he hopped off of her and rolled over onto his bedroll. “Consider thisyour punishment.”

Rowan sighed in defeat. “Yes, Master.”

“Hmm. I like that.” Astarion rolled back over so he could kiss her once more. Much more seriously, he said, “If it’s not obvious; I love you.”

“I love you too.”