#my mother's wedding

[derangedrhythms]

[…] I felt the first drops of rain on my skin, like a sign.

Tessa Hadley, Reader, I Married Him: Stories Inspired by Jane Eyre; from ‘My Mother’s Wedding’

[waltermis]

😳😳

[gatoburr0]

The divine, one of a kind bride and the ugly ass groom.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Please let Astarion meet Tav's family and have a younger sibling like 6 be like im gonna marry the prince points at Astarion.

Tav : Sorry, im married to the prince

NO IM GONNA MARRY THE PRINCE

That's so fucking cute kill me. But I just realized AFTER I finished it I read this wrong 😭😭 I read it as "marry" instead of "married" so whoops now it's an asking for your hand in marriage fic.

Also, I'm going to make this a weird little, unofficial, alternate reality, off shoot of this fic to explain away why Astarion can be in the sun without ascending because I am ~lazy~

Quick summary if you didn't read it, Tav serves Selune, gets a blessing for all the good work, and uses it to cure the anti-light issue of the vampirism (but not all of it). It's not a literal extension of that fic but I'm stealing my own plot explanations. That's it! Now here we go:

~

Astarion wasn't nervous per se. He was just... on edge. And the two-week journey it took to get here wasn't helping things, not when it gave him so much time to ruminate in his thoughts. He never expected to be in the position of "meeting the family," let alone in anticipation for asking for someone's hand in marriage.

Astarion wasn't even quite sure how his life got here. He had always fantasized that a life without Cazador would be one of selfish hedonism, not one where he would be legitimately concerned about a damn six year old sibling's first impression of him.

But then you came along, effortlessly shattering all of his grandiose plans with a batt of your eyelashes. Perhaps the entire journey of falling in love was more complicated, but it felt like it was that simple. In hindsight, he never stood a chance against you, but it was hilarious that there was a time he ever thought he did.

All of his prior dreams and fantasies felt like nothing in comparison to just being with you. It had been a year since you both saved the Sword Coast, a beautiful, fantastic year. That had ended with him somehow more in love with you now than when he first confessed. Selune's blessing had certainly helped with that he was sure. He still couldn't quite believe that you would use a god's blessing on him of all people, but gods, was he appreciative. Because being able to walk in the sun again meant that he could live the life he wanted, with no restrictions. He could be the partner you deserved, the kind that a father would happily say yes to when asking for your hand.

Which brought him back to his current dilemma. Perhaps he hadn't seen any of your family members in the time you'd been together, but he had heard plenty. You loved them all to death, especially your little sister. You wrote to them constantly, the mere sight of a letter from your parents enough to put you in a great mood for the rest of the day. He was aware that your mother was supposedly a saint, a fact that your own father had instilled in you often. He knew that they had a wonderful, loving marriage and were both higher ups in the Church of Selune. A fact that Astarion didn't particularly enjoy.

As grateful to the moon goddess as he was, he was aware that you were an expectation to the very normal belief that vampires were bad. And that marrying one was one of the stupidest things you could ever do from an average person's perspective, let alone a Selunite.

Why you hadn't done the smart thing and lied about what he was, Astarion would never know. But he did know that the thought of their rejection over his admittedly sordid history was putting him in a tailspin.

"They're going to love you," You said for the hundredth time, giving his hand a squeeze as you led him up the steps to your childhood home, "You have nothing to worry about sweetheart. I promise."

Astarion highly doubted that, but you were already knocking on the front door before he had a chance to argue. The door instantly slammed open, a beaming child already launching themselves at you before Astarion could process what was happening.

But you were more prepared them he was. You effortlessly caught them in your arms, laughing at their excited shouting, "Titi! You're late!"

So this was the famous Arabeth.

"No, I'm not!" You laughed as you settled her on your hip, "And what happened to my little girl's manners huh? You haven't even introduced yourself yet."

The child glanced over at him, like she was just realizing for the first time that someone else was standing over there. She looked a little shocked at the sight of him, staring at him with wide eyes. Wide enough for Astarion to start to wonder if something was on his face.

He gave her a little wave only for her to bury her face into your shoulder, peeking out at him with her lips pursed. Which was not the best start to the whole making his darling's family actually like him plan.

"Well, as you've probably guessed this is Arabeth. She's just a little shy," You reassured as you stepped inside, muttering a quick invitation inside under your breath. He appreciated that, he didn't need the whole house to be reminded of his... limitations.

"But she'll get over it soon enough," You continued as you called into the house, "Mom? Dad? We're here!"

And just like that they were rushing into the room, acting just as excited as your sister had been. Your mother wasted no time in smothering your face with kisses while your father swept you up into a hug. It was a rather impressive display of coordination, considering how they hadn't managed to knock you and your sister to the floor in the process. Astarion was pretty sure they were both saying something along the lines of We missed you! But it was hard to tell with all of you so tangled up in each other.

It was heartwarming to see, in all honestly. Of course such a loving person would come from an equally loving family, what else would he expect?

Though he certainly hadn't been expecting for your mother to throw her arms around him next. She brought him into a tight hug before looking him up and down, "So you're Astarion huh?"

She turned back to you, grinning ear to ear with her hands set on Astarion's shoulders, "He's so handsome! Selune help us, do you remember the last boy you brought home? He had a nose the length of my arm-"

"And that's enough of that," You said with a strained laugh, pulling your eccentric mother back a few inches, "And we've talked about the impromptu hugs. What happened to asking for permission?"

"Sorry, sorry!" She said with a wave of her hand, "Let me try again. I'm Seliras, and this is my husband-"

"Marcoul," Your father interrupted, putting his hand out for Astarion to shake, "It's been awhile since we've met a boyfriend."

"He's a little more than that," You said with a sigh as everyone exchanged pleasantries.

"We'll be the judge of that," Marcoul said with a sharp but friendly grin, the grip he had on Astarion's hand briefly tightening before he let go, "From what we've heard, you're quite the character aren't you?"

Ah, so the interrogating was starting early then. It was nothing that Astarion hadn't expected. Besides, turning up the charm was his strong suit, even when he was uncharacteristically nervous.

Astarion smiled back at him, "You've heard right. And I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have."

"Oh gods please don't say that," You groaned, but it was too late. Your parents were already leading him to sit, rapid-fire questions coming out of their mouth.

Where are you from? How did you meet? Are you serious about our Tav? What's your religion? Where's your family? What are your plans?

But Astarion answered them all, with only mild censorship for the child's sake. The child who suddenly couldn't stop staring at him. It wasn't exactly easy to sell himself as a future husband when he was a vampiric ex-slave, but he made do.

It was an overwhelming experience to say the least, but not necessarily an unpleasant one. That was one good thing about trying to marry into a family of zealots, it was a lot easier to convince them of your virtue when you received a personal blessing from their goddess.

By the end of the night, they were all throughly appeased, enough so to get off the topic of him for a moment.

"You look a little young to have a thirty-year old child," Astarion said to your mother. He was actively trying to compliment her for obvious reasons, but he was also genuinely curious. She barely looked a day over 40.

"Oh we breed young," She said with a laugh, "We had Tav in our teenage years. Arabeth came much, much later. Our favorite little surprise. Gods, I can't think of a single person in our family who didn't have kids young. Our little Tav is the only exception to the rule."

"But maybe not for much longer, huh?" Marcoul added with a grin, yelping when you lightly smacked him over the head for the comment.

"Do not start the kid talk again!" You hissed out, cheeks red, "We've talked about this!"

Astarion couldn't help but grin at your reaction, charmed by your embarrassment. Though... the idea of the two of you having children together sure was an interesting thought.

Astarion felt a tug on his sleeve while you were distracted arguing with your parents. He turned, smiling when he saw your little sister standing there, still staring at him with wide-eyes.

She took a deep breath before blurting out, "You look like a prince. Are you?"

"Not exactly," Astarion said with a small laugh. That couldn't be further from the truth, "There's no blue blood in my veins."

She frowned, cocking her head at him like he wasn't making any sense. But then an idea obviously struck her as she excitedly asked, "But if you married a princess, then you'd become a prince too. Right?"

"I suppose?" Astarion answered with a shrug.

"So if I become a princess, and I marry you, then you'll be a prince?"

This conversation was quickly becoming out of his depth. But luckily enough for him you were swooping in to save him.

You laughed at her question, turning your attention back to the two of them, "No offense Bethy, but I'm going to be the one marrying this particular prince."

But Arabeth wasn't having it. She crossed her arms, looking at you like she was the one talking to a child, "You can't. Because if I don't marry him, he won't be a prince. So there. I have to do it."

She looked so serious, her facial expressions incredibly similar to your own. Astarion was holding back a loud laugh as you tried and failed to reason with her, "I can marry him without the royal status-"

"No! I'm marrying the prince!"

Your parents were doing a much worse job at hiding their reactions, both of them opening giggling behind their hands as you came up with a compromise.

"Okay, okay," You said with a sigh, kneeling down to look the small girl in the eye, "How about this? I marry him first. But only until you become a princess. Then he's all yours. Sound fair?"

She thought about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "Sounds fair."

Well Astarion wasn't going to get a better set-up then that. He turned to your father, his nerves coming back for a brief appearance, "I'm assuming now might be a good time to ask what I came here to ask. Though I do promise I only intending on asking for one of your children's hand in marriage."

Marcoul nodded slowly, his face unreadable as he spoke, "I mean no offense when I say this Astarion, but you aren't exactly who I imagined for my daughter."

"Dad don't-"

"Darling, let him finish," Astarion gently interrupted, his eyes still locked with your father's.

He took a deep breathe before continuing, "That said, I've never seen her so... herself with someone else before. So yes. The two of you can marry. On one condition."

"Anything," Astarion said instantly, nearly giddy at the fact that he was so close to the official yes, "Just name it."

"You have to have the wedding here," Seliras answered for him, a massive smile on her face, "No ifs, ands, or buts."

"And I get to be flower girl!" Arabeth chimed in, her past indignation completely forgotten as she climbed all over you, "And there has to be chocolate cake!"

"Oh gods, help us," You groaned, but Astarion was already nodding along. He couldn't give less than two shits where it happened or who was involved. He could scarcely believe that it was happening at all. But that was the last thing he had needed.

He already had the ring, the most amazing person he could ever fathom being with. Who actually wanted him back.

Now all he had to do was ask.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 11 - Fake Date

@wolfstarmicrofic May 11, word count 875

“Eugh, my mum keeps asking who I’m bringing to my cousin's wedding!” Remus groaned as he checked the new message on his phone. “She’s getting worse. Ever since Oscar and I broke up it’s all she cares about.” He shook his head and put on a high-pitched voice, imitating Hope. “Reemuss,” He elongated his name like Hope did with her lilting accent. “Remus, why don’t you have a nice boy to bring to Gwen’s wedding? You should go find yourself someone, Remus.” He grimaced. “Like it’s so easy. She met dad in the middle of a forest when that guy jumped out of the trees at her and dad came to her rescue. Knowing my luck, the would be murderer would fall for me.” He leaned his head back and cursed the heavens. 

Sirius had sat there patiently listening to Remus grouse. He snatched Remus’s phone from his lap and typed a quick message to Hope. 

“There,” He said. “Now you have a date.” He grinned mischievously. Remus paled. 

“What did you do?” He picked up his phone and gasped. “Sirius! What the actual?!” His phone pinged as Hope started gushing about how happy she was and how much she’d always loved Sirius. He had to put his phone on silent to shut it up. Sirius had messaged Hope telling her that he was bringing Sirius as his date. Sirius who he’d had a crush on for years and told his mother every little thing about it. Oh gods, this was going to be a disaster. 

“It’ll be fine, Remus. I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend for the day, and then we’ll mysteriously break up, none of them will be the wiser, and it'll make your mum happy.” Remus groaned into his hands. 

They travelled to Wales the day before the wedding and stayed at Remus’s parents house. Lyall greeted them at the door but then disappeared into his study. He was happy in there and Remus was happy he was in there, to be honest. They’d never quite seemed to quite understand each other and this way was easier, much to Hope’s annoyance. 

Hope, on the other hand, wrapped them both in her arms and cooed over Sirius.

“I knew you’d end up together. You’re perfect for each other.” Sirius lapped it up. The only problem they had was Hope put them in Remus’s old bedroom. They hadn’t thought of that when they’d agreed to stay there. There wasn’t even another spare room. 

“It’ll be fun,” Sirius beamed. “Like being back at school.” 

“We never shared a bed. That was you and James,” Remus reminded him. 

“Well, better late than never then, I guess,” Sirius responded. So that was how Remus found himself in bed with Sirius. 

Thankfully, morning came quickly and then it was time for the wedding. 

Everybody made a fuss about Sirius.

“He’s so handsome Remus,” His grandmother had declared when he’d introduced him. “You ought to put a ring on his finger, so he doesn’t get away,” She’d said loudly. Remus went beet red. 

“Nain, you can’t just yell that out!” He hushed her. 

“And why not? I want to see some great grand kids before I pop my clogs, and you aren’t getting any younger,”

“Oh my god,” He didn’t know how to handle her apart from with a gin and tonic and the bar wasn’t open yet. 

“Don’t you worry, Mrs Howell, I’ll make an honest man out of him.” Sirius said, linking her arm with his and leading her away to her table. He turned and winked at Remus. Remus wished he could turn invisible. 

By the end of the wedding, Sirius had won over all of Remus’s family and all of the grooms. In fact, more people knew who Sirius was at the wedding than knew who Remus was. 

Remus was glad when they were on their way back to his parents house. It had been a long day. “So,” Sirius asked him. “When are you going to pop the question? Your Nain’s promised me her engagement ring.” He grinned, fighting back a laugh at Remus. 

“Oh, haha, Sirius,” Remus rolled his eyes and said no more about the subject. 

That night, much to Remus’s surprise, Sirius snuggled under his arm and rested his head on Remus’s chest. 

“I had fun today.” Sirius told him with a sleepy voice. “Your family is really nice, and I might just steal your Nain. She was brilliant.” He turned his head to look at Remus. “Thank you for letting me come.” He said quietly. 

“You invited yourself. I had nothing to do with it.” Remus huffed. 

He closed his eyes hoping Sirius would take the hint. But instead, Sirius pushed up and kissed him. Remus’s eyes shot open, and he stared at Sirius. 

“I was serious about that ring, Moony. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there.” Remus didn’t know what to say, so he dragged Sirius’s face back to his and kissed him deeper than their first. He melted as Sirius kissed him back. “Took you long enough,” Sirius murmured against his lips. Remus had never been happier. He made a note to send a bottle of champagne to his cousin, because without her this might never have happened.   

[moonselune]

By the Silk that Binds Us (pt. 11)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Matron!Minthara x Forced!Betrothed!reader

CW: murder, gore, torture, angst, mental health problems

An arranged marriage, enemies to lovers fic: part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven part eight part nine part ten part twelve

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It’s a typically busy morning as you move through the halls of your grand estate, keeping the household running smoothly. Servants rush by, carrying out tasks with quiet efficiency, but your sharp eye catches any lapses. You spend time reprimanding a few who slack, making mental notes of those who require further attention, and oversee the youngest girls of the house as they practice their chores and lessons.

The Mistress' Guard trails after you, as they always do now, their presence constant, though you hardly notice them anymore. Verona and her sect have become almost an extension of you, their vigilance unwavering.

In the middle of managing your duties, a tutor rushes up to you, his face flushed with frustration.

“Mistress,” he says breathlessly, bowing before continuing. “I must speak with you about Kyorlin. He removed the triplets from their lessons without permission. If he wishes to do so, he must follow the proper channels.”

You pause, a twist of unease settling in your gut. Kyorlin has always had an unorthodox way of doing things, but this… this is different. He never spent time with the children unless he absolutely had to, so him to seek them out, to disrupt them from their learning. You knew it just couldn't be good.

"Did he say why he was taking the triplets?” you ask, eyes narrowing at the tutor.

The tutor rubs his neck anxiously. “I… I don’t know, Mistress. I couldn’t ask him, not with a blade pointed at me - at my neck! He didn’t offer any explanation and just too them!”

You sigh, frustration creeping into your voice, of course, Kyorlin's reaction was violence when he didn't get his way.. “Very well. I’ll handle it.”

With a wave of your hand, you dismiss the tutor and make your way through the estate, your mind churning. Kyorlin had always been detached, rebellious even, but threatening a tutor and removing Lesaonar’s children from their lessons without permission? Something is off.

It doesn’t take long to find them. Gossip in House Baenre travels faster than a lightning strike, and word of Kyorlin’s whereabouts reaches your ears within minutes. The garden. Of course. It’s always the gardens with this place.

The garden was peaceful, a contrast to the simmering tension that always seemed to linger beneath the surface of the grand house. You were drawn there by the familiar sound of Kyorlin’s voice, low and deliberate, speaking to the triplets. Their young, inquisitive voices piped up now and then, filled with curiosity, unaware of the storm that was brewing beneath their innocent questions.

You crept closer, keeping to the shadows of the tall, twisting trees until their words became clear.

“These flowers,” Kyorlin said, pointing at a cluster of delicate, glowing blossoms, “I planted each one for a member of the Liakyre family. They were strong, proud, and—”

“What happened to them, Uncle Kyorlin?” Sarae asked, interrupting him. Her wide, innocent eyes blinked up at him, curiosity shining bright. “Papa never talks about them.”

Kyorlin’s voice grew quieter, more somber. “That’s because your papa is scared, little one. He doesn’t talk about them because—”

You knew where this was headed. The chill in the air felt sharper now as realization hit you like a blade. He was going to tell them. The whole truth.

Without hesitation, you stepped out from the shadows, your voice like steel as you commanded, “Triplets, return to your lessons. Now.”

The three children flinched at your sudden appearance, but they obeyed without a second thought, casting glances back at Kyorlin before scampering off towards the house.

The garden fell silent as you rounded on Kyorlin, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away from the prying eyes of the servants and guards, your voice a low hiss. “What exactly were you doing, Kyorlin? What were you thinking?”

Kyorlin’s usual calm demeanor faltered, but his defiance remained. “They deserve to know who their family was. The Liakyres—our family—they were more than just—”

“The Liakyre family is dead,” you snapped, cutting him off sharply. “Minthara saw to that. There is no sense in dragging the triplets into a past that is six feet under.”

"Just because you have chosen to forget them, doesn't mean the world must." Kyorlin’s eyes flashed with frustration. “Conveniently, I might add. But the triplets—they don’t have to forget them.”

You could feel the rage building inside you, seething under the surface. You pulled him closer, your words venomous. “Do not pretend you know why I have made my choices, Kyorlin. You were not the one standing at the altar while Minthara carved the Liakyre insignia off my wrist. You were not Lesaonar when Melinoe carved it from his skin.That wasn’t out of convenience. That was survival.”

Kyorlin scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “You act like this is some grand sacrifice, like we all had no choice.”

“You think this is about choice?” you whispered harshly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “Do you have any idea what Minthara would do if she found out you were filling their heads with loyalty to a dead house? She would have your head on a spike before dawn. The Liakyre family is gone, Kyorlin, and if you’re too stubborn to accept that, then you’re forcing my hand.”

He stared at you, his lips pressed into a thin line, not conceding but knowing he couldn’t win this fight.

You took a step back, your voice softening, though the threat still lingered. “If you keep this up, I’ll have you marry into House Baenre. Man or woman, it won’t matter. I’ll strip you of your last name, for your own good.”

"You would never-"

"-Do not test me, Kyorlin." You snap at him, pointed finger into his armoured chest. "To keep you safe, to protect you, I would do anything, even if it is saving you from your own foolishness."

At that, Kyorlin’s defiance seemed to crumble, though his eyes still held a flicker of resentment. He gave a slight nod, conceding. “Fine. No more talk of the Liakyres.”

You let out a breath, feeling the weight of the situation begin to ease.

“Good. Because I won’t tell Minthara—for your sake.” You forced a smirk, trying to lighten the mood just a fraction. “As much as you seem determined to keep the Liakyre name alive, you’re just as determined to get yourself killed. The only Liakyre left, and you want to throw it all away.”

He didn’t smile at your attempt at humor, only offered a hollow chuckle, before turning to walk away. You watched him go, relief washing over you. You thought you’d avoided disaster.

Little did you know, hidden behind the towering trees and shrubs of the garden, Verona stood with two of her guards, silently observing. Her expression was unreadable, her sharp eyes taking in every word exchanged between you and Kyorlin. As you turned to leave, oblivious to her presence, she gestured to her second-in-command, her voice cold and precise.

“Go inform the Matron,” she ordered quietly. “Tell her everything.”

The guard nodded and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Verona behind, her gaze still lingering where you and Kyorlin had stood. A small, knowing smile crept onto her lips. It gave her no joy to get you in trouble, but a chance to get the discourteous Kyorlin, the ever-privileged and protected one, constantly saved by his sister's refuge, punished - that was just too delicious to give up.

Unbeknownst to you, the wheels of betrayal were already turning, and this secret would not remain hidden for long.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

That evening, you were running late to dinner. After the incident with Kyorlin and the triplets earlier, your mind had been a whirlwind of thoughts, and it had taken longer than expected to settle everything in the household. As you approached the dining room, the smell of dinner greeted you, calming your nerves slightly. You entered the room and found Minthara and Lythaera already seated, the little one giggling as she played with her food.

“Apologies, I’m late,” you said, quickly stepping in to give Minthara a soft kiss on the lips, and then immediately turning your attention to your daughter. You knelt down beside Lythaera’s chair, cooing at her, fixing her hair, and making her laugh with playful touches.

You were so focused on her that you didn’t notice the way Minthara’s gaze lingered on you, a predatory glint in her eyes as she watched your every move. There was a tension beneath her composed exterior, though she hid it well. She knew about Kyorlin’s little indiscretion earlier in the day, but she wasn’t going to reveal that just yet. Not tonight.

You finally took your seat at the table, still smiling as you wiped a bit of sauce off Lythaera’s cheek.

“Thank you, Minthara,” you said, tucking into the food that had been laid out. The variety was impressive, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how Minthara had managed to source all the strange foods you’d been craving during your pregnancy. “You’ve truly outdone yourself. I’m not sure where you found some of these ingredients, but I appreciate it.”

Minthara chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming as she watched you eat.

“Nothing is too difficult to find when it comes to the wellbeing of my wife,” she said smoothly, though her tone held something deeper, something unspoken. You glanced up at her, the warmth in her voice and words making you smile.

“How was your day?” you asked, hoping to ease into casual conversation.

Minthara answered, speaking of her day briefly, though you could tell by the way her eyes never left you that she was far more interested in your day. Her gaze was like a predator’s—sharp, waiting, and patient. You tried to ignore it, focusing on your meal and avoiding any mention of Kyorlin. The last thing you wanted was to burden Minthara with the issue when you’d already handled it.

“It was busy,” you began, carefully choosing your words. “Overseeing the girls, handling a few matters with the household staff.” You purposefully skipped over the incident in the garden, thinking you’d done well to gloss over it. “But everything went smoothly.”

Minthara’s smile widened ever so slightly, and she set down her glass of wine before standing up. With slow, deliberate steps, she made her way around the table toward you. Your heart fluttered as she stopped behind you, her hands gently resting on your shoulders.

“You’ve done so much today, my love,” she whispered softly into your ear, her voice a low purr. “You work so hard, always so diligent.”

You blushed under her praise, feeling her warmth so close.

“Minthara…” you mumbled, flustered by the sudden affection. She always knew how to disarm you, and even now, you could feel your cheeks redden as she leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“I love you,” she murmured against your skin. “I adore you.” Her lips brushed over your neck as she spoke, sending a shiver down your spine. You felt yourself melting under her touch, the tension of the day easing in her embrace.

You turned your head slightly to look up at her, your eyes soft as you took in her expression.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, a smile forming on your lips.

Minthara’s smile remained, but there was something else in her eyes now—something sharper, darker. She tilted your chin up slightly, her thumb brushing over your lips as she spoke softly. “And that’s why,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk, “it upsets me so when you lie to me.”

Her words hit you like a blade. The smile on your face faltered, and the warmth in your chest quickly turned cold. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what she was implying, and suddenly, it felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

Minthara’s fingers trailed down your neck, still so gentle, but now it felt different. There was a weight to her touch, a threat laced within her tenderness. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure, but your mind was racing. She knew.

“I—” you started to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You had no idea how much she knew, or how she knew, but there was no mistaking the intent in her words. She had been waiting for this, patiently watching, and now she had you exactly where she wanted.

Minthara leaned in closer, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, “Tell me, my love… what happened today?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to muster a defense without sounding too defensive.

"It wasn’t anything serious," you said, your voice steady though your pulse quickened. "Kyorlin was just… speaking to the triplets about where they come from. Where I come from. Where Lythaera comes from. It was harmless, Minthara."

Her fingers, which had been tenderly stroking your neck, stilled. A soft scoff escaped her lips, and she pulled back slightly to look at you.

“Harmless?” she echoed, her tone dripping with disdain. “You think I will tolerate fantasies of loyalty to a dead house? A pitiful one at that.”

Your spine stiffened at her words, and you felt the anger simmering in your chest. Pitiful? You turned in your seat, eyes narrowing as you met her gaze.

“Pitiful?” you repeated, your voice low and sharp. “I am descended from Lolth herself, Minthara. My lineage—”

Minthara cut you off with a wave of her hand, her eyes flashing with irritation.

“Lolth supported that marriage contract because she knew your family line would die out in the ditch it deserved.” Her voice was cold, her words like venom. “Lolth used the marriage to elevate her descendants. To elevate you. Lolth is the only reason you’re alive, the only reason your brothers survived as long as they did. Without her, without House Baenre, your family would be nothing.”

You clenched your fists beneath the table, feeling the surge of power in your veins, your magic bubbling beneath the surface. You bristled at her words, each one cutting deeper than the last. How could she say that? How could she reduce everything you were, everything your family had been, to nothing more than pawns in Lolth’s grand game?

“Without House Baenre,” Minthara continued, her voice quieter now but no less severe, “you are nothing.”

Her words rang in your ears, and the power inside you surged uncontrollably. You felt your magic flare, a dangerous hum filling the air around you. Lythaera, who had been sitting quietly at the table, suddenly began to cry, her small voice trembling as the tension in the room thickened.

You stood abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor as you turned away from the table, away from Minthara’s piercing gaze. You needed to get out before you lost control. You feared that even a word slipping from your tongue could cause damnation.

Minthara went to Lythaera and you took the opportunity to leave. You stormed out of the dining room, your magic crackling in the air around you as you made your way toward the gardens.

The cool night air hit your skin as you stepped outside, your hand instinctively moving to rest on your pregnant belly. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the roiling anger inside you. But the memory of Minthara’s words kept replaying in your mind—her dismissal of your family, her cold indifference to your pain. Like you were nothing more than a tool, a pawn in a game that you hadn’t even chosen to play.

The moonlight barely touched the neglected courtyard as you made your way through the forgotten section of the vast Baenre estate, the soft crunch of dirt underfoot your only companion in the darkness. This was a place few ventured—its stone walls crumbling from disuse, vines creeping across the abandoned benches and cracked fountains, forgotten by nearly everyone. Nearly.

You had chosen this place precisely for its solitude, a moment’s respite away from the watchful eyes of the household. But tonight, even here, the presence of the Mistress’s Guard was unmistakable.

You paused, sensing them nearby, the shadows shifting unnaturally. With a scowl, you turned and shouted into the darkness, your voice sharp and commanding, “Stay back! Unless you want me to turn you into something with eight legs instead of two.”

There was a rustle, followed by the unmistakable sound of feet retreating. Good. You needed the quiet.

However, as you entered the courtyard, you were surprised to see that you were not alone. Lesaonar sat on one of the worn stone benches, clutching a bottle of vintage wine. His white hair gleamed faintly in the low light as he glanced up at you, smirking.

“Well, well, look who decided to haunt the courtyard tonight,” he teased, lifting the bottle in a mock toast. “I was here first, so it would be dreadfully unfair to turn me into a drider, don’t you think?”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fine,” you replied, walking over to sit beside him. “I’ll spare you this time.”

Lesaonar grinned and took another swig of wine before offering it to you. But then, his eyes flicked to your stomach, remembering. “Oh, right. No wine for you. How could I forget? You’re growing the next Baenre noble in there, after all.”

You smiled faintly, a hand absentmindedly resting on your stomach. “Yes, I'm doing my duty for House Baenre, my life purpose apparently.”

Lesaonar’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, Melinoe called me a peasant tonight. Told me I was as common as a spider and not even as pretty. She just went too far with that one.."

Lesaonar took another swig of his bottle, his eyes hazy with unshed tears and you raised a brow at him, "Because she called you common?"

"Because she said I wasn't pretty!" Lesaonar protested, and you couldn't help but smile at him. "And I know for a fact that I am very pretty. Honestly, you defend your twin for some light heresy and you get torn apart." He chuckled but then sighed, shaking his head. “Next thing I know, I’m kicked out of our quarters and exiled to the courtyard with only this fine bottle for company -and now the esteemed Mistress of the house!”

Lesaoanar did a mock bow before bringing the bottle back up to his lips and taking a long swig. You eyed him, out of you thought was caution but was most likely envy, what you wouldn't do to be able to have a drink right now.

"I had to leave, our arguing was upsetting Lythaera." You said softly, leaning back against the bench. “Though if I weren’t Minthara’s broodmare, I’d probably be facing the same fate, exiled from the quarters.”

Lesaonar shot you a sharp look, the humor in his eyes darkening.

“Don’t you dare think of yourself like that,” he scolded gently. “You’re so much more than that.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Am I? Sometimes, I wonder. Lolth’s chosen, Minthara’s wife, Lythaera’s mother—everything I am is tied to someone else. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Lesaonar scoffed, as if the idea were utterly ridiculous. He turned to you, his face softened but firm.

“You don’t know who you are?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re the one who healed mine and Kyorlin's wounds when our sisters tormented me, who stood up to our dear mother matron when no one else would. You survived the wilds of the Underdark, and now you command the entire household of House Baenre. You. You’re so much more than the titles others have placed on you.”

His voice grew quieter, more sincere. “You are the best thing that’s happened in this wretched world.”

You looked at him, surprised by the conviction in his voice. For a moment, the weight of the expectations on your shoulders seemed to lessen, if only slightly. Lesaonar, for all his teasing and charm, saw you as something more than just a vessel for power or status. He saw you.

Silence settled between you both, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with the quiet hum of distant wind through the vines and the faint rustle of leaves. You glanced up at the dark sky, the familiar unease of the day's events still gnawing at you, but for this moment, sitting with Lesaonar, it felt a little less overwhelming.

“You always know what to say,” you murmured softly, grateful for his presence. He chuckled, stretching out his legs and leaning back, his voice light and teasing again.

“It’s a gift. One that I hope will earn me a place back in our chambers.” He gave you a sidelong glance. “Though, knowing Melinoe, I’m going to have to grovel for a while.”

You smiled despite yourself, the image of Melinoe and Lesaonar’s bickering always a source of amusement. The two of them were like fire and ice—constantly at odds, yet inseparable.

Lesaonar got to his feet, brushing the dust from his dark cloak.

“Well, I suppose I should freshen up before my grovelling begins,” he said with a smirk. “If I’m lucky, I’ll be back in her good graces by the end of the night.”

He paused, glancing down at you. “Though if I see Kyorlin on the way, I might punch him first.”

You raised a brow at that. “And what would that solve?”

Lesaonar shrugged. “Nothing. But it would make me feel better.”

You shook your head, amused. “I’m going to stay here for a bit longer.”

He nodded, a flicker of concern passing over his features before he gave you a reassuring smile. “Take your time. Don’t let her get to you too much, alright?”

You offered a faint smile in return, but your mind was already drifting back to Minthara, her words replaying in your head over and over. Lesaonar gave you a final nod before turning and disappearing into the shadows, his footsteps fading as he made his way back into the main estate.

Now alone, you closed your eyes, letting the quiet envelop you. One hand rested instinctively on your growing belly, your thumb tracing gentle circles over the fabric of your gown. The cool night air kissed your skin, calming the magic that had simmered just beneath the surface all evening. But Minthara’s voice still echoed in your thoughts, her cutting words, the way she had torn you down during dinner.

Her cold indifference, her dismissive attitude toward your pain. She had belittled you in front of your daughter, made you feel small, insignificant, like you were nothing more than a vessel for her ambition. And worst of all, she had done it while you were carrying her child.

The weight of it pressed down on you, crushing your chest, suffocating your breath. And what had you done? You had run. Fled from her, too overwhelmed to even stand up for yourself in that moment. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps you were nothing. Just another pawn in the grand game of drow society, destined to be used and discarded when convenient.

But then, Lesaonar’s words echoed back to you, piercing through the fog of doubt. He had called you strong. He had reminded you of who you were—who you had always been. You were more than just a vessel, more than just Minthara’s broodmare. You had fought for everything you had. You had survived, endured, and thrived in a world designed to break you. But like all sources of light in the Underdark, it was doomed to be consumed by shadow.

Something inside you was unraveling, and the thought of seeing Minthara again, of pretending everything was fine, was too much to bear. You needed space—distance from the suffocating expectations, the lies, the betrayals.

With a soft sigh, you rose to your feet, your decision made. You wouldn’t return to your chambers tonight. Instead, you would walk—into the dark, into the wilds that bordered the estate. You could lose yourself there, even if only for a little while.

You moved quickly, slipping past the gardens and through the outer gates, ignoring the questioning glances of the guards. When they tried to stop you, asking where you were going so late into the night, you didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. You lashed out with your magic, faster than they could react, your hands glowing with a deadly light. The air crackled with power as you killed them without a second thought. The first fell to a bolt of arcane energy that left him smoking where he stood; the second crumpled to the ground with a silent scream, his body convulsing as your magic tore through him.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you watched them die, not because you mourned them, but because of the force of emotions that began to tear through you. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The pressure in your chest had become unbearable, and your magic responded to it, lashing out at anything that dared get in your way. With the guards lying dead at your feet, you wiped away your tears, your breath coming in ragged gasps, and pushed forward into the darkness beyond the estate.

The wilds of the Underdark stretched out before you, vast and unforgiving. The bioluminescent glow of strange fungi and the eerie light of the ceiling’s rock formations guided your way as you walked deeper into the unknown. The oppressive silence of the wilds pressed down on you, but you welcomed it, like an old friend. It mirrored the storm raging inside you, the turmoil of emotions that had built up over weeks—months. Maybe years. You couldn't grasp anything at this moment. How were you to know what was to be unleashed after keeping it all together all these years?

Your magic flickered around you like an unstable current, coiling and lashing out unpredictably. Any creature that dared approach was met with a swift and brutal end. Beasts of the Underdark, drawn by your scent or your aura, fell dead before they could even get close enough to strike. You barely registered them. They were inconsequential. Your power responded to your anger, to your pain, with ruthless efficiency.

And yet, strangely, the spiders didn’t shy away from you. They skittered along in the shadows, following your steps, watching you from the safety of their webs. They didn’t attack; they didn’t need to. You were Lolth’s chosen, after all, and they could sense that chaos lived within you tonight. They, too, seemed to revel in it.

You continued walking, tears streaking your face as the existential crisis inside you deepened. What were you? Who were you? You had been molded and shaped by the world of power and cruelty that surrounded you, but now, as you carried Minthara’s child - your child, you felt the weight of every choice, every sacrifice. Could you still claim your own identity? Or had you lost it long ago?

The darkness closed in around you, but it was the familiar dark of the Underdark, not the suffocating darkness of the Baenre household. You welcomed it, even as it felt like it was swallowing you whole.

Your path led you toward a clearing, where the dim light of a large campfire flickered in the distance. The unmistakable sight of a large duergar encampment came into view, the squat, grey-skinned dwarves moving about the camp with a casual arrogance that made your blood boil. You could hear their guttural voices carrying across the quiet, their conversation punctuated with cruel laughter.

As you drew closer, one of the duergar noticed you, his eyes narrowing with recognition.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he sneered, eyeing your figure. His gaze lingered on your belly, his grin widening. “The Baenre matron’s whore, out for a stroll?”

Another duergar, equally as filthy, joined him, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“Looks like she’s carrying a little Baenre bastard too,” he chuckled. “Maybe we can fetch a good price for her. The Matron might pay handsomely to get her pretty little breeding stock back. Or someone else will pay twice as much.”

Rage surged within you, a searing hot fury that obliterated everything else. Before you even realized what you were doing, your magic exploded outward, a violent storm of power that ripped through the camp. There were more of them, many, many more, but that didn't matter. The duergar’s smug grins vanished in an instant as they were thrown to the ground, their bodies writhing in agony as your magic tore into them.

But you didn’t stop there.

No, you didn’t kill them—not right away. Instead, you held back, just enough to keep them alive. You wanted them to feel it. To suffer. You wanted them to beg for death.

Their screams echoed through the camp as you mutilated them, your magic flaying their flesh, breaking their bones, leaving them on the brink of death. They pleaded, their voices hoarse and desperate, but you ignored them. Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your hands trembling as you watched them squirm.

This wasn’t for Lolth. This wasn’t a sacrifice in her name.

This was for you.

For the pain you felt, the rage that had built up inside you. It poured out now in a torrent of violence, leaving the duergar in pieces, barely clinging to life.

You stood over them, your chest heaving with exertion, your tears finally spilling freely down your face. You knew you should have killed them outright, offered them up to Lolth as any proper drow would have. But you didn’t care. Not tonight.

The spiders gathered around you, watching silently as you wiped your face, the chaos you had wrought still buzzing in the air. You could feel Lolth’s presence, distant yet present, observing your actions. She didn’t demand their lives. She seemed content with the chaos you had sown, the way you had let your anger and pain drive you to this point.

And in that twisted moment, you knew that Lolth was pleased with you. Not because you had followed the rules, but because you hadn’t. Because you had embraced the darkness inside you and unleashed it with abandon.

And perhaps, in her eyes, that was the greatest offering you could have given.

You decided to remain in the Duergar encampment, a twisted sanctuary of death and chaos, as the final echoes of a one-sided battle fade into the distance. The moans and groans of the nearly hundred dying Duergar fill the air, each one a testament to your power.

All around you, the spiders that had followed you through the wilds work with eerie precision, spinning webs over the mangled bodies of the fallen, some Duergar being devoured alive, others cocooned for later. The scent of death and blood was thick in the air, but rather than disgust, it brought you a strange sense of calm.

The spiders are tireless, spinning great webs around you, their eight-legged forms dancing in the firelight of the encampment’s ruins. They seem to be building something grand, weaving their silken threads into an intricate design, almost as if they are crafting a home for you here among the corpses. It’s not the home of House Baenre or any noble family, but a twisted throne of death, one born from you for you.

Your hand instinctively moves to your growing belly, a protective gesture as you stand in the heart of the destruction you’ve wrought. The movement of your child within you is a reminder of the life you carry, even in the midst of so much death.

You begin to feel better, more relaxed, as if the tension from the day has finally ebbed away. There’s a strange serenity that settles over you, a peace that comes not from the absence of chaos, but from the acceptance of it.

This is who you are. A drow. A mother. A chosen of Lolth. Powerful.

You sit amid the corpses and webbing, allowing your mind to drift as you survey the carnage around you. The Duergar—ruthless in their own right—now reduced to nothing more than a testament to your strength. In this moment of reflection, you realize that House Baenre didn’t make you this way. They may have taken you in, but they didn’t shape your power. You did.

A dark and twisted thought forms in your mind as you stare at the dying Duergar. You imagine them as the Baenres—each one of them, from Minthara to Melinoe, reduced to this. You could have done this to them. You could do this to them, if you wished.

You see the image so vividly in your mind’s eye: the great Matron Minthara, your wife, cocooned in silk and helpless as the spiders begin to feed. Melinoe’s viciousness reduced to nothing more than a lifeless shell.

The thought stirs a sense of amusement in you, and you allow yourself a small, wicked smile. But then, as quickly as the thought comes, you shake it away. Lythaera is a Baenre. The triplets are Baenres. You and Lesaonar are Baenres now. They are your family, whether born into it or bound by choice.

But the smile lingers on your lips. Let Minthara find you like this. Let her come to the encampment, see the bodies, the spiders, and realize the depths of your power. Let her come to her own conclusions, make her own realizations about just what kind of being she is bound to.

You know Minthara; she is as sharp and cunning as they come. She’ll see this scene for what it is — a testament to your power, your strength.

As the webs continue to build around you, creating a dark, silken sanctuary, you close your eyes for a moment. You are Lolth’s chosen, and this — this chaos, this destruction, this power — is your birthright. You will return to House Baenre, to your family, but for now, you sit in the web you’ve spun, content to let Minthara see the truth for herself when she finds you.

And when she does, you’ll be ready.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The morning light filtered through the elaborate curtains of House Baenre, but Minthara’s mind was shadowed with worry. She paced back and forth in her private chambers, eyes flicking toward the door every few moments. It wasn’t like you to be late rising, especially not when it came to tending to Lythaera. She knew you had a temper and a tendency to need space after intense conversations, but this was different. Something gnawed at her, a deep, uneasy feeling that only grew stronger as the minutes passed.

Her heart thudded with increasing urgency, especially after the report of the dead guards. She turned sharply as one of the house’s senior servants entered the room.

“Where is she?” Minthara demanded, her tone colder than intended. “Why has no one seen her this morning?”

The servant, looking as unsettled as Minthara felt, stammered, “Mistress… she was last seen with Lesaonar.”

A dark glint crossed Minthara’s eyes. “Summon him. Now.”

In mere moments, Lesaonar stood before her in the grand receiving room, his posture composed but his eyes watchful. He bowed his head slightly, more out of formality than submission. His usual casual demeanor was present, though there was an edge of protectiveness in his stance.

“You know where she is,” Minthara said, not bothering with pleasantries. “I want to know now.”

Lesaonar met her gaze without flinching, his lips curving slightly into a sardonic smile.

“I don’t know where my sister is, Matron. Though…” He paused, then continued, his words deliberate. “I do know she was quite upset last night.”

Minthara’s brows drew together. “Upset?”

Lesaonar crossed his arms, still standing at ease. “Well, why wouldn’t she be? Being belittled in front of her own daughter, by her own wife. Reduced to nothing more than a tool. Over some heresy from Kyorlin of all people. It's not like like a Bulette came in and sat down for afternoon tea, every fifth word out of his mouth is a slight."

Minthara’s jaw tightened. She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a slow, tense breath. “Lesaonar, you are testing not only my patience, but my sanity.”

Lesaonar shrugged, unbothered by the tension in the room. “You asked. And I’m telling you. She was hurt. No one enjoys feeling like they are less than they are, especially not someone like her. I mean, look at all she has done for this house. You have had no real challenges in years, no significant assasinations, all the trade deals you could dream of, and what did you call her again? Nothing was it?”

Minthara’s sharp eyes bore into him, her mind racing. She had felt justified in what she had said to you last night, but hearing it from Lesaonar now, she wondered if perhaps she had gone too far. The memory of your flustered expression flashed in her mind—how you had tried to deflect, to keep peace, even as she pressed. But her words had struck deeper than she realized.

"Where did she go?" Minthara pressed, more softly this time, though her voice still carried the weight of her authority.

Lesaonar raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of how much power he held in this moment. He tilted his head, as if in thought, before casually offering.

“Well, if I had to guess…” He paused, enjoying the moment, before finally continuing, “The wilds were always a comfort to her. When we were younger, she’d disappear out there whenever things got rough.”

Minthara’s eyes darkened. She knew about your past, about the times you were exiled to the wilds by your mother. She knew you had learned to find solace in the untamed lands, where you could unleash your anger on whatever unfortunate creature crossed your path. But now, things were different.

“She’s pregnant, Lesaonar,” Minthara snapped. “She can’t go wandering into the wilds, especially not in that condition. It is foolish and reckless.”

Lesaonar’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the opportunity to push her buttons. “Foolish and reckless, yes. But then again, wasn’t it also foolish and reckless to yell at your pregnant wife in the first place? Especially one with a penchant for turning people into driders when she’s really upset?”

Minthara’s expression tightened, her frustration mounting. Lesaonar was, annoyingly, not entirely wrong. She had miscalculated. But still, she couldn’t help but bristle at his casual tone, his relentless teasing.

“Well, what can you do?” Lesaonar finished with a shrug, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Minthara's frustration grew as Lesaonar stood there, still wearing that infuriating smirk. She had no time for games, not when your safety could be at risk. Taking a step closer to him, her voice dropped, cold and commanding.

"You’re coming with me, Lesaonar. You were the last one to see her, and now, you're going to help me find her."

Lesaonar raised an eyebrow, a look of surprise flickering across his face before he tilted his head and chuckled softly. "Me? You want me out in the wilds? Matron, I’m better suited for lounging in silks, charming our allies. I’m a courtesan, not a ranger."

Minthara’s patience, already thin, snapped. "Well, consider it a broadening of your skills. Do I need to remind you that she is your sister? If anything happens to her, I’ll hold you responsible."

He gave her a long, exaggerated sigh, still far too casual for Minthara’s liking. "Responsible? That seems a little harsh, Matron. It’s not as if I told her to run off into the woods."

Minthara's glare hardened. "Lesaonar, I’m not taking no for an answer. We’re leaving now, and you will get ready."

Lesaonar, with that insufferable smile still on his face, leaned in slightly, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "Ahh, I see now. You’re planning to use me as a drow shield, aren’t you? For when you find her, and she’s still angry enough to turn you into a drider. Smart, very smart, Matron."

Minthara’s scowl deepened, her lips thinning into a tight line. "Get. Ready,"

Lesaonar chuckled to himself, clearly enjoying every moment of her irritation. As he turned to leave, he paused, tossing a final remark over his shoulder. "Should I bring my darling triplets along? You know she wouldn’t hurt their pretty little faces. Or perhaps Lythaera? Might keep us all out of danger."

Minthara ignored him, turning on her heel and barking orders to a servant to prepare the guards and their mounts. She had no time for his theatrics. The only thing on her mind was finding you, and finding you quickly.

Hours later, the group rode through the dense, tangled wilderness surrounding the outskirts of the city, mounted on sleek spiders. The air was thick with humidity, and the dim light filtering through the canopy gave the forest an eerie, oppressive feel. The ground beneath them squelched with every step of their mounts, and the smell of damp earth filled the air.

Lesaonar, riding beside Minthara, was complaining loudly, as expected.

“This is truly unbearable,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose at the surroundings. "The damp, the filth… even my spider doesn’t want to be here. And to think, I could be sipping wine right now, basking in luxury, watch my darling children wreak havoc on the servants. But no, instead, I’m here, crawling through mud.”

True to his word, Lesaonar's spider, much like his owner, was clearly displeased, tentatively stepping around the ground. Minthara kept her eyes on the path ahead, ignoring him as best she could. The guards flanking them exchanged glances, clearly accustomed to his complaints.

“I bet Melinoe is loving this,” Lesaonar continued, adjusting his robes in an attempt to avoid any further dirt from splashing on him. "After our little spat last night, this is probably her idea of poetic justice. ‘Let him suffer out in the wilds,' although she should be grateful that I am not like my sister - otherwise, this could be her you know-"

"-Lesaonar will you cease your nattering." Minthara shot him a glare. "If you spent half as much energy being useful as you do whining, we might actually find her."

Lesaonar smirked. "Useful? Why, I am the picture of usefulness. If not for me, you wouldn’t even know where to start looking. Not to mention, I’m providing you with such charming company. Really, what more could you ask for? "

Minthara rolled her eyes but said nothing, her attention once again focused on the trail ahead. She knew Lesaonar well enough to understand that this was his way of deflecting. Beneath the humor and the dramatics, he was just as worried for you as she was, even if he would never admit it outright.

A tense silence fell over the group as they pressed further into the wilds. The forest seemed to grow darker and more oppressive the deeper they went, the thick underbrush and twisting roots creating an almost labyrinthine path. The spiders moved carefully, their legs deftly navigating the uneven terrain, but even they seemed unsettled.

Minthara’s mind raced. She knew you were out here somewhere, with their unborn child, but with every passing minute, her worry deepened. What if something had happened? What if you were hurt—or worse? She clenched her jaw, refusing to let her mind wander down that path. No, she would find you. She had to.

Lesaonar broke the silence once more, his tone still casual but with a hint of genuine curiosity this time. "So, what’s the plan when we do find her? Groveling apology? Grand gesture of love? Maybe offer her something shiny to distract from a rage that could rival lolth's?"

Minthara shot him a sidelong glance, her expression hard but her eyes betraying her concern. "I’ll do what I need to. But right now, I need to find her first. Keep your focus on that."

As they trekked, the path through the wilds of the Underdark grew darker and more twisted. They had long since passed the familiar stalagmites and glowing fungal forests, venturing deeper into the more dangerous territories where few dared to tread without a full contingent of warriors. But Minthara wasn’t about to turn back now—not when every step brought them closer to finding you.

The first body they found was that of a Hook Horror, its exoskeleton cracked and shattered as though it had been torn apart by pure force. The creature’s massive claws, normally used to crush prey, now lay useless and lifeless, twisted in angles that made even the guards accompanying Minthara flinch. Its once-fearsome head, beaked and armored, was caved in, and the ichor that once pulsed through its veins had splattered across the cavern floor.

Minthara halted her spider and surveyed the scene. Her jaw tightened. This was not the work of a wild beast, but rather something fueled by rage and precision. It made the Hook Horror you decapitated at your engagement party look like child's play.

Lesaonar’s usual sarcasm was conspicuously absent. His spider shifted uneasily beneath him, sensing the tension in its rider. He stared down at the remains of the Hook Horror, brow furrowed in disbelief.

“This… wasn’t just magic,” he muttered, his voice low. “She tore through this thing like it was nothing.”

Minthara glanced at him but said nothing, her mind racing. She had seen your power flare before, especially when your emotions got the better of you, but to eviscerate a creature this powerful—so completely and with such violence—it was beyond anything she had ever witnessed from you.

The party pressed on in silence, the next victim coming into view not long after.

A pair of Quaggoths lay sprawled across the cavern floor, their thick fur matted with blood. Their powerful, brutish bodies were crumpled like ragdolls, and the air still crackled with the residue of arcane energy. It looked as if lightning had struck them down where they stood, searing through muscle and bone. Their eyes were still wide with shock, frozen in their final moments of terror.

Lesaonar, still silent, dismounted from his spider to inspect the scene more closely. His casual arrogance was gone, replaced by something far more solemn as he knelt beside the nearest Quaggoth.

“I’ve never seen her like this,” he said finally, breaking the tense silence. His voice was quiet, almost reflective. “She’s always had control—more control than most of us. But this…” He gestured to the bodies of the Quaggoths, his eyes darkening. “This is something else. Something darker.”

Minthara’s grip on her reins tightened as his words echoed in the cavern around them. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that this was just a result of the pregnancy, that your magic had been unpredictable before when you were carrying Lythaera. But she couldn’t deny the truth in what he was saying. This wasn’t just a surge of power—this was fury, unleashed without restraint.

“During her pregnancy with Lythaera,” Minthara began, her voice firm but not entirely convincing, “her magic was… chaotic. Unstable."

“Chaotic, sure. But not like this.” He waved a hand toward the bodies of the Quaggoths, then back to the Hook Horror. “This wasn’t just a random outburst. She chose to do this, Minthara, at least a part of her did. She wanted them dead, and she made sure of it.”

His words hung in the air like a weight. Minthara looked past him, to the devastation all around them. He was right—this was intentional. Your magic, raw and powerful as it was, had never manifested with such brutality before.

“Why?” Minthara muttered under her breath, more to herself than to Lesaonar. “What could have driven her to this?"

Lesaonar looked at Minthara plainly, a single brow risen, "Matron, are you really asking what could have caused your pregnant Lolth-chosen wife to cause this much havoc after you-

“-We’re moving,” Minthara interrupted Lesaonar, emotion thickening her voice, displaying the growing unease inside her. “We have a trail to follow.”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances but followed without question, their spiders skittering across the rough terrain. The atmosphere was tense, and even the creatures of the Underdark seemed to sense it—their usual rustling and chittering had faded into an oppressive silence.

As they went deeper into the caverns, the signs of your path became more frequent and more vicious. A Cave Fisher, its long, deadly threads normally used to trap prey, was shredded into pieces, its segmented body scattered across the cavern floor. Further ahead, a swarm of giant bats lay in heaps, their wings snapped and mangled by what appeared to be a telekinetic storm.

And through it all, Lesaonar remained silent, his usual humor long since abandoned. For once, he wasn’t enjoying the chaos. He wasn’t teasing her or making light of the situation. Instead, he looked troubled—truly troubled.

The change in him was so stark that Minthara found herself glancing at him as they pressed forward. His expression was unreadable, but she could see the worry etched in the lines of his face.

“What is it?” Minthara demanded suddenly, unable to take his silence any longer. “What are you thinking?”

Lesaonar met her gaze, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. That was more terrifying than any of the corpses they had come across.

“I’ve seen her angry before,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve seen her use her magic to defend herself, to show off, to protect those she loves. But this…” He gestured to the latest scene of carnage—a deep, clawed gouge in the cavern wall, where some creature had been pinned and eviscerated by unseen forces. “This isn’t her defending herself. This is her hunting. This is her letting go.”

Minthara’s throat tightened. She wanted to deny it, to push back against his words. But as she looked around at the devastation, at the blood and destruction you had left in your wake, she knew there was no arguing with the evidence.

You were angry—furious, even. But more than that, you were lost.

And she wasn’t sure what would happen when she found you.

Forcing the uneasy thoughts aside, Minthara pushed her mount forward, her determination hardening. She would find you. She had to.

Minthara, Lesaonar, and their guards pushed deeper into the caverns. They had been following the trail of destruction you left behind, and now, the air itself felt different—charged with a strange, arcane energy that prickled at the skin. Minthara’s spider hissed softly, its legs skittering uneasily across the ground as if reluctant to go any further.

Ahead, something shimmered in the faint, bioluminescent glow of the fungal growths along the walls. A thick, silvery mass stretched across the cavern opening, and Minthara’s eyes narrowed as they approached. It was silk—massive sheets of spider silk, spread out like a grotesque webbed tapestry, clinging to the jagged stalactites and winding around the stone pillars.

The scent of death was thick in the air.

As they drew closer, the full horror of the scene came into view. The encampment—once a Duergar outpost by the looks of it—was transformed. Silk covered nearly every surface, from the crumbling stone walls to the corpses lying motionless in the webs. Spiders—of every size and breed—scuttled around the bodies, some feeding, others simply watching, as though they were guardians of this gruesome creation. Webs crisscrossed the camp, glistening with a faint sheen of moisture, making it look as though the whole place had been cocooned.

Minthara’s spider stopped abruptly, refusing to go any further, its massive, hairy legs digging into the ground as if to anchor itself. The other spiders in the party reacted similarly, their eyes fixed on the encampment, seemingly transfixed by the thick webs covering the camp. No amount of prodding or commands could get them to move forward.

“We dismount,” Minthara ordered, sliding off her spider with a sense of urgency, her boots crunching softly against the dirt. The others followed suit, albeit reluctantly, allowing their spiders to retreat back into the shadows.

Lesaonar took in the scene before him with a mixture of awe and disgust. He walked a few steps ahead, only to stop short, raising a hand to his mouth. His face went pale, and Minthara shot him a sharp glance. He turned away from the group and bent over, retching violently onto the stone floor.

“Gods, she really went the extra mile this time,” he gasped between breaths. “I mean, really. Did she have to be so… thorough?”

Minthara ignored his complaint, her sharp eyes scanning the camp, her senses heightened. She heard faint voices coming from deeper within the silken labyrinth—weak, desperate voices. The sounds of Duergar, still clinging to life, barely.

“Be on alert,” she commanded, her tone low but firm. “We don’t know what else might be here.”

The guards shifted nervously, gripping their weapons tightly as they began to move through the camp. Every step was deliberate, their eyes darting from one web-covered surface to another. The half-dead Duergar were scattered throughout the camp, their bodies tangled in thick webs, eyes wide with terror as they writhed in agony. They were too weak to fight, too far gone to be saved.

One of them, a Duergar warrior, was pinned to the side of a rock, his legs encased in silk, his hands twitching as he whispered in a hoarse, broken voice, “Please… kill me…”

Minthara's expression darkened, but she pressed on, stepping over the writhing bodies without a second glance. There was no room for hesitation. Not now.

Lesaonar, still recovering from his earlier sickness, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and straightened up, though his face was drawn and pale.

“I’ve seen her angry, sure,” he muttered under his breath. “But this? This is like something out of a nightmare.”

“Shut up and keep moving,” Minthara snapped, her patience thinning.

As they ventured deeper into the camp, the webbing grew denser, forming walls and corridors, almost like a labyrinth. The sticky strands clung to their armor, slowing their progress. Minthara kept her hand on the hilt of her blade, her sharp eyes scanning for any movement in the shadows. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional, pitiful moans of the dying Duergar and the rustling of unseen spiders.

Then, Lesaonar grabbed Minthara by the arm, pulling her aside abruptly. His face, usually so composed, now showed genuine concern.

“Minthara,” he whispered urgently, glancing back at the others to make sure they were out of earshot. “I was joking earlier, about her turning us into driders. But now? Now I’m not so sure. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s gone past anything I’ve ever known. When we find her…”

His voice trailed off, and for once, there was no mockery or teasing in his tone. Just a deep, unsettling worry.

Minthara looked into his eyes and saw the truth of it. He was scared. And though she would never admit it aloud, so was she. The power you were wielding—the fury that had driven you to create this nightmare—was beyond anything she had ever witnessed from you before.

“She won’t hurt us,” Minthara said, her voice quiet but firm, as if saying it would make it true.

The silken labyrinth wound tighter as Minthara, Lesaonar, and their guards crept deeper into the heart of the transformed Duergar encampment. The oppressive weight of silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional rustle of spider legs and the faint, rhythmic pulse of arcane power that emanated from somewhere ahead.

And then, they saw you.

You sat at the very center of the camp, surrounded by chaos that could only be described as a scene torn from a nightmare. The webbed bodies of Duergar hung like morbid decorations, still twitching in their final moments. Spiders scuttled across the silken floor, but none dared to come too close to you. It was as though you were the calm in the eye of a storm—perfectly relaxed, a hand resting gently on your pregnant stomach, your other hand absently flipping through a tattered, ancient book you must have found in the wreckage. Your expression was one of detached indifference, as though the death and destruction you had wrought were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Minthara’s breath caught in her throat as she approached, her eyes wide as they flicked from your serene face to the carnage surrounding you. She had never seen you like this. It wasn’t just rage or vengeance. It was something darker, something colder. And it terrified her.

“My love, you need to come home,” Minthara called out, her voice wavering slightly but still firm. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You didn’t look up from your book, your fingers trailing over the ancient, crumbling pages. A scoff escaped your lips, followed by a low, humorless laugh.

“Sorry? Is that what you think I want to hear?” you asked, finally lifting your gaze to meet hers. “Minthara, please. Spare me the theatrics.”

There was a dangerous gleam in your eyes, and Minthara’s heart sank as you mimicked her words from the night before, your voice dripping with scorn.

“‘Your family would die out in the ditch it deserved.' Or how about 'Without House Baenre, you are nothing.’” you mocked, your tone a cruel parody of Minthara’s. “Is that what you want to say again, Minthara? That I’m weak? That I owe my life to your house? Because I seem to be doing just fine on my own.”

"Fine? My love you have-" Minthara began but Lesaonar, standing beside her, elbowed her sharply in the ribs, signalling that this was the wrong approach. The tension in the air was palpable, and he knew that pushing you further would only make things worse.

Minthara flinched slightly but said nothing, her eyes never leaving yours. Her mind raced, searching for the right words, but before she could speak, Lesaonar took a step forward, his usual casual demeanor slipping back into place, as if trying to diffuse the situation with humor.

“Well, I have to say, sister,” Lesaonar began, his voice calm and measured, “you’ve really outdone yourself this time. The place has a… certain ambiance, you know? Very ‘undead chic’ with a touch of ‘arachnid nightmare.’ It’s quite something.”

You arched an eyebrow at him, but he pressed on, a faint smile on his lips.

“But maybe, just maybe, it’s time to take a step back. Relax a bit. You’ve certainly made your point, haven’t you?” His eyes flicked to the nearest webbed corpse, and then back to you, his expression softening. “Look, I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. But there’s no need to keep going down this path. You’ve made it clear that you’re not someone to be trifled with. So how about we all just… take a deep breath, and figure this out together?”

You watched him for a moment, your expression unreadable. The arcane power thrumming in the air seemed to pulse with your heartbeat, and the spiders around you grew still, as if waiting for your next command.

But then Minthara stepped forward again, her voice low and raw, stripped of the cold authority she usually wore like armor.

“I was scared,” she said, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them. “I lashed out because I was scared. Of losing you. Of losing what we’ve built together—our family." Her voice wavered, but she kept going, her heart laid bare before you. “I was wrong. I hurt you. And I hate myself for it. But I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with emotion. Minthara’s eyes glistened in the faint light as she stared at you, waiting—hoping—that her words would reach you.

For the first time since they had entered the camp, your expression softened, if only slightly. The book in your hands snapped shut, and you placed it gently to the side. You stood slowly, the hand on your stomach a quiet reminder of the life growing inside you.

“Leave us,” you said softly, your voice no longer cold but carrying a weight of finality. Lesaonar blinked, glancing between you and Minthara, but he didn’t argue. He knew better.

He signalled to the guards, and with a few exchanged looks, they retreated back the way they had come, leaving you and Minthara alone in the center of the ruined camp.

When the last of their footsteps faded into the distance, you looked at her, really looked at her. And as you approached her your eyes locked with hers, the raw, open honesty in her gaze catching you off guard.

“Why did you really come here?” you asked, your voice softer now, the anger simmering beneath the surface but no longer in control. Minthara took a deep breath, stepping closer to you, though she still kept a respectful distance.

“Because I love you,” she said simply. “And I was wrong. I should have never made you feel like you were less. You are everything. To me. To this family. I-I was just foolish and scared. I thought I would lose everything to the reminiscences of the Liakyre House. That one day you would wake up and decide you no longer wanted to be a Baenre.” Your heart clenched at her words, though you tried to maintain your distance, the hurt still fresh in your chest. "I thought if I could diminish it, your past, you wouldn't ever want to go back to it."

As you looked into her eyes, you could see the truth there, the vulnerability she was rarely willing to show. For a long, tense moment, the silence stretched between you both.

Then, without warning, Minthara did something you hadn’t expected.

She dropped to her knees before you, her head bowed, her forehead resting gently against the curve of your pregnant belly. The gesture was so uncharacteristic of her, so raw and vulnerable, that for a moment, it stole the breath from your lungs.

“I beg you,” Minthara whispered, her voice trembling. “Please… come home. I can’t—" Her words faltered, and for the first time, you heard the deep, unmistakable fear in her voice. “I can’t do this without you.”

Her hands, usually so strong and steady, shook as she clutched at the fabric of your gown, her forehead pressed against the warmth of your stomach. It was as if she was clinging to you like a lifeline, terrified that if she let go, you might vanish into the void.

You looked down at her, and for a moment, a cruel part of you relished the sight—Minthara Baenre, powerful and proud, on her knees before you, begging for your forgiveness, for your return. The image stirred something inside you, a dark satisfaction that you had long denied yourself. You were no longer the one grasping at straws, trying to hold onto something fragile. Here she was, broken before you, in need of your mercy.

A faint hum escaped your lips as you gently ran your fingers through her silky white hair, feeling the soft strands slip between your fingers. You didn’t speak immediately, letting the moment stretch on, savoring it. Her submission was like a balm to your wounded pride, and for the first time since leaving, you felt a small, fleeting sense of peace.

“I suppose,” you murmured, your voice lilting with amusement, “Lythaera must be wondering where her mother is. She’s probably upset… and the staff, well, I imagine they’re in complete disarray without me.”

Minthara lifted her head ever so slightly, just enough for you to see the glimmer of hope in her eyes. She nodded, her voice barely more than a breath. “Please, we need you."

The edges of your lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. You tilted her chin up with your fingers, your touch gentle but firm, and Minthara’s eyes fluttered shut as you leaned down, pressing your lips to her forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. The tension in her body melted away beneath your touch, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was no resistance between you.

You gently pulled her up from her knees, your hands sliding along her arms until she was standing before you. The faint light of the Underdark glinted off her tear-filled eyes, her face softened by the unspoken apology, the raw vulnerability that she had laid at your feet.

And then, with a suddenness that took even her by surprise, you leaned in, your lips capturing hers in a slow, tender kiss. It wasn’t the fierce, hungry kind of kiss you had shared before, born from passion or anger. This was something different—something softer, more intimate.

Minthara responded to your kiss immediately, her hands sliding around your waist, pulling you closer. For a brief moment, everything else melted away—the death, the destruction, the words spoken in anger. There was only the two of you, and the fragile, tender connection you still shared, despite everything.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against hers, your breath mingling with hers in the quiet aftermath of the kiss. Your hand came to rest on your stomach again, and her fingers gently grazed over yours.

“Come home,” Minthara whispered once more, her voice so soft, so filled with longing. “Please.”

You looked into her eyes for a long moment, the anger that had burned so fiercely inside you dimming. Perhaps it wasn’t gone, not entirely, but the fire had cooled. You had made your point, and now… now, perhaps it was time to return to where you truly belonged.

With a soft sigh, you nodded, your voice low and resolute. “I’ll come home. For Lythaera… and for you.”

A smile broke across Minthara’s face, small but filled with so much emotion that it nearly broke your heart. She kissed you again, softer this time, as if afraid to break the fragile peace that had settled between you.

And for now, you let her.

For now, you let the darkness rest.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Wowwweeee lots of angst, things were getting a bit too chummy around here. But it did mean we got a little Minthara and Lesaoanar team up for y'all (she loves him really). I also wanted to make sure the reader wasn't too domesticated, she is a chosen of lolth, and wanted to explore some of the mental health aspects of it - especially as reader is pregnant.

Hope you guys enjoyed it, please let me know your thoughts down below they quite literally feed my soul and are such great motivators for this series! Love you all! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

@h-doodles @thepotatoislost @longjohnsilverfish @spacezombiez @les-bee @i-must-say-thats-quite-gay @m-for-musings @coratheninth @morganaspet @wineredsea @gaysindistress @trappedinafantasy37 @alicelufenia @damnsupercorp @iprobneedabeard @gingeyart @surrfix

[selliho6530]

Just look how wonderful they are here!

Just look at the way Linda looks at Paul😍 (and Heather😌)

Cuties 😊

[petrichorium]

‼️‼️ B I G N E W S ‼️‼️ emperor of the sea akagami no shanks marries long-time captive in private ceremony

red-haired pirates vice captain benn beckman had this to say in an exclusive interview: “she's an executive, you bastard— and how the fuck did you know about this? get off my damn ship.”

"she's still asleep, i'm afraid. i mean it's barely been twelve hours— no, no, you're right. i'm sorry, we should have told you— yes, ma'am. sorry, ma'am. we're on our way. we'll do something nice, yeah? can't have the mother of the bride missing out."

[antiquepearlss]

I actually really want Eugene to officiate the Varigo wedding because one, it’s not a very official or proper wedding. If anything, it’s something Rapunzel and Varian put together in one week and is essentially just a giant party where they blow stuff up and eat cake. Varian totally asks Eugene thirty minutes beforehand if he will officiate and after five minutes of sobbing, he agrees.

And two, because I want him to say this line-

“It has been a joy to watch your distracting childish rivalry turn into a distracting childish courtship, which will undoubtedly turn into a distracting childish marriage.”

[ririsasy]

Varadha touching his nose ring while looking at Deva, remembering the time when Deva himself that put it there for him with his own blood in his hand, remembering the fact that it was Deva who protected and kept his "little honor" intact.

[moderndaypandora]

I love every "Death set Dream up with Hob on purpose" headcanon, and I love "actually I was planning to throw Chaucer at you but I can wing it pretty damn well and, once I heard Hob call me stupid, I knew, yeah that's going to be Dream's boyfriend". It takes a village (or an older sister) to get Dream a boyfriend.

Now, I'm picturing the entire Endless family blindsided when Dream comes to a family dinner like "I GOT MARRIED! LIKE TWO MINUTES AFTER THE LAST DINNER--" "That was a literal century ago?!"
 "-- YEAH. WE'RE DOING A VOW RENEWAL."

Not a single sibling clocked this. Not even Destiny.

Destiny, out loud: it was an unlikely path in my book, so I didn't give it much attention 
Destiny, in his head: honestly I started speed-reading/skimming through Dream's love life paragraphs because watching him crash and burn and cause massive body counts just seemed so... repetitive and predictable?

Death: knowing our brother, I was carefully managing my expectations and was just glad he was still doing the century meetups last time I'd checked. Good for him, managing to stay with somebody for a century, that outstrips his last relationship by ... like 7 decades.  Kind of offended I wasn't invited to this wedding, kind of not planning to say anything?

Desire: At this point, I stick my fingers in my ears and go "lalalalalala" whenever I hear anything about Dream and want, either him wanting or somebody wanting him, because Death said I had to stop making fun of him for how disproportionate his Yearn to Act Ratio was, and any ammunition I can't use is just ... irritating. I figured if anything really changed, my twin would tell me about his descent into misery.

Despair: He was less miserable, but I assumed it was a fluke and he'd return to his normal equilibrium eventually. And it's not like my twin let me know he'd managed to successfully want AND obtain something?

Destruction is Sir Not Appearing In This Picture.

And Delirium had more important things to think about than her brother's sad love life, like would flying fish fired out of confetti cannons be considered birds until they landed?

Meanwhile all denizens of the Dreaming are never not aware that Dream is happily married, because the weather has been perfect for years and the throne room stained glass is some variation of Hob and Dream being lovey-dovey.

Lucienne: If I see them necking in the stacks ever again I will be forced to take action, and Lord Morpheus is aware of that fact, but we haven’t had a library flood in 103 years, so overall we’re pleased.

[galedekarios]

u kno i just started a new play through and when u first meet gale he does the slow blink that cats do when they trust u and he spent a whole year with only a cat as company …. hoping these r connected…. he’s so babygirl

you are so right, anon!

also let's face it, tara at some point probably gave him unsolicited dating advice. like, this is who we're talking about here:

we know she snoops too:

Tara the Tressym: However, I will not press you further. Your private correspondence is just that, technically. What kind of companion would I be were I to sneak a peek? NodeContext: A little telling, like she plans to read it [the letter] later

and:

Tara the Tressym: I won't pry for specifics, Mr Dekarios. Not when I can sneak a peek at your letter while you sleep.

[justabyssal]

"This too shall pass"

Inspired by John. I'm planning on putting these up in a shop at some point. Eventually.

[rowanisawriter]

most of all i hate the govt for letting everyone in our parents generation drink lead contaminated water so that i (uncontaminated) have to deal with my parents and in laws completely insane unhinged detached from reality decision making and thought processes

[gloomyballerina]

wishing all the best for mother lanita ᡣ𐭩

[moonselune]

By The Silk That Binds Us Masterlist

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.1⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.2⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.3⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.4⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.5⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.6⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.7⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.8⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.9⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.10⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.11⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.12⟢

⟢By The Silk That Binds Us p.13⟢