#lythra

[cadavertrolls]

Little doodle page of blorbos... <3

[qu-artz]

My friends DnD character Lythra and her divine lover~

[eraserspiral]

wip whenever

thank you to @atsadi-shenanigans, @lyzelky and @gilded-glitter for tagging me <3

A closed-mouth kiss, chaste. A brush of lips. Nothing more. But Lythra wanted— Astarion’s mouth was painted in her blood. She could taste herself. The pressure of his lips, supple and cool. Fleeting.

He drew back slightly, the faintest crease to his brow. Still close enough that she could swallow his breath if she chose to, though. His expression was searching, unsure. But his hardness bruised her thigh and his eyes were liquid and dark with desire. In response to his unasked question, she traced the high point of his cheekbone, one half of his laughter lines. Allowed her thumb to drag on his lower lip, carelessly smearing the blood there. Red on pink on white. He swallowed, the momentary illusion of a pulse in the delicate movement of muscles of his throat.

Lythra followed his lips upwards just as Astarion moved down to kiss her again. A clack of teeth, lips parted in a shared misaligned half smile before coming together once more. His hand cupped her jaw, tilted to deepen the kiss as the lines of his body moulded to hers. She tangled her fingers in the softest curls behind his ear, the other hand an anchor at his waist. When he brushed her tongue with his own, a ravenous pang surged somewhere beneath her lungs, and she groaned aloud.

She just wanted everything that wasn’t hers.

no pressure tags for @wetcatspellcaster, @bloodinwine, @verbenaa, @slothquisitor with apologies for any repeats!

[syzygy-of-the-stars]

number 6 and 11 for the ask game :]

6. 🗣️: If you could cast a voice actor to voice your OC who would you choose?

Rilun is the only one we've found a proper voice claim for - I like to think Michaela Dietz as Amethyst (SU) fits her well! (And there is a 🪞 certain someone adjacent to her whose voice claim is Awkwafina yes i know i'm sorry but it actually fits her i swear)

But if you'd prefer something cutesy, Rilun and Geo also fit well with Fololo and Falala's English dub voices respectively!

11. 🗡️: What is your OC’s weapon of choice?

Tough question, as technically most of them use magic as their "weapon" of choice... If I had to choose, I'd say Rilun would be partial to katars; Cadenza has his magic wand, which kinda counts; and Geo is normally very much a pacifist, but there was a recent... incident... which pushed them to use their fists.

Cory would take up a parasol if ABSOLUTELY necessary... probably; I can see Vivo utilizing potions and poisons to her benefit; and Fecto Lythra can control plants and vines to do her bidding.

[sigil-stone]

Her heart had ceased its beating. There was no glory in this. There was no honor. There was only suffering, endless, hopeless, increasing with every moment – how dare life continue on? How dare the heart of Creation still cling to its life? Why must they all suffer for Nirn’s insistence to be?

Forced out of the Imperial City, a mage reflects on the Soulburst. (feat. @mothermara's Varyn!)

It was not an easy thing to be confronted with the full measure of one’s inadequacy.

Lythras stood, unfeeling, made small by the towering walls of the guildhall. Her fists were tightly clenched in the long fabric of her robes, white-knuckled and trembling, but she made no effort to move from her spot in front of the cot that barely supported her height. What was the point? There was nothing left. All there was in this gods-damned realm was destruction. It was here: the end of Tamriel, awash in blood and power. Lorkhan made no sign of appearing from the liminal; no hero emerged from the tides of crimson that stormed down cobbled streets. Tamriel was ending, and there was nothing Lythras could do beyond bear witness to dominion’s cruelty. When she was a child, she had prayed to the ancestors that she may know strife so that she may be better for it; how naive she had been. Her heart had ceased its beating. There was no glory in this. There was no honor. There was only suffering, endless, hopeless, increasing with every moment – how dare life continue on? How dare the heart of Creation still cling to its life? Why must they all suffer for Nirn’s insistence to be?

Varyn would hate to hear you say all this.

Varyn. Her chest throbbed painfully, and the image of her lover's face cut like a dagger through the thick air of unreality that had gathered around Lythras, and she blinked, as if waking for the first time. 

She did not remember how she came to be in Devon’s Watch, if she were to be truthful with herself. It was as if there was a blurred space where the past month of her life had been; what time did she have to sit and think on what happened when the City had fallen into chaos? What time was there for anything, but to run?

What will be left, she wondered, now that she has been granted reprieve?

It was not uncommon for those who have undergone some sort of trauma to find themselves … ‘stuck’, until their minds caught up to their survival instincts. Was that this, then? That strange feeling of emerging from a deep sleep as she stood, wide awake, knowing where she was and how she got there but not quite comprehending?

She jolted at the sudden sound of something rumbling, the image of a flash of the purplest purple she had ever witnessed coming unbidden to her mind - gone just as soon as it had arrived, fading back into general blurriness as she found the source of the noise: her own stomach.

Ah. It would seem ‘proper nutrition’ had been off the table during her exodus. Breathing very slowly, she relaxed each of her fingers; they ached in protest, stuck as one may expect of an automata. She smoothed down the wrinkled fabric of her robes. Each movement took as much effort as a complex ritual; Lythras found if she did not think about and consciously choose every movement, she would simply not move.

Perhaps it would be easier, in time. As it stood for now … her stomach growled lowly again, grasping around a painful sort of emptiness from within her core.

The settlement of Devon’s Watch was … well, humble would be the gentlest term, she thought, pulling a tattered teal-blue cloak over her shoulders and stepping into Magnus’s warmth. The day was a beautiful, sunny one, though the wind had a certain biting chill to it that had Lythras wondering with a quiet sort of dread if she had been in Morrowind for longer than she had initially estimated. 

No time to dwell. Pushing the thoughts to the very back of her mind, Lythras crossed the circular path, heading towards the more southern district of the town. She held the vague memory of a market that way; one of the younger mages had shown it to her on a sort of grand tour a few days after her initial arrival. She would have to thank them, when she found the will to do so.

It was easier to think outside of the Hall’s suffocating presence. Indeed, as she moved, she even found her mind quieting, too focused on each stone step she descended on the stairway. She felt the air brushing against her skin, the wind jostling her clothes ever-so-slightly; she could taste and smell something cooking, no doubt from the Watch House - the tavern that sat mightily, left-handed, at the top of the stairway. As she reached the bottom, she was overtaken by the sounds of the marketplace; boots against cobble as adventurers passed through, a distant horse’s whinny, the gentle plucking of a lute’s string and Lythras was, suddenly and without warning, paralyzed.

Varyn’s face once again made its home in the center of Lythras’s mind. What … had come of her, Lythras wondered? Where had she been when Tamriel had begun its slow death?

She cannot afford to think of such things. She cannot.

… but comfort is not an evil thing, she reasoned. Was it not the thought of Varyn that had given her the strength to run? Was it not her voice Lythras imagined when she thought she could go no further? Was it not the hope of Varyn’s survival that had enabled her own?

Slowly, she restarted the process she had undertaken earlier. One by one, she relaxed her limbs and breathed, gathering her wits and turning towards the sound of the lute. She could not see its luthier, but they were nearby, she was sure of it.

Her ears did not deceive her; it did not take long to work through the stream of commerce until she sighted the back of the luthier. Their head ducked low, Lythras could not see much beyond their shape and the silhouette of both the lute they carried and a spear strapped across their back.

Lythras’s heart jumped to her throat as she moved towards them. “Excuse me, serjo -”

Her voice was naught above a whisper, and she frowned at the strange stickiness that clumped in her throat. The luthier could not have heard her, not at this distance, but she saw them tense. She saw them raise their head, and with it she saw --

“- you look like a lion,” Lythras had giggled, her face half-hidden in the downy pillow. She had never quite seen this level of luxury - had never felt silk against her naked skin, or had soaps that left the smell of lavender clinging to her hair for days after. “Like a red star, in all its glory.”

“I’m supposed to be the poet here,” came the sleepy mumble in response, and Lythras fought the urge to hide her face completely as Varyn’s eyes watched her, half-lidded and loving. Oh, Mara’s mercy, Lythras couldn’t think when Varyn sounded like this, half-sleeping and rasping. Her thoughts only scattered more as the gladiator’s warm hands found the small of her back and pulled her closer.

Varyn’s hair was a mess, sticking up in this-way-and-that. Dark marks were lined down her throat, marks that disappeared under the darkness of the comforter; marks that Lythras knew mirrored the ones etched onto her own skin.

Varyn noticed her staring - she was perceptive like that, Lythras mused to herself, melting all the more for it - and smiled. Lythras reached up to run a hand through Varyn’s rose-gold halo; when her palm went to rest on her jaw, Varyn turned her head and pressed a kiss to its center -

“Do you need someth - oh. Hm.” Something passed in the luthier's eyes; not quite 'recognition', but something close to it.

Lythras could not move, could not think. Distantly, she thought she might have felt something warm and wet rolling down her cheeks, but she didn't feel ... anything.

Varyn stared back, though she was deep in thought from the looks of it. The lute she held was - was different, Lythras realized. Had hers been lost in all the chaos? Had she lost anything else? Was she alright? Did anything hurt her? The questions began again and Lythras could not ask a single one of them.

“There once was a man from Balmora,” said the gladiator, strumming a chord of her lute. And she smiled. “Who sought out all manners of wild flora. Though he went very far, he got stuck in some tar, and found his last hope in the tail-end of a guar. He pulled with all his might - victory within his sight! - but the guar would not go without a fight. In the tar he did flail, though his strength did not fail, but with a mighty yank off came the guar’s tail!”

Varyn beamed at her then, and Lythras - oh, gods, who was she kidding? 

Lythras laughed.

[videcoeur]

I would really love to say I have an opinion of you, but I don't. You and I obviously don't run in the same crowds, and I don't see any reason to change that.

I mean, you ain't bad to look at or anything but if we were in a bar, I wouldn't go outta my way to talk to you. I have to say, I'm pretty neutral.

Won't note you bad, though; you're just not my type.

7/10

Lythra Punika, little religious weirdo who loves making jewelry and homemade beads... Genuinely fascinated with all sorts of people but he doesnt seem to mind watching blood spill, especially if its to get his attention or to entertain him... Despite his outward appearance he is a tyrian but he doesn't quite act like it.

[strawberrypinky]

fic recs - best of 2024 ✨🍓

With 2024 drawing to a close, I have decided to do a "best of 2024" fic rec list. I already did a round of recommendations in May of this year and I loved the positivity I was able to spread by sharing a few kind words about some fics that I have read and loved.

2024 was year of immense personal growth and changes for me (though I suspect 2025 will be equally... challenging) and I haven't read as many fics as I usually would have. However, I still came across quite a few wonderful ones, so without further ado here's my best of for 2024!

This is also me making up for the fact that I don't ever comment on fics. Sorry to the authors of the mentioned fics - I'm usually very awkward, but I promise I loved your fics. Otherwise they wouldn't have ended up on here

Baldur's Gate 3 Arguably the fandom I participated in the most this year after getting the game in January of 2024. I think precious little fandom content has stayed with me as intensely as anything Baldur's Gate, and I am so so appreciative of all the wonderful people I have met through this game. I wish I would've had more time for the amazing content people created (and continue to create!) for this game, alas, here's my top fanfiction for 2024:

❦

dealbreaker [A!Astarion x Tav] - @goodgirlgonebard

❦ Plot: "Dealbreaker" explores the dynamic between Willow (Tav) and an ascended Astarion, as they try to navigate their feelings for one another post breakup and post-brain, both with wishes and desires of their own, such as marriage, children and the possibility of an eternity together. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: I’ve only ascended Astarion once (purely for the plot, of course), and I firmly believe it’s his bad ending. That said, when it comes to fan fiction, I absolutely devour the dynamics between an Ascended Astarion and Tav/Durge, because the toxic complexity of their relationship is endlessly fascinating. Dealbreaker does an exceptional job of capturing the push and pull that defines both Astarion and Willow, even though it portrays A!Astarion in a somewhat softer light. It works perfectly within the context of the story, thanks in part to how delightfully idiotic Willow and Astarion can be when it comes to their own feelings. The blend of drama, fluff, and angst is just right, and I absolutely adore watching them navigate their way through it all together. There's also a song rec at the start of each chapter and Ms Ambs has taste 🤌🏻 Definitely my favourite BG3/Astarion read of the year!

❦

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal [A!Astarion x Durge] - @brain-rot-central

❦ Plot: After becoming the first ever Vampire Ascendant, Astarion begins to forge a new path for himself. Months after the defeat of the Netherbrain he returns to his former lovers life and the two grapple with the changed dynamics of their former relationship. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: "Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal" delves into a darker exploration of the relationship between Ascended Astarion and a redeemed Dark Urge, yet it remains utterly captivating. The crafted narrative feels both believable and seamless, drawing you into Durge's deeply personal fears as she becomes entangled once again in Astarion's life. The portrayal of her anxiety is so vivid that it transfers to you as a reader. The tension between them feels palpable to you - a sort of nightmare fuel that has you anticipating something bad is going to happen at the next second and you somehow know it will. I'm very curious to see this continue, because it's so beautifully fucked up. ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content.

❦

The Last of the Silverboughs [Halsin & Tav, Astarion/Tav] - Stillmaurauding (AO3)

❦ Plot: Halsin, burdened by the weight of his past, encounteres Lythra, a young Drow woman whose nature leaves him utterly perplexed. Meanwhile she is relentless in her efforts to break free from her own trouble history in Menzoberranzan and the two forge an unlikely bond as they navigate a the journey to Baldur's Gate. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Considering Halsin's character in the game, I understand why there’s minimal exploration of him as a father figure in storytelling, apart from scenarios involving Tav or Durge making him one. That said, he fits beautifully into the role of a quasi-father to Lythra throughout this narrative. The story delves into some very dark themes, but I’ve truly appreciated the nuanced approach to trauma, especially through Lythra’s character. The progression of the relationships, as well as the tensions within the group, feel very natural and there is enough intrigue with every chapter to make you want to continue. I hope the author eventually picks this up again. I'm also fairly certain they are on tumblr, however, I haven't been able to find them. If anyone knows their handle, let me know. I'd love to give credit where it's due :) ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content.

❦

O, Fortuna [Raphael/Dark Urge] - @gufu-vire

❦ Plot: Post the events of BG3, a redeemed Dark Urge and Raphael renegotiate terms to fulfil a contract sworn upon during the crisis of the Absolute. An adventure fraught with tension, frustration, conflict, and more as the reader partners up with the devil you love to hate ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Most biased spot on this list, especially if you've been following me for a while. I do not read Raphael fics, because while I understand the appeal, he's simply not my guy. However, I've been here for "O, Fortuna" since it was still in early development and Gufu said she hasn't got another longfic/slowburn in her, and thus it's ending up on here. It's definitely the longest fic on this list and quite an emotional journey, but I promise it's worth it. ❦ Note: This fic contains dark content, specifically towards the end.

❦

In Another Life, I Knew You [Astarion/Tav] - spaced_egg (AO3)

❦ Plot: After 200 years of believing him to be dead, Tav is once again faced with her ex-fiancé Astarion, who has little recollection of his life before Cazador. Now having to navigate tadpoles, the end of the world and feelings of both the past and the present, Tav and Astarion journey through Faerûn together. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: When I first read the summary of the fic I was quickly intrigued, because the concept of Tav and Astarion having known each other before he became a vampire offers up so many possibilites and adds layers of depth I really appreciate. "In Another Life, I knew You" does a wonderful job of expanding on their past and focussing on their present situation and as a reader you find yourself easily engrossed into the story. The dynamic between the two of them is written in a very believable way and I dearly hope the author is going to continue the story in 2025.

❦

Judgement by the Hounds [Gortash/Dark Urge] - @septembersummer

❦ Plot: A look into the relationship of The Dark Urge (Seren) and Gortash, from their first meeting up to their shared end. "The rise and fall of the worst situationship of all time" indeed. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: "Judgement by the Hounds" is getting a place in my fic recs for a second time, because it is quite possibly the best portrayal of Durgetash ever. It's basically canon to me at this point, because of how realistic their relationship is depicted (as in, realistic for them). I went through all fives stages of grief reading that story, and I so desperately kept hoping for a happy ending, even if Durgetash are the last people to deserve it. 10/10 fic - there's literally nothing else I can say.

❦

Miscellaneous One Shots/Short stories (Includes the ones I already recommended in May bc let's spread some love): legacy with no memory by @discordsmuse on AO3 - Gortash x The Dark Urge The Weight of A Promise by @sserpente on tumblr [Part 2 is equally good!] - Gortash x Tav/OC kiddo. by @avocado-writing on tumblr. - Gortash & OC to have and to hold by @littlejuicebox on tumblr. - Astarion x Tav choices. by @deadtired-highkeyenergetic on tumblr - Astarion x Tav how to win a custody battle in one easy step. by alltears on AO3 - Astarion x Tav Dangerous by NaeveTheWizard on AO3 - Astarion x The Dark Urge

The Ascendant Takes A Bride by @deadly-diminuendo on tumblr - Astarion x OC lilac and gold by @sorceresssundries on tumblr - Halsin x Tav Until We Wake, also by sorceresssundries on tumblr - Gale x Tav pygmalion's folly by AutopsyGarlands on AO3 - Gortash x Tav The Dark Prince by @reverieblondie on tumblr - Rolan x Tav For Old Times' Sake by @sserpente on tumblr - Gortash x Tav Ma'am by @kimberbohwrites on tumblr/AO3 - Rolan x Tav To Care Enough by @locallegume on tumblr - Astarion x Tav colors of the wind by al9ayf on AO3 - Halsin x Tav To Sever the Thread by anotheropti on AO3 - Shadowheart x Tav

❦

Honourable Mentions: Honourable mentions go out to several artists whose work I have throughly enjoyed throughout the year!

@starrforge - Incredible Halsin x Tav artwork! @lirotation - My favourite Astarionx Tav artwork, including amazing comics! @shellytheleo - Utterly beautiful Bloodweave content @heyitsjaki - THE BEST COMICS. I love how Gale suffers. Immaculate. @infernaldaydreams - Added to the BG3 category for the amazing Durgetash art, but damn if the DA art isn't immaculate as well.

Hogwarts Legacy I left behind Hogwarts Legacy at the start of the year, however one fic has still managed to secure a spot on my best of 2024 list:

merry and bright [Sebastian Sallow x M!MC] - @heyitszev

❦ Plot: Years after having left his magical hometown of Feldcroft, now streamer Sebastian Sallow returns home for the holidays to celebrate his sisters' nuptials. He expects a short visit, until he meets Charlie, Feldcroft's baker and potions master, and realises what he's been missing all along. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: I am a sucker for Hallmark movies - the cliches and predictability are something I eat up time and time again. So when the wonderfully talented Zev decided to write a hallmark fic with a gay couple at its center, I knew I would eat it up. "merry and bright" is perfect in taking itself serious enough yet also allowing for the typical hilarity and easygoing nature of Hallmark movies. The main characters are adoringly clueless yet charmingly witty and I cannot get enough of the dynamics between all of them.

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Having not played the first three DA games, I know precious little about the universe as a whole. I have several opinions on the game/plot itself, but the community has created some incredible content that deserves to be honoured and appreciated!

❦

Rookie [Viago de Riva & F!Rook, Lucanis Dellamorte/F!Rook] - @marcell-arts

❦ Plot: Rook (or "Rookie") de Riva navigates growing up as a Fledgling of House de Riva as a former slave, before eventually becoming the Hero of the Veilguard. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: Confession time: there’s nothing I love more than a good 'found family' dynamic, especially when it includes a reluctant father/brother figure. That trope alone is usually enough to win me over. I stumbled upon this fic late one night when it had about 15 chapters. Safe to say, I didn’t get much sleep because I was hooked from the very first chapter. The writing is absolutely phenomenal, with pitch-perfect pacing (seriously, it’s masterful) and just the right blend of detail, headcanons, and canon divergence. It manages to stay true to the game while carving out its own identity, and the dynamic between Rook and Viago is equal parts heartwarming and hilarious - ultimate tsundere/reluctant dad meets the kid he practically scooped out of a dumpster energy. Additionally, the relationships Rook forms before teaming up with Varric add so much depth and dimension to her as an original character; they really make her feel alive. This is hands-down one of the best fics I’ve read all year, and I still can’t believe it’s the author’s first.

❦

Misdirection [Emmerich Volkarin/F!Rook] - @jainydoe (AO3)

❦ Plot [AU Setting]: Working for the FBI, being a Professor and a single dad has left Emmerich celibate for years, but the return of his estranged ex wife renders him desperate enough to sign up for a Sugar Dating Website, through which he meets the disaster that is Rook, a broke college student equally as desperate as him. ❦ strawberry's thoughts: The prose of this fic is absolutely fantastic, but what really gets me is the humour. Rook is such a disaster that I can't help but laugh every five seconds and yet "Misdirection" manages to be serious enough that it never comes across as silly or irritating. Emmerich's characterisation, specifically the struggle between his hopeless romanticism and hurt, is written beautifully illustrative and I'm endlessly curious to see where the entire fic will eventually lead.

That's it for my 2024 fic recs! I will definitely be doing this again in 2025, because it brings me a lot of joy to uplift so many fantastic creators and their work. I would love to know what everyone else's "best of" fics were this year, so feel free to drop some wonderful recommendations! Let's create positive and loving spaces for each other, especially in times like these.

For now, Merry Christmas to those celebrating!

Much love xx

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1

Read on AO3

Halsin could hear the clambering from below, hear shouting and spell fire. He fumbled with the key he’d been eyeing for months, waiting for the perfect opportunity to snag and undo his bindings. He glanced once more to the bedroom door before unlocking his shackles, the surge of his magic returning to him knocking the breath from his lungs for a moment. 

It had been three years since he’d felt it. 

He crossed to the wardrobe, pulling a cloak from it’s depths—there was nothing else that would fit him, but that, at least, would shield him from the chill of the Underdark when he couldn’t slip into his bear form. The leather straps he’d been forced to wear certainly wouldn’t.

He glanced once more at the bedroom that had been his jail cell, fury rolling in his gut. Everything that had been done to him, everything that had been taken—

He turned and transformed, not into a bear as his nature called him, but into a mouse, letting him slip away unnoticed in the chaos of the attack. 

He wouldn’t miss House Mizzrym. 

Not for one second. 

[capnkirk17]

LYTHRA MANARA🔥🔥🔥

[mothermara]

forgor to post this but @scrib-jelly's oc lythras :3 she's varyn's bestie (romantic)

[theitcharchives]

Me thinking I made the surname Myrth up then found out it is the name of a liquor, of a sea in ASOIAF and the surname of actual real people

was about to go through the same experience with Lythra but I'm skipping this one lmao

[idoiatry]

# KNOWYOU'RE NO SAINT...

@ weesbny ♪ bisexual ♪ any prns* ♪ filipino!

« in order of preference: fem, neu, masc »

𖹭 masterlist 𖹭 rules 𖹭 others 𖹭

hi, i go by yvangeline (yves)! you might also know me as geode, jelly, or lythra ^_^ this is a writing/fandom blog! please check rules before requesting anything, thank you!

★ REMINDERS... †

≈ dni if: typical dni criteria, proship/comship, zionist, tradfems, terfs, overly christian, just here to be rude and a nuisance, etc.

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≈ check out #໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১: yva.txt for rambles and #꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹: yva writes for my writing ^_^

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© divider by /adornedwithlight ! art from pinterest, will update when i find the original artists

[petrachoir]

Filling Frenzy [YCH] - Pomegranate

My strudel Lythra would like to showcase a YCH! An 8 frame animation consisting of munching! This would cost $20! Can be any species :3 She is a Strudel belonging to Midveil, a fairy like closed species by Loppyrae! Strudels have food themed fillings, and I thought it would be fun to show her munching her filling: pomegranate

[eraserspiral]

what would your tavagotchi look like?

thank you for the tag @pinkberrytea ! here's lythra:

no pressure tags for: @gilded-glitter @kalmiaphlox @aevallare @kittenintheden

[sigil-stone]

thinking about venes sovath. venes sovath of "odd going ons in the clockwork city" fame. my love < 3,

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Read on AO3

Lythra froze in the operating theatre, her blood turning to ice in her veins. All the sudden all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears and all she could smell was the copper tang of blood, just like back in her mother’s laboratory. She was once again small and scared and made stupid with venom, not sure whether to pray to survive, this time, or to die, and let it finally, finally be over.

It never mattered either way, because no Gods were listening. 

She cried out as one of the undead Sharran nurses sunk a blade into her thigh. Karlach pushed her off, glancing at her from beneath furrowed brows. 

“Come on soldier, get your head in the game!”

Lythra nodded—or she thought she did. She was still half in that awful tower, half chained to that vivisection table, half a scared child who hadn’t yet learned not to cry for her father. 

She—she had a sword in her hand, or a dagger. She was in the Shadow Cursed Lands, she was Above, she was fighting—supposed to be fighting. Something tore across her chest and she whirled, reeling away, her blade falling from her hand in her haste. She stumbled, falling flat on her face. She flipped over, panic constricting her throat, only to see the Sharran doctor above, smiling at her in false benevolence. He jammed—something—into her stomach, something like a thousand needles, and it hurt. She tried to lash out with her magic, not caring about the consequences, but it it sputtered impotently as he drained her of blood more efficiently than any vampire. 

The room spun nauseatingly above her, growing darker with each stuttering heartbeat. This was it—all those years of running and she’d still die at the end of some lunatic’s scalpel. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to watch her dismemberment.

“Get away from her!” Someone yelled above her, and there was the twang of a bowstring maybe, but she couldn’t, everything was muffled and she, and she—

Something was smacked against her teeth, a hand roughly grabbing her by the scruff of her neck to force her into a sitting position. Liquid poured down her throat, scalding it.

Her eyes fluttered open only to see Astarion glaring at her, furious. 

“Get up,” he snarled, and her stomach roiled, even as the room ceased spinning. She tried to listen, she tried, but her legs wouldn’t support her. They gave out and she smashed her knees to the tile of the floor, the impact knocking the breath from her. 

He looked at her, disgusted, before he turned and disappeared into the shadows, focus back on the nurses, on that monstrous doctor. 

She needed to get up. She needed to or she would be left here to die—or worse, to live as they took her apart, again and again. She scrambled back, pulling herself up with a bookshelf, letting it support her weight as she dug with shaking hands for her crossbow. She managed to load it just as one of the nurses leapt at her. She fired and missed, only hitting her in the shoulder as she rushed her. She prepared for the impact, the pain, but before she could reach her, Astarion was back, ripping his dagger across her throat. The nurse dropped lifeless to the ground. 

He didn’t move this time, instead he stood, half crouched in front of her, daggers drawn. He glanced back, brows drawn together before turning back to the fight. 

She wretched up the healing potion, sliding back down to the floor. Her head was pounding, her mind slow, stupid. She watched as Karlach and Lae’zel felled the doctor, making quick work of the last remaining nurse. She expected Astarion to begin picking through the corpses, but instead he turned back to her, kneeling at her side. He dug through his pack, pulling out a Greater Healing Potion. 

“You need to drink it, you’re still bleeding like a faucet,” he said, uncorking it.

“I don’t—I don’t—“

“You have to. Now,” he spat, grabbing her jaw and forcing her mouth open to pour it down her throat. It burned and she choked on it, but he only dug for another, doing the same. 

She felt the worst of her injuries knit back together, felt the bleeding slow to a trickle before she was forced to wretch the potions up. She sat back, pushing tangled hair out of her face. Astarion still stared, furious.

Karlach crouched down, giving her a once over. She made a face

“We should get you back to camp. The doctor didn’t have much on him, just an amulet and this,” she said, showing her an old battered lute. She squinted at it, noticing the initials carved into the face.

AC

“Can I have that?” She asked, reaching a shaking hand for it.

“How about we wait until after we get out of the blood-soaked murder-hospital before we start learning a new song? Hmmm?” Astarion said exasperatedly. 

“We should take the Waypoint back to camp. This one is in no condition to travel,” Lae’zel said in her usual harsh cadence, though her eyes flicked to the blood that had pooled in her wake. 

“A fine idea,” Astarion said. “Can you stand, darling?”

“I—“ she said shakily, voice barely more than a whisper. “I need a hand.”

“Of—“ Astarion began, but Karlach stooped and picked her up with hardly any effort. 

“There you are, Tiny. Let’s get you back,” she said, and Lythra couldn’t help but lean into her warmth, shivering. 

She hadn’t realized just how cold she was before she’d felt it.

Karlach set her down gently as they arrived back at camp. The others that had been gathered around the fire, leapt to their feet, eyes wide.

“Hells—I thought you lot were merely going on a scouting mission!” Wyll said.

“We were. That town is overrun with malevolent undead,” Lae’zel said. “It will take us another day to scout the path to the Towers.”

Shadowheart immediately cast a mass Healing Word and crossed to her side. Lythra couldn’t help but flinch.

“These aren’t healing right,” Shadowheart said, examining the wound on her stomach. “I can try—“

“I’ve had enough Sharran medicine for today, thanks,” Lythra retorted, sharper than she meant. Shadowheart shrunk back slightly, though she glared at her. Lythra opened her mouth to apologize but then just shook her head, limping off to the river to clean away what she could. 

She still couldn’t shake off the dregs of her trembling, the fear that constricted her heart. Just seeing such instruments had been enough to render her fumbling and useless, but having them used on her again—

She’d thought she’d outgrown such foolish childhood fears. She wasn’t a child anymore, wasn’t strapped to her mother’s vivisection table any longer.

It had been years. She should be long past it.

And yet, she’d frozen, useless, subjected to more of their horror for her weakness. 

~~~

Halsin looked up to see Lythra push through the door of the infirmary, limping heavily and looking even more deathly pale than usual. Her hair was wet from bathing and she wore no armor, only loose camp clothing. He could smell the iron tang of blood on her, even through the soap she’d used to try and wash it away. He crossed quickly to her side as she swayed slightly, her eyes taking a moment to focus. 

“What happened?” He asked, helping her to a cot. He could feel thick bandages wrapped around her abdomen, under her shirt. He sank a powerful healing spell into her skin, frowning when it hardly seemed to make a difference. Black blood started to run from her eyes, her nose, like when she used her dark magic. He sunk another into her skin, and she flinched away, swiping at the blood on her face. She opened her mouth, a haunted expression flickering across her face, but just shook her head. 

She dug into her bag, pulling out an old, battered lute.

“I think this belongs to him,” she said quietly, nodding at Art in the bed. “Maybe—m-maybe it might jog his memory.”

“By all means,” Halsin replied, hope warming in his chest for the first time since he’d begun trying to rouse Art from his stupor. Perhaps playing would calm her, too, from whatever horrors she’d just faced. Lythra looked at him a moment before swallowing hard, shaking her head as she passed him the lute. 

He couldn’t help but note how her hands shook.

Halsin strummed a few notes. Art woke with a start, shouting for Thaniel.

“Calm, breathe,” Halsin said, his heart catching in his chest. This was it—this was what he’d been searching for, longing for, for a century, a way to find his lost friend. “You’ve been trapped in the Shadowfell for a century. Take a moment to clear your mind.”

“A century,” he said, eyes far off. Surely he was thinking of his old life, of everything he’d ever known, now long dead. He turned to peer at him, brows furrowed. “You’re Halsin. Thaniel said to find you. You must help him—please.”

“I will,” he swore. “But I need to know where Thaniel is. If I venture into the Shadowfell blind, I will never find him.”

“I’m not sure I can put it into words. The landscape there shifts and changes,” Art replied slowly. 

“Was—was there anything that didn’t change?” Lythra asked softly. “Anything that could act as a marker?”

“Lavender. Whenever I saw Thaniel, I always smelled lavender.”

“I can work with that. Rest, now,” he said. Art settled back into bed as Lythra pulled herself back to standing by a bedpost, no doubt to slip away again, just as she’d done the last time she’d handed him a break in his quest, just as when she’d rescue him from the goblins. She forced a smile, giving him a nod. 

“Let me know, what you will require. I—I’m afraid I must rest, now. We were meant to scout the Towers today, but were waylaid. Tomorrow, hopefully, we will have a better handle on their plans,” she said, making for the door, but she was slow, still limping. He crossed to her side, wrapping an arm around her to alleviate some of the weight on the injured limb.

“I’m alright, Halsin. You have much more important—”

“I will see you back to camp, and take a look at your injuries. They are not responding to healing as I would expect. Now tell me, what happened?”

“It was bad,” she said quietly, looking down. “I—I froze. It was my fault.”

“It’s not your fault somebody hurt you, little one. That’s never your fault.”

She didn’t respond and he knew she didn’t believe him. The walked in silence back to camp where he lead her to take a seat outside his tent while he fetched his medical supplies. 

“Did Shadowheart attend to you?” he asked as he took a look at her bandages for the first time and found them spotted with blood. It should have been a bright red color, but it was closer to black, like what she coughed up after spending too long in the Shadow Cursed Lands. 

“I—she tried, but I—I was rude to her. It—they were undead Sharrans we fought.”

Halsin nodded. He didn’t blame her—it was exceedingly uncomfortable, traveling with a Sharran, especially through the lands blighted by her god. He kept it to himself as much as he was able, but it was grating, to say the least. He was far too familiar with their cruelty, with the destruction they wrought and he’d lost too many of those dear to him to their number. 

“Where?” He asked.

“In Reithwin, in the House of Healing,” she replied, nearly spitting the last word. “They were—the Sharrans were killing people there, killing survivors. We found records before—“ she broke off, looking away. 

Halsin’s heart clenched. He was sure the experience had brought up no small number of bad memories, especially after unwrapping her bandages. Her wounds all had the same odd surgical look as her scars, no doubt created by similar tools. 

Tools that were meant to heal. 

He tried another, stronger spell on the the wounds on her abdomen, they knitted back together slightly, but not as they should. Lythra made a face, taking in a sharp intake of breath.

“Did that hurt?” He asked. It shouldn’t have, it could be uncomfortable, sometimes, but not painful. The worst side effect he usually saw was itching. 

“It’s fine,” she said, turning her face away to try and sneakily wipe the blood trailing from her nose. He caught her hand, gently. 

“Answer me honestly.”

“It’s bearable.”

“Then it does pain you. And it’s not working nearly as well as it should. Is this new, since we arrived in the Shadow Lands?”

She shook her head. “It’s just worse.”

So the whole time he’d forced her to sit still and allow him to heal her—he’d just been hurting her too. 

“And potions—?”

“They’re worse. I—I can’t keep them down.”

Halsin furrowed his brow, reaching out with his magic to try and determine what could be causing such a reaction. The potions—it could be an allergy, though he hadn’t heard of anyone developing one before. The spells though—

That had implications that were uncomfortable to consider. 

~~~

There was blood in his mouth, but it held none of the delectable sweetness, only a nauseating film of copper over his tongue. There was pain, so much that he could begin to place is source and the light around him was too bright, washing out the features of the figure standing above, cruel silver instruments flashing in their hands. He knew they were a mage but didn’t know how he knew.

It was only then that he realized that he was tied down to stone slab, that he couldn’t move as knives were dug into him, as he felt fingers inside of him, felt his organs being prodded and examined and shifted about. There was another pang of shock when he saw the mirror hung above the operating table, a mirror that reflected back the horror happening to him on the table. His flesh flayed open as if he were a corpse, his skin ashen and flecked with crimson, the white of his hair soaked in it, but it couldn’t be him, he had no reflection—

And besides, the figure on the slab was so small, diminutive, even. He tore his eyes from the horror of the torso to find the face, only to freeze, eyes widening. 

It was a child tied to the slab, a tiny elven girl with a crude gag shoved in her mouth, tears streaking down her pale cheeks even as her eyes burned with fury, with murder. She couldn’t have been more than ten, but her eyes held the weight of lifetimes, familiar, pale eyes, though here they looked almost green—

He awoke with a start, sitting straight up as he attempted to catch his breath. His head ached in a now familiar way that let him know the dream had been the tadpole’s doing, though even without it he would have known. It wasn’t the first time they’d connected the lot of them without anyone meaning to, wasn’t the first dream they’d intruded on. Usually they were boring, scraps of faces and voices that meant nothing to the rest of them, a swirling mass of nonsense, but this—

Lythra never spoke about her past. They hadn’t even know she was a drow until she’d let it slip when sweet talking their way out of a tight situation on the way to the goblin camp, something she hadn’t taken kindly to him making light of. 

Her reaction today, in the operating theatre, now made horrible, awful sense. It must have been like walking into that nightmare and they’d just torn into her. 

He got up before he realized what he was doing and pushed out of his tent, eyes searching for the familiar spot of moon-bright hair besides the fire. She wasn’t curled up in her usual place by the far side of camp either, her bedroll empty. He stood a moment, wondering where she would have taken off to. 

Only then did he hear the near-silent sound of short, panic-quickened breaths which he followed to find her crouched at the far edge of camp, well out of sight from camp, her skin ashen and slick with sweat, tears cascading down her cheeks. 

“Lythra, darling—“

“Just—just go away,” she croaked out, not bothering to look up. Part of him wished to heed her, to retreat back to his tent and forget what he’d seen, forget her terror, terror that felt all too familiar. He remembered how it felt for terror to make him sick, remembered when it would fill him so wholly it made his teeth ache. He’d never thought he’d meet another that might understand, another that wasn’t one of the poor sods that made up his ‘brothers and sisters.’ 

He crouched down, offering her what remained of his wineskin. She hesitated before taking it and finishing it in one go before handing it back, squeezing her eyes shut. She took a shuddering breath pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

Astarion hesitated a moment before speaking, trying to dredge up the right words, the sort of words people were supposed to say in these situations.

“I—if you wanted to talk—“

“Don’t,” she shot back, voice sharp. 

“Don’t what?”  He snapped, annoyed. He was trying to be nice, after all. She just never let him.

She laughed, the sound strained and humorless. “Surely that must have been but a Tuesday with Cazador. I don’t want your pity, pretend or otherwise. ”

She wasn’t wrong—Cazador was oh so creative in his cruelty. He stared at her and she avoided his gaze, wringing her hands in her lap, brows furrowed. 

She’d been so small, in the memory.

“How old were you?” 

She was silent for a long time, long enough that Astarion had begun to think she wouldn’t answer at all. When she finally spoke it was so quiet he might not have heard it, but for his heightened hearing.

“Do you mean the time you saw, or when it started? Because I don’t remember when it started, I was too young, but I know she didn’t start flaying me proper until I was nine. I suppose that’s something to be grateful for.”

Astarion balked at her. “Grateful? Grateful? I can hardly imagine you and your bleeding heart doing anything to deserve that. Whatever that was, anyway.”

She stared hard at the ground, intent on avoiding his gaze.

“What do you want, Astarion? Do you want all the gory details, how I’d get slashed and sliced up and put never quite back together? How she’d make sure to only use paralytics that didn’t numb the pain? How it was my fault, for being a girl and a szarkai, and an utterly talentless sack of skin? How I’ve been free for five years and I never grew out of being a terrified, useless little thing?” She replied, and he knew the words should have been sharp and angry, but they just came out flat and tired. She took a shuddering breath and wrapped her arms around her knees, staring unseeingly into the darkness. 

It was easy enough for him to see the effort it took to keep her breaths level, to clock the tension in her muscles, the way she balled her hands up in fists to disguise the shaking. 

He stared at her, his undead heart lurching painfully. He hesitated before reaching out to pull her into his arms. She stiffened for a moment, and he thought she was going to pull away, but instead she buried her face in his chest, a sob ripping itself from her lips before she could stop it, as silent as those he’d seen by the river. 

“Oh, darling,” he said, pulling her closer in a way he prayed was comforting. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her breaths coming too fast. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, repeating it over and over as he smoothed a hand over her back, doing his best to comfort her. He wasn’t used to comforting anyone, but it didn’t feel as foreign and uncomfortable as it should. He didn’t know how long it took, but eventually she calmed, her breaths evening out, her body falling limp against his as she drifted off to sleep, tears still wet on her cheeks. He sighed, relieved before he was faced with a dilemma.

He couldn’t very well leave her out in the brush. Well, he could, and it’d be the easiest thing to do, but it felt—wrong, he’d guess? She was that fragile thing tonight, the thing he’d seen by the river. 

He swore to himself and picked her up, surprised at just how light she was. He thought about setting her back in her bedroll, but that too sat poorly with him. Instead he carried her into his tent and settled the both of them into his bedroll. 

It would be fine, for one night. 

She pressed closer to him, snuffling pathetically in her sleep. He ran his fingers through her hair—beautiful hair the color of starlight with perfect waves even though she barely even ran a comb through it some days. 

Another infuriating thing about her, to add to the pile. 

Still, he tightened his hold on her, pressing his cheek to the crown of her head. It would be alright, for one night.