#not just like she's DELIGHTED with how aylin is acting

[justanotherignot]

Isobel Approves

Thank you to roksik-dnd for sharing the parsed datamined dialogues.

[theherocomplex]

It is now my dearly cherished headcanon that after getting her engine fixed, Karlach announces she's going to kiss everyone in camp and this is how it goes down:

Wyll: a very nice, smooth, effective kiss. He's short enough they don't konk horns and he does that thing where you follow up a big kiss with a little one. Karlach is very impressed.

Gale: halfway through he does something with his tongue and Karlach acts like she just got zapped by electricity. She has, in fact, been zapped by electricity. "Wild," is her approving summation.

Shadowheart: a little stiff at first but gradually gets more enthusiastic. Karlach tries to pick her up, which Shadowheart is not so sure about but by the end they're both laughing.

Lae'zel: instantly this turns into a competition. No one is sure who won, or if it's even possible to win a kiss."Of course it is," says Lae'zel. "And I did."

Astarion: yells WATCH THE FANGS as Karlach leans in, to which she says YOU WATCH MINE. He had not considered this. Shorter than all the others, but still very nice.

Dame Aylin and Isobel: too busy making out with each other to notice what's going on.

Jaheira: "Let me show you how a REAL kiss should go." It shouldn't be possible, but Karlach is very obviously blushing afterwards.

Aneurin: very giggly. Aneurin hiccups in the middle of it. Karlach smacks her on the rear afterwards, then complains that Aneurin's ass is too hard and it broke her hand. Aneurin kisses her on the forehead to apologize.

Halsin: dips Karlach halfway through. Karlach is delighted and demands another kiss. Halsin is happy to oblige.

Withers: has no lips, but accepts a kiss on the cheek with good grace.

Scratch and the Owlbear: no kisses, but a rousing game of fetch happens that takes up the rest of the night.

[cfcreative]

After your biggest self indulgent headcannon with the famed moon lesbians, I've wanted to ask you about your personal headcannons when it comes to the characterisation of both Aylin and Isobel.

In my experience in playthroughs, I feel like I got Aylin's character down pretty well. Bold to the point of recklessness, unyeildingly loyal to the ones she loves, loud and unapologetic but deeply rage full and stubborn.

But I'm pretty stumped on Isobel. I've tried getting extra dialogue from her before she's reunited with Aylin but I just feel like the one scene isn't enough.

What do you think about her character?

Oh, wow, my first ask! And about Aylin & Isobel, of all things. Genuinely delighted by this development.

(DISCLAIMER: I’ll never declare myself an expert on these characters. My reads on them are based on a healthy knowledge of writing, tropes, and speculations spinning off of personal experiences. Unless Larian has put it in the game or game related materials, it’s all headcanons. Cheers!)

I'll put a TL;DR up front (or my "thesis statement" if you want to get academic with it). Isobel and Aylin make each other "more human" primarily by being opposites in the way they express themselves. Aylin is bold, fearsome, and brash. Isobel is composed, sensible, and calculating (while “calculating,” tends to have negative connotations, I'm more leaning into it in a "she's a planner where Aylin is a do-er" way.)

I do hope you’re ready for a ramble, because I have been working on this on-and-off all day.

One of the most important things to keep in mind is Isobel was raised in a house in mourning.

The kind of epic grief Kethric would have gone through upon the loss of his wife would have forever altered the way he acted towards Isobel, beyond making sure she was raised as a Selûnite per Melodia’s wishes. The Kethric we’re presented in game is a fairly controlled man. He's unlikely to be the kind of person who would show his young daughter how deeply his sorrow wounded him; he'd keep his weeping behind closed doors. What distraught adults forget is that children understand and see way more than they're given credit for. Young Isobel would be acutely aware of her father’s pain, and the fact that he hid it. She was a child coping with her own sorrow, and would have looked to her father's example of how to deal with it: she'd learn she was allowed to care deeply, but she could not present that to others. Melodia's death also likely motivated Isobel to become a powerful cleric relatively quickly—a powerful enough cleric might have been able to heal her mother, might have spared her and her father this agony.

The Thorms, being a family of power and privilege in Reithwin, would have been treated by most of the people around them with formal manners, which would be isolating for a child. Everyone in Reithwin would frame Isobel as Kethric Thorm’s beloved daughter, a child without a mother, the devotee of Selûne. They would treat her with respect tinged with pity, never really knowing her... which would be even more isolating.

That's why Isobel is struck by Aylin so immediately (you know, aside from Aylin being a tall blonde sculpture of a woman). Every one of Aylin’s emotions are BIG and outward-facing. Most people approaching “The General” or “The General’s Daughter” would default to near ceremonial conduct. Dame Aylin wouldn’t see the need! Aylin cares strongly about justice, and defending the weak against the wicked, and everyone knows that about her in ten minutes of meeting her, tops. Aylin is passionate and sincere in that passion. Isobel would have been drawn to that, despite the fact that her upbringing still dictates composure.

You can also witness the emotion/composure contrast in the way Isobel reunites with Aylin after Kethric is finally dead. Aylin falls to her knees, picks Isobel up, spins her around. Isobel is overjoyed, but also more reserved. Her emotions are not in grand gestures but in the trembling of her voice—she’s trying to hold herself together.

(If you haven't seen it, there's a Devnote that specifically states that Isobel's delighted by Aylin's demanding people shove off and let her do unspeakable things to Isobel in private. Isobel scolds her angel for acting that way in public, but once those two are alone...)

This is where I circle back on “calculating.” Because it's not just in reuniting with Aylin that Isobel has had to hold herself together. She's been doing that for months....

Imagine yourself in Isobel's position before the start of the game. One moment you’re in your comfortable, warm home, trying to work out how to reconcile your devoted father and your angel, the two people dearest to your heart. Then you blink… and open your eyes in a cold, dusty tomb. It reeks of death. So does your father, who is telling you your beloved is no more. His lips are curling up in an ever-so-slight smile as he delivers the news. The sheer confusion and panic most people would feel in that moment would be overwhelming.

Isobel could have panicked and fled, but that tomb is filled with bones and Kethric is now the Chosen of Myrkul. Where Aylin would charge in and through, inherently trusting her own strength, Isobel would need to craft a plan. Maybe she would play on her father’s emotions until she found herself in a position to run. Maybe she prepares haste or hold person under her breath, or unleashed a well-timed "turn undead." In any case, Isobel is able to pull herself together and escape in such a way that her father cannot follow. She finds a familiar place and sets up a bastion of protection there. Rather than fleeing the Shadowlands altogether, which is what most people would have done, Isobel starts gathering information. She needs to know what happened to her, her family, and her lover. She needs to know why there’s Sharran magic literally everywhere. She is alone, trying to piece together a confusing story she was part of, and somehow the driving force of after she was killed.

Harpers arrive to deal with the threat of Kethric Thorm like they did a century before. Jaheira would have been a legend even when Isobel was a child, but Isobel makes the very conscious choice not to tell Jaheira her true identity. She doubles down on that when Tav and their companions come through... unless they have proof of who she is beforehand. (In this way Shadowheart and Isobel are hilariously in contrast: the Selûnite is a much better secret-keeper than the Sharran.) So I think that all covers "composed, sensible, and calculating" with regards to Isobel, but when writing from her PoV I think you would have a very rich inner dialogue in line with the ideals Aylin outwardly expresses: Isobel wants to comfort and protect the weak, she's loyal to the ones she loves, and feels strongly and deeply. Once she and Aylin are together again, Isobel's presentation shifts. Where Isobel is a grounding force for Aylin (thinking about how Isobel would have had to explain to Aylin why she was upset Aylin went on a month long walk without warning), Aylin pulls Isobel out of that carefully crafted shell of hers (thus my statement re: making each other "more human.") I haven't yet written any (complete) fan fiction for these two but this fic on A03 (fair waring: it's smutty!) really altered my thoughts as to what Aylin and Isobel could have been like prior to Isobel's untimely death. While I love to joke about Aylin ALWAYS TALKING IN ALL CAPS, there's something to be said for writing her along the lines of a courtly knight-errant. Aylin worships Isobel in a way people worship Selune; she's Isobel's most fervent devotee. Isobel is swept away by love at first sight, but still needs to navigate her father's delicate emotions and her own responsibilities. I firmly believe anyone writing anything in the timeframe of the game or beyond it needs to consider their past, even if they have no plans of writing anything of the sort.

I could probably go on for another um... 13 or so paragraphs (😅) but it's proooobably better if I wrap this up. I hope this gives you some things to think about, and helps a bit with whatever you're working on!

[amorgansgal]

A Night Sky With No Stars

I have failed dramatically at posting to a schedule for the Halsummer SFW Week! I was meant to post this two days ago, but got excited by a Gale fic and completely forgot, so I will post this one and the next day's one today! This features my tav Vanya and a bit of nudity, but nothing more scandalous than that!

Day 5: First argument/disagreement with PC

They fought off the githyanki who had turned up in the middle of the night. Halsin had only briefly caught Vanya swiftly making her way to the glowing portal and then she vanished from view. While he helped the other clean up camp and wash off the blood from his hands, his thoughts were solely on her. He could only pray that she was alright, that she would come back. He knew he should rest, yet his mind buzzed endlessly. Where was she? Would she come back? How long would it be? Would she return by sunrise or would it take a day, two, a week, a month? Jaheira, Aylin and the others who had slept further away from the fire had gone back to bed, but now Halsin was left lying on his bedroll, his eyes fixed on where the portal had been. He could not resume his meditation, he was too worried about her.

Finally, as the sun streaked the sky with gold, pinks and reds, a portal shimmered open and Vanya stepped out with Gale, Karlach and Shadowheart. Relief flooded through him and he got to his feet. Vanya bounded over to him and it was only when she stepped closer and into the first patch of sunlight that he realised something was wrong. Inky black veins covered her face, darker around her eyes and snaking out over her neck, shoulders and arms. Her eyes, that had become so beloved to him, those deep blue depths that so reminded him of the coast she came from and the god she worshipped, were pitch black. The irises and the whites of her eye were as dark as the night sky with no stars. 

“Gods, what happened?” he asked as he cupped her face, looking over her for any other signs of injury or pain. But she smiled at him.

“I’m fine, we’re all fine. The Emperor offered me a special tadpole, so I took it. I'll be able to help more people, Halsin.” She sounded so pleased and delighted, but his stomach curled and he frowned.

“I thought you wanted to find a cure, not to become more illithid.”

“I’ll still find a cure, but for the time being, I may as well. I’m stronger, I’ve got more abilities…”

He swallowed tightly. He didn’t want to be selfish or berate her for making that choice, but gods… what if they didn’t find a cure? What if the tadpoles changed her entirely? What if she lost everything about her, her spirit, her joy, her love for new places and people? What if she was stripped of everything until the reason he had fallen for her was utterly gone? 

“Oh, Halsin! Don’t look at me like that. I’m still me. I know it’s done something strange to my eyes, but-”

“I am not concerned about the change to your eyes, but the change to you and who you are. What about all the times you have insisted Gale to temper his ambition or begged Astarion not to seek vengeance and control? What then? Why is it fine for you to do this, but not for them-?”

“Halsin, it’s just a temporary thing. It’s just to give us an edge over our enemies and over the Netherbrain. Surely, we’re going to need every bit of luck and skill we can gather?”

“You have me and Jaheira and Dame Aylin and Isobelle… how much luck and skill do you need?”

She gave a shrug and for the first time in his life he was immensely frustrated by the more careless and unthinking side to her. Usually he delighted in her ability to not let things bother or worry her, but now��� “What does that mean?” he asked coldly.

“I’m just trying to help people. I’m just trying to be useful.”

“You are useful!” he barked and several people in the camp shushed him. Wyll pulled a cushion over his head and Lae’zel glared at Halsin from her bedroll, then dropped her head back down and fell back to sleep again.

“Well then stop acting like I’ve done an awful, terrible thing. I’ve not murdered thousands of people and I’m not trying to take over a whole city, I’m just trying to be good and have a good chance of beating Orin and Gortash and the Netherbrain!” Vanya hissed back.

He sighed heavily, she was just trying to do the right thing. He knew her. This wouldn’t be about power or seeking glory or control over others. But gods he missed her eyes so much, missed the way they twinkled with life and mischief and happiness. He missed her freckles too, now that they were lost to the black spiderwebs on her skin. She was still beautiful and it was still Vanya, but he was so scared she was going to lose more and more of herself to this thing. He gently stroked her cheek.

“I am sorry, I do not think you won’t be able to control this, but truth be told I miss your eyes and I am scared you will lose yourself to the Emperor’s commands.”

“I won’t. You can trust me, Halsin. I’m not going to lose myself or become an Illithid. I promise. I’m still the Vanya you know and love. Now lets rest in your tent before the others wake up.”

‘But for how long for?’ he thought. ‘How long will you remain the Vanya I know and love. How long will the Emperor keep you in his clutches? Will he let you go at the end or will he want you to become an Illithid entirely? Will you heed me then or will you become something untouchable, unknowable, unloving?’ 

He let her take hold of his hand though and he stepped back into the tent with her, when the flaps were closed, she stripped off her clothes and curled up next to him on the bedroll. He closed his eyes and just tried to feel her, her warm soft skin, the rivelets of her hair, the way she entwined her fingers with his. He tried to pretend that nothing had changed and the woman lying next to him was exactly the same as she had been the day before. He held her tightly and kissed her brow, he didn’t want to lose her.

[amaranthsynthesis]

Oh boy, that character questionnair has a lot of good questions, it was hard to decide on just a couple so I stead: 6, 7, 8, 14, 17, 20 and 24

Ohhhh so many questions lol, these are sketchier and I will have to get to the last two later bc I ran out of time but HERE WE GO

6) what companion are you platonically close with? / 7) romantically close with?

Shaky starts aside, Ballard and most of the companions have sorted their differences and get along. He likes when there’s a lot of them around the fire for dinner or just for talking, though he doesn’t do much himself in such a large group. He’s particularly close with both Wyll and Gale, the first because he admires his sense of morality and determination, and the second because they can get into long conversations and debates that he does not actually have to do a ton of talking in. Romantically, Astarion, Ballard, and Halsin all constitute a single puppy pile. Physical touch and affection turned out to be something Ballard liked a lot, and he and Halsin are determined to make sure Astarion is being cuddled as often as possible. It’s gay and gross and super cute.

8) who are they suspicious of?

Ballard was not particularly circumspect about the dark urge around Isobel, and she neither likes nor trusts him. He doesn’t like that she is around—although it wouldn’t be the same act of extreme violence, he’s concerned she might still be considered a worthwhile target by Bhaal. She’s not confided the reason for her standoffishness with Dame Aylin or he would be a greasy smear in the dirt outside of Wyrm’s Crossing. He and Jaheira also never moved past their initial hostilities, though they can work together reasonably well. Knowing what he does about her history with Bhaalspawn and vampires, he knows she is a singular threat. Ballard is convinced she is waiting for him to step over the line, and he might not be wrong.

14) What hobbies does your Tav have?

Ballard reads constantly, on a wide variety of subjects, although he particularly enjoys medical texts (not surprising) and drow poetry (more surprising, largely in its existence in the first place. He also enjoys: sitting quietly in the woods, standing quietly in a creek, and…. That’s it, actually. He’s not had a lot of time for hobbies traditionally.

17) Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

Ballard has been enjoying being on the road, because of how many sights there are! He’s a city boy but he’s finding the general wilderness to be delightful, finding plants or describing animals to Halsin to identify and asking what he knows about them. He likes the wind a great deal, and has a tendency to climb anything that might get him higher up to better feel it.

I will do the other two!!! But my sketches made me sad and I wanted to spend more time on them so SOON.

[miss-celestia13]

Devil in Paradise

Dark!Richy x Dark!OFMC One Shot

Aylins latest idea hasn’t turned out quite how she hoped. New identities. A cruise filled with the wealthy. Out in the middle of the ocean, Richy joins in with her scams, and she discovers it is possible for her to feel jealous…

These two have been waiting quite impatiently for me to come back to them. Expect plenty dark humor, more possessive smut, and a shift in their dynamic. Can be read alone without any knowledge of the fandom or pairing, but I have linked the last one below!

Flesh & Blood

People Aylin wants to kill or maim

1- The entire world. But especially the person who invented cruise ships. If they were already dead, she'd dig them up and kill them again just to please herself. She wanted to destroy it all. It all existed to piss her off. If she weren’t already living in a hell realm, she’d set it all on fire. Richy was already suffering. She took much enjoyment from it and didn't feel the need to add to it yet.

Aylin

Fuck this ship. Fuck the sun. Fuck the heat. Fuck it all, burn it down, and burn the fucking ashes. Sticky, moody, and annoyed. She was sick of it. They had managed to board without any drama; she’d sourced them new identities and paid handsomely for the privilege. Richy was delighted by his. His new name gave him a little more freedom, even if it made her snort laugh every time she tried to say it. Flynn. She was not calling him that. Not a chance. His beard was still a point of great pride for him, and she giggled every time she caught him staring at his reflection on any shiny surface he passed. The red dye had faded to a dingy ginger shade due to the sun and the thirteen showers she took to get the dried blood off when they finally found accommodation for the night after that night in the alley.

Richy had joined her at one point, and they’d broken the flimsy shower screen, but it was worth the loss of their deposit. The diamond ring had been pawned for much less than its worth but still a hefty amount that funded this whole project. No more lives had been taken, but she was close. She was on the treadmill again and did not know how to get back off. It gnawed in her chest. Every annoyance another person caused her made it rear up, and she struggled to force it back down. They could find jobs, settle down and live happily ever after. But that wasn’t them. Too mundane and boring. They’d kill each other before the week was out. Instead, they had bounced around high-cost resorts and hotels. Making off with cash, jewelry, and other valuables from the rich folk while making their way to the port.

It was exciting, and they had slowly built a good chunk of savings. Now they were far from Duskwood, or any other land, Richy could take part, and he was foaming at the mouth as they got ready. They were dressed to the nines, and she kept stealing glances as he moved about and pretended he wasn’t ogling her as she toed on her best heels. She didn’t know why he bothered hiding it. Part of the normal act he'd worn in his old life that he couldn’t shake off, she supposed. But it was stupid. He spent more time inside her than out. It was during one particularly memorable night that she had her “best” idea yet. Richy had been snoring beside her as she tossed and turned and tried to devise a way to get them as far away as possible. A cruise ship! It had felt like a stroke of genius. Until she boarded the fucking thing.

A giant floating city. It sounded perfect to get lost in and cause mayhem. She had read something about wealthy widowed people living out their golden years on those massive ships, and she knew the pickings would be easy. She had haunted more than one rich person's funeral so she could convince their crying heirs to part with a chunk of their inheritance. It would have been like shooting pigs in a damn barrel. But then the sun was there, hanging in the sky, a giant ball of hell that made her skin sticky, her hair frizzy, and her fair skin would have been roasted if she wasn’t militant about protecting it. She had taken to giving it the middle finger every time she was outside during the day.

Richy had it worse. A landlubber through and through, he’d spent the first few days a sickly green color and had kept her up at night with his retching. She was not made to comfort, but she had brought him some crackers she’d pilfered from the maid's cart on her way back to their cabin one night. It was the same thing in her mind, but he hadn’t been as grateful as she thought he should, considering she could have brought him nothing. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she leaned into the mirror and admired herself, painted her mouth red, and turned to a suited and booted Richy.

He scrubbed up well, too well, a voice whispered as he fiddled with his tie and met her wandering eye as she looked him up and down. The suit had been her last demand before they boarded this teeming beast of a boat, and he'd bitched about it the whole time, but he was smirking now, and she almost wanted to stay in. Then he opened his mouth, and she rolled her eyes, the notion soon disappearing.

“Are you done yet? We're late.”

Leveling him with a glare, she said, “We're only late when they're dead. You go first. They'll think we're together if we arrive as one.”

He frowned, looking uneasy now, “How do I know who to choose?”

“You find the one that tracks your every movement. You'll feel it. It's like a brand on your neck. Make yourself noticeable but not too much, or you'll be remembered. You exist only for tonight. Tomorrow you will be someone else.”

He looked ready to argue, but his jaw clenched, and he nodded before striding to and out of their suite door. She decided to linger behind for a little while, hoping she'd have to rescue him when she arrived, but as she entered the glittering ballroom, she saw that he was doing fine. Women of varying ages and degrees of plastic surgery surrounded him. She idly wondered how they didn't melt during the day when the sun seemed determined to flay the skin from her bones. Richy held court in the center, multiple drinks in front of him as their eyes met, and she gave a single nod as she surveyed the room for her own mark.

Casting her mental fishing line wide, she waved down a waiter passing by with a tray of champagne, snagging two glasses. She downed one and left it on an empty table as she sipped the other. After two turns of the massive space, she felt a tug on her line, a scalding stroke down her neck as she turned and saw the fiftysomething suave silver fox toasting his glass at her. She had hoped for someone closer to Death's sweet embrace, but as she didn't plan to do anything other than flatter and pander to his ego, she gave him a demure smile. Turning her eyes to the floor as he approached, thinking of the many ways she could torture Richy later to force a blush to her cheeks and put on her best impression of an innocent virgin as the man greeted her.

“I haven't seen you around. I would have remembered you if I had.” He grinned, teeth so white they should be used in toothpaste commercials and so perfect it was almost unnerving.

“I keep to myself mostly.” She hedged, hiding her coy smile in her champagne as he edged closer, and she could feel Richy watching them.

“I'm Darren. Care to tell me yours?” His voice had that lilt to it, the one that spoke of a life of excess and having everything handed to him.

“Lilith, don't ask. My parents thought it was unique.” She giggled, hating the sound and glancing over at Richy to avoid Darren's observant eyes.

He had his arm around one of the younger women. Bottle blond hair, tits defying gravity as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. He met her gaze, seeing something in her expression that made him smile slowly and move closer to the blond. She clutched her glass and looked away, hoping she wouldn't shatter it as Darren told her he loved her name and invited her to drink with him. She nodded, taking his arm and letting him lead her to his table. Perching daintily on her chair, she smiled when he brought them drinks, and she noted his was premium while hers was the free champagne being handed out like water. She hated when the rich were cheap. Still, she thanked him with wide eyes and feigned interest as he told her how he'd ended up on the cruise.

Her focus kept returning to Richy. Basking in the adoration of horny, husbandless women with too much money and insufficient brain cells to keep hold of it. It sickened her, and she didn't know why. It wasn't until she caught him sneering at her as she'd reached out to lay what she hoped was a comforting hand on Darren's arm and squeezed, something green flashing in his eyes. She wanted to hit him for making her feel something as sickeningly human as jealousy. Redirecting her energy, she pointedly ignored the anger pouring from Richy as Darren leaned into her personal space and tucked her hair behind her ear. Another shy smile, looking away from his piercing grey eyes as she acted the timid young lady.

The silver fox's scent was as rich as his wallet, but she was glad when he moved back, earning some points in her mind as he sensed her reluctance and did not push her. They chatted about shit she had no interest in, and didn't remember a word the man said seconds after it left his mouth. He left to use the bathroom, and she watched him until he vanished, letting out a long breath as her gaze returned to Richy's table only to find it empty. He wasn't on the dancefloor or at the bar, and he didn't leave the bathroom even after Darren had come out and gone to the bar. Sinking the last of her champagne, she huffed and stood, storming out of the room while Darren still had his back turned. If she had to search this entire ship to hunt that bastard down, she would string him over the fucking balcony.

***

Thankfully, she didn't have to go that far and found him in the first place she checked. And she was attacked the second she walked in the door. He was pacing barefoot as she entered, spinning to her as she locked the door. Her heart was already racing, the promising thrill of a good fight hung in the air, and her skin crackled with it, blood heating at the blackness overtaking his eyes. He’d tossed his jacket and tie on the floor and she could tell he’d been pulling at his collar to loosen it while he waited for her.

“What the fuck were you doing in there?” He demanded, hands flying up and dropping back to his side with a loud smack as she kicked her shoes off and enjoyed the cool floor on her sore feet.

“Nothing that you weren't doing, Richy. Don't fucking start. Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the way she was looking at you! Touching you!” She spat, teeth bared, and fists clenched as they circled each other.

Her mind flashed back to that first time back in Duskwood. The fury and uncertainty as they sniffed each other out before giving into the need to claim and tear and break. Her blood was singing, she wanted to pour it out and paint the world red, so it matched the fury riding her. Richy’s response didn’t ease her any.

“Now you know how it felt when I was locked inside a hotel room while you were off gallivanting with other men!”

“How many times?! I wasn’t gallivanting. I never once touched or thought about touching them! You were lapping it up!”

“Why do you care? I thought you didn’t do labels.” He reminded her, and she regretted the day she ever met him.

Scowling, hands itching to hit him, she turned on her heel, aiming for the door and intending to get black-out drunk on free booze and fuck the first man to smile her way when he grabbed her by the back of her neck and hauled her against him. She struggled, clawing and scratching his arms as they banded around her and held her trapped. He was chuckling in her ear, she could feel how turned on he was, and her inner voice was crooning that she got just what she wanted, but she ignored it. She wanted to fight.

“Let me go, Richy.” She clipped as he avoided her attempt to stomp on his bare foot.

“Not until you tell me why you were really upset.” He taunted, voice like gravel. It was so harsh, and she tried to ignore the rush of wet heat soaking her underwear, but it was nigh on impossible as Richy ground his erection into her ass.

They were volatile and explosive, but that’s how she liked it, and even now, her need to be well and truly fucked had overridden all her rage; in truth, her fury only heightened it.

“The day you came with me, you became mine. I don’t like people touching my things without my permission!” She snarled as he dragged her over to their rumpled bed.

“Good. Because you’re mine, I don’t like watching you fawn over those men any more than you do.”

His arms were unwound, but she didn’t bolt like she’d planned. She didn’t like most people, hated them actually, but she could tolerate Richy, and she was easy around him. He always knew what she needed. Her heart rate climbed as his hands came around, and one gripped and twisted her chin, the other dug into her hip as he lowered his head to kiss her. Her instinct was to lean away. It felt too intimate somehow. Still, she fought the urge and let him. It felt more like an argument as he breached her mouth and swept inside. She could only match every stroke of his tongue. It was awkward, and she needed some control back as heat and want spiraled through her so intensely she felt out of her mind as she turned in his hold to face him.

His eyes were black as night, thrilling her before she closed hers again and grabbed hold of his shirt, tugging him back down and catching his lips in hers. Pressing in, teeth biting at his lips and smiling into the kiss as he took the hint. His hand slid into her hair, a sharp tug and pain flickered over her scalp, and she moaned as she felt her wetness slide down her inner thighs. He did it again, smirking as she trembled, and she had almost forgotten why she was angry with him. But then she smelt it. The overly sweet perfume that did not belong to her clung to his clothes, and her fury flared once more.

Breaking the kiss, she glared up at him and stabbed a finger into his chest as she ground out the words, “I can smell her on you. How close was she?”

He rolled his eyes, and she didn’t even think; she lifted her hand, intending to slap him, but he caught it as it swung for his face and took hold of her other before she could attempt it again. Turning her around again, moving so fast he had her wrists in his firm grip behind her back before her brain realized what was happening. The fine bones bent and twisted as he shoved a knee between her legs and bent her over the bed.

“Not this close. You smell like a different man every night, and I’m supposed to accept that, Aylin. You can do the same.”

Head shaking, arms straining as she tried to break out of his hold, huffing and giving in when he only held her tighter, and she sensed him drop to his knees behind her. She could see him between her split thighs, free hand eagerly reaching up her dress, and her underwear was pulled down to pool around her ankles. She was panting as she stepped out of them, blood racing in her veins as his fingers dipped into her dripping folds and made even more mess as he spread it around. Her teeth were buried in her bottom lip as he teased her with featherlight grazes over her clit, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan or whimper even as her legs shook and another flood of essence soaked his busy hand.

When he rose to his feet, the burn in her core became intolerable, and she was close to begging when he suggested something she usually refused.

“I want to bind your hands before I fuck you.” He muttered as he unzipped her dress and shoved it down her arms, leaving her completely bare while he was still fully clothed.

The idea of being under his control did not frighten her the way it had in the past. He had allowed her her way many times and had never complained. Black excitement filtered through her as she loosed a breath and nodded her consent, shifting on her feet as the emptiness inside her demanded relief. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his surprise in the loosening of his hand around her wrists. He let her go, stepping away, but she didn’t look as she straightened and flexed her hands as he shed his clothes. Her pulse jumped in her neck when his hands settled on her shoulders, whirling her around and giving her a biting kiss she felt in her curled toes before she was shoved hard. Landing on her back, arching a brow at him as he smirked down at her.

Oh, thank fuck, she thought he’d lost the rage, but it was there, in his eyes, flickering like a shadow flame as she arched and raised her hands above her head, crossing them at the wrist as he licked his lips. They were two monsters with the same damn hunger, and she did not have a lick of shame about it as he crawled over her, his belt in hand. She closed her eyes at the feel of the leather looping around her wrists, the metallic click on the buckle as he pulled it so taut her fingers soon tingled and the sound echoed like a gunshot in her lusty mind. There was nothing for him to tie her to. His growled warning made her press her thighs together as he moved down her body.

“Keep them there, or I’ll stop and leave you here until you learn.” Her thighs were wrenched apart when she chuckled and gave him a nod of agreement.

Testing her shackles, she found no give, and her heart was in her throat as she waited for his next move. Trust. Did she have it for him? She wasn’t entirely sure, but she trusted he wanted her more than he wanted to harm her and forced herself to go loose and pliant at the touch of his fingers as he parted her folds. His mouth was on her a second later, tongue gliding up the seam of her, hands pinning her thighs to the bed. Two fingers sank inside her, and he repeated the move, making her shake her head and sob as he drank her down, humming so low in his throat it vibrated through her. The rough scrape of his beard on her tender flesh drove her to distraction as he worked on her. Her hands grasped at nothing, the urge to bring them down and grab his head almost impossible to ignore as he crooked his fingers and pulled as she cried out at the flick of his hot tongue on her clit.

Blunt nails cut into her thighs as he consumed her relentlessly. Her throaty cries turned to warbling moans as he alternated between quick darts of his tongue and languid licks of her essence, his fingers moving within her and taking the edge off of the ache as her body writhed under him. He was determined to make her whine his name, lapping at her clit as her hands fisted uselessly, and she yearned to pull his hair. Tilting her hips, trying to stop him from moving away from where she needed him, the lewd sound of his devouring and the deep groans spilling from him made it impossible to hold her orgasm back.

Keening too loudly, his mouth sealed over her clit, sucking her into his mouth whole as his fingers teased her inner walls with delicious friction. He gave her no mercy as she shivered and sobbed, his tongue swirling over that swollen bundle of nerves incessantly until she tensed and jerked so violently he chuckled. Her trembling thighs, his skilled tongue, and the fingers in her cunt were a sweet torture as she clenched her teeth and panted through them, cries going wild as release suddenly swelled and crashed through her so hard she curled in on herself. She was sobbing, body twitching and spasming as the flutter of his tongue on her clit became too much to bear, refusing to back away as heat and sweat spread over her skin. He did not stop until she said, ‘Please.’

Aftershocks zinged through her muscles as she cracked an eye open to watch him sit back on his haunches, beard soaked and glistening before he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, making her inner walls clench on nothing. He did not give her respite, and she was not thinking about anything as the fire in her veins turned her blood to steam. Her legs were arranged to suit him, laid against his shoulders as he grabbed her hips and dragged her closer, impaling her on his thick length. In one effortless slide, he was buried so deep she couldn’t draw a breath in. Her bound hands prickled and burned as he bent her body back. Her muscles already burning, his cock filling her up and banishing the ache.

A low thrumming began under her skin as he moved, a tinge of pain, cunt gripping his cock tight and turning his grip on her hip punishing. He touched her as if he owned her, eyes never leaving her face as she absorbed his brutal thrusts, bound hands pressed to her chest in a mockery of prayer. Deep darts of his hips, circling and retreating to plunge back inside her, all of it sent pleasure sparkling through her. Her anger simmered in the back of her mind, growing quieter with every drag of his cock against her slick walls and the black look in his eyes. There was always a thread of hate between them, never more obvious than when they fucked, and usually, she did the possessing. It was her turn to be possessed, and it didn’t bother her the way she thought it would.

In the game they were playing, she wasn’t sure who was the slayer and who was the slayed as he slid free of her cunt. He ignored her indignant snarl as he ordered her to get on her knees. Her hackles lifted at the dominance in his tone. A scalding retort tried to sneak free of her teeth, darkness crossed his eyes, and she got just what she wanted. She was grabbed and flipped so fast she couldn’t track it. Ass in the air, face buried in the pillows, he shoved her legs apart and pushed down on her back to make her arch deeper, turning her head so her fierce cry as he pushed inside her could be heard by anyone walking past their cabin door.

Her arms strained, hands cramping and making her balance feel wrong with them trapped under her as he brought his hand down on her ass so hard she jolted. Rocking back into his thrusts, wetness out of control as he hit her again, and she was lost in sensation as he fucked her. Tensing herself, delighting in the pain and pleasure of being thoroughly invaded, she stopped caring that he had all the control. Her skin flared with goosebumps, her stomach tensing at the vicious snap of his hips; she let herself enjoy it. It was addicting, the desire and sense stealing pleasure. Each hit was the closest thing to heaven either would experience.

“You were made me for me, Aylin. Don’t ever forget that.” He muttered, pounding into her mercilessly as she thrashed her head in denial.

Richy laughed, the sound like black magic to her crazed mind as his hand slid around her hip and travelled over her stomach to dip into her folds and tease her clit.

“Don’t fight it. You clearly like it.” He baited her, still shaking her head despite the intense pressure building within her and the wetness seeping from her, doing nothing to convince him otherwise.

“Fuck you.” She managed, knowing it was futile, as her cunt clamped down on his cock.

“You will. Your turn first.” He returned, picking up his pace, fingers ruthless in rubbing that bundle of nerves.

Her muscles were tied in knots as the first waves rippled from her center and grew so potent she could do nothing but wail as he crowed his victory. It seized her like a vice, stealing her breath as darkness crept into the edges of her vision. She quaked under the onslaught, flame and its overwhelming heat flooding her system as he fucked her, groaning with every flutter of her cunt around his cock. She slammed her eyes shut, her mind fracturing into cracks and jagged lines, her distressed whimpers barely audible over the rush of blood in her ears as Richy slammed home one last time with a smile in his voice as he cursed her name.

His body blanketed hers as he slumped over her and pushed her down into the mattress, neither capable of speaking for a long while. The power had shifted, she could feel it as his heart thudded against her back, and hers found it’s usual rhythm. He was coming into his own now he was free of the chains of humanity and could be himself with someone that wouldn’t judge his darkest fantasies. She wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. In the past, it had always meant her doom and suffering. Giving someone power over her had never ended well, and she couldn’t see how this would be any different.

Still, when he rolled off her, neither had enough shame to feel awkward as he dragged her up by her hands and clumsily untied her. She rubbed at her red wrists, rolling her shoulders as he padded through to the bathroom, and she sighed when the door closed. Shaking her head, staring blindly at her own reflection in the night dark windows, Aylin decided to hell with it all. If she went down in flames because of him, she at least enjoyed herself first and hadn’t had to hide who she was in her last days. Many didn’t get that chance, and she was already tired of thinking about it. The bed sheets were damp on her side, so she took Richy’s side instead. He called her a bitch when he finally crawled into bed, and she was smirking, her back to him as she succumbed to the lure of sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I was laughing at myself the whole time I wrote it because it's just ridiculous 😂 See you later! ❤️

[celestialholz]

What's an interesting yet not very well known Forgotten Realms fact that you would like to share?

Hello, dearest anon. I'm about to do to you what I've done to many people over the years and deeply disappoint you 🤣 I'm not especially familiar with the D&D setting outside of BG3 - I actually play WFRP in some of my spare time.

But in lieu of a Forgotten Realms fact, a handful of BG3 facts you may not know and that I think are very interesting, learned from my three and a half playthroughs. :)

1. Minthara's battle phrase 'sussun egg oloth' is Drow for 'light slays darkness', which is funky and appropriate for a paladin who has been exiled from her Underdark hometown. This is also written on Isobel's tomb - and Aylin is the source of both Ketheric's immortality and, potentially, his downfall.

2. Astarion's Persuasion check to stop him ascending is literally half of Shadowheart's not to kill Nightsong, provided you have to use her Persuasion check anyway. Which is absolutely wild to me.

3. A Storm Sorceror using Chain Lightning on a Wet target with Destructive Wrath and the Killer's Sweetheart auto-crit will do 320 damage in one turn if it isn't saved, assuming a 'normal' hit - i.e. lack of resistance/not being vulnerable.

4. Gortash's name is a play off the theme of radiance, hence his crossbow doing Radiant damage when he's my favourite bastard. :) His Hellfire Watcher-in-chief also carries Gontr Mael, the legendary longbow of this game that also does Radiant damage.

5. Gale is the only one of the tadfools whose guardian has a specific gender - he refers to them as she/her.

6. There's a second Dark Amethyst for the Necromancy of Thay in Mystic Carrion's basement.

7. There's a really cool axe behind the Illusion door in Sorcerous Sundries, but only if you destroy the door.

8. If you take one of the Drow twins in Sharess' Caress with you upstairs and Minthara is your partner, she will threaten to kill them if your sordid act goes ahead. Ignore her and go anyway, and Initiative will roll the second you speak to them in their quarters. (On god this is the funniest shit I've seen in a game crammed full of really funny shit.)

9. On arriving in Baldur's Gate, if you speak to a romanced Gale he'll tell you he's happy to support you if you're finding city life a bit overwhelming. This is supremely cute.

10. The Light of Creation doesn't stun you if you're naturally immune to Lightning.

11. An Embrace Durge can be targeted successfully by Hold Monster, even in humanoid form.

12. The Sunwalker's Gift doesn't work on console. My githyanki and dragonborn disapprove.

13. Ketheric's Netherstone is pink, the colour of feminity and adoration - presumably because he turned to the darkness after losing two women he loved.

14. If given free choice, even as a Selûnite Shadowheart will choose to kill her parents in the House of Grief.

15. Lorroakan keeps the best staff (and arguably the best robe) in the game in his basement, and uses a reasonable variant of both himself instead. A delightful showcase of his incompetence.

16. In Balanced, the Steel Watch are weak to lightning, and default Durge is a Storm Sorceror. This one's just fun. :)

17. Tactician Raphael has 865 health. Ew.

18. If you fight Gortash whilst the Steel Watch are still active, and try to give yourself an easier life by Arcane Locking the door to the three Watchers outside so they can't help, when the fight starts all three of them will be inexplicably surrounding Gortash.

19. You can pickpocket Withers. And he does not care how many times you fail it.

20. If you're struggling with the House of Grief fight, a Light Cleric can dispel magical darkness up to four times in the fight with the Amulet of the Devout.

:)

[royal-writer]

If I could change the past,

there’s only one thing I’d do I’d have done a better job to take care of you

Months. It had been months since he’d last laid eyes on his childhood home. Months since he’d seen people of Briarton who had since returned to their homes and shopswith windows open to let in the gentle breeze. Months since he had smelled the scents of the woods he hunted and ran through all his life; the gardens ripe with fresh vegetation and blooming flower ready to burst into fresh fruits. Months since he’d heard the chatter of many of those he’d known his whole life and the songbirds chirping along the homely eaves. Months since he’d had the mouth-watering taste of deer steak seasoned and cooked just as he knew it should be at the Boar’s Tusk.

Months since he’d felt the thin arms flung around him in a hug that was familiar. A rush of emotions in so many tiers. Laughter bubbled up close to his ear and he grinned wildly with excitement; holding to the young woman with wild flowing hair and the same innocent childhood likeness of amazement.

“Amon! I’ve missed you so much!”

“And I’ve missed you more!” he rejoiced, hoisting her up into the air where her gasped laughter in excitement raised in tone. She squealed and kicked and struggled, but the moment he placed her back upon her feet she was clinging to him once more. Urgent for his attention, she nearly climbed upon him with her fits of giggles.

He tightened his arms around her. For a brief moment, it felt too unreal. And even as he relaxed his grasp, his hands warmed her backside in soothing little circles as her laughter died away and she panted for air in a breathless state of jubilation.

“You haven’t possibly missed me more,” the girl chided, looking past him with a warm smile. “You’ve had your friends with you.”

He quirked an eyebrow, and lowered his voice as he whispered accusingly, “And you haven’t had the ladies with you while I’ve been gone?”

She wrinkled her nose, and stuck out her tongue at him in response. She shoved playfully at his chest so he released her his grip entirely. Even if he was not ready to. But he never really felt ready to let go of his little girl.

“You smell like a bear,” she joked.

“Marie,” Amon threatened; a teasing scold in his voice as he clicked his tongue. “Where are your manners?”

The young Farthing woman beamed up at him. There was starlight in her eyes; mischievous but loving in all the ways he knew. There was still a wonder of girlishness in her actions. She grew and matured; her hair longer, her face less full and rounded like a babe, but no matter how much time passed, he still saw all the years as they’d passed and all the stages she’d grown through. He still could see the frightened, shy little girl barely standing at his knees to who she was now.

Her eyes peeled past him to those standing a polite distance behind him. She raised a hand in polite greeting towards them; wiggling her fingers.

Unable to keep their silence any longer, Adela decided chime in with amusement: “Don’t worry Miss Marie, we’ve become accustomed to his bear-smell.”

Screwing up his mouth in a form of unpleasantness, Amon turned back to look upon the snickering faces of the others. The sourness didn’t remain long on his face however; glimpsing over upon Marie to see her giggling shamelessly once more.

Expelling a sigh, he motioned with his hand towards the door with a vague smile on his face.

“Shall we head in?”

“Yes!” Abernathy shouted. He immediately looked sheepish from his bellowing tone as he hurried ahead of the rest towards the front door. His tone was quietly murmured while passing by: “I still have first claim to the bath.”

Amon chuckled, hearing the muffled snorting of Marie trying to withhold her snickers once more. He ushered her inside after the rest of them with a wave of his head. With a final shake of his head, he turned in as well to shut the door softly behind him; grateful to be back at the manor for the first time in what felt like eons.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nibbling nervously on her lower lip, Essätha turned her gaze over to Aylin. She stood high on her tiptoes to better watch and see what he was doing. He tossed various handfuls of herbs upon the large roll of meat that the housemaids aided in seasoning and rolling around. Their chatter was absent of what they were doing; everyone acting on a basic form of instinct with the dark-elf acting as though he had been a part of this room and among these women his whole life.

How come Aylin knew how to cook? It wasn’t fair! He was from some well-off enough family that he likely didn’t even need to learn the art, but he was going about the business of it in the form of second nature. A sprinkle of this, a dash of that, and folding items into things and stirring pots only to offer a taste and listen to the girls swoon.

“Oh Miss Essätha, the corn!”

She turned her head, giving a shriek to see that the yellow stalky ears she’d been instructed to place near the kindling flames to blistered were, instead, blackening beneath fire. She yanked hold of their tough ends; flinching from the heat as she pulled them over to the counter to pat off the embers and flames still crackling over the kernels.

Her eyes moved to the women in the room, and her face reddened. Some blinked back at her, or turned to each other in exchanged glances. To see someone so unqualified to be in the kitchen and so embarrassingly incapable had to be excruciatingly difficult and a testament to their kindness.

A jolt ran down her spine. She cast a glance over to the tender voice who had given the cry of alarm, and offered a nervous smile.

“It was an honest mistake, Miss Essätha,” Marie offered sympathetically. “I can fetch a few more and try again.”

The chatter began to lift once more into the air behind her. She fidgeted with hands anxiously, giving a nod. Humiliation still burned against her cheekbones and radiated over her face, nearly making her eyes water.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a chef,” Essie admitted with a defeated sigh. “My mother was unable to pass on much of her skills to me in the time we had. I’ve been more reliant on a fast meal since. I apologize for ruining your bounty-”

The young woman gave a small shake of her head. “That’s quite alright; it’s only a few ears of corn. I’ll go fetch up some more-”

“I’ll help. I-If that’s alright.”

“Of course, Miss” the young girl replied with some surprise. “But it’s no trouble. If you feel uncomfortable in the kitchen, I can-”

“I insist.”

“If you’re sure. Would you be alright if I lend you a hand, Miss Essätha?”

“That would be wonderful,” she stated with a tug of relief at the young woman’s patience and understanding. “Thank you, young lady Marie. Perhaps I’ll fair better with a more suitable teacher hovering near me.”

Marie offered a sweet smile in response. A touch timid by the compliment, but she nodded nevertheless  before leading her out of the kitchen. Probably to the brief comfort of the other handmaids in the room, who were tired of seeing such a faulty excuse for a woman try helping. But it was difficult to just sit back and watch everyone else do all this work; she was a grown woman, and more than capable of taking care of herself. By all the gods, she was going to prove she was capable of something; anything more than just having a natural talent for magic.

She was capable of more than just that. She had to be. Right?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

From a distance, Marie could see the crinkles around the woman’s light brown eyes with focus. She looked up, back down at what was in her scale-patched hands, and back up again. The curled tip of her tongue revealed itself briefly; poking out of her mouth in a humorous sign of concentration before peering back down past her flyaway strands of black hair to her project.

From Essätha, Marie looked over to where Adela, Pri’cha, and Sulhadur were. The Tiefling and Thri-Kreen were talking away with glee and delight. Adela would grow quiet long enough to whisper upon the cloth in her hand; where stitches mended themselves into a garment once more within her hands. All signs of wear and tear were suddenly nonexistent from Sulhadur’s apparel as the Dragonborn remained nearby, flipping through the pages of one of Amon’s novels on Bahamut.

“My word Sul, maybe you need to learn Mending; your horns are tearing through your new shirts!”

“They aren’t made for Dragonborns,” Sulhadur helplessly replied to the pink-toned woman.

“Perhaps his head is getting too big?” Pri’cha teased gently, chattering with amusement at the playful scowl the scaly crimson man passed as he tossed a decorative pillow her way.

While they giggled, Adela looked up to catch her eye. She grew scarlet upon her face, and cleared her throat as she grabbed the pillow to fluff it and place it neatly beside her.

“Apologies, Miss Marie-”

Marie shook her head, smiling lightly. “No trouble; they need to be beat of dust anyway.”

An uncertain giggle passed over the Tiefling. She went uneasily back into conversation with the little cleric of Pelor as the Paladin began to rearrange the cushions once more to a more suitable display. Not the way Marie would have laid them out, but he seemed just as shy to be caught having goofed around in the lavish household.

She passed through the room silently the rest of the way, only bothering to look back to see the troubled look on Essätha’s face as she held up the garb to study. The stitching was a bit lopsided, but as she gave it a sharp tug, it held strong against further splits. Her face swelled with a color of pride before Marie turned the corner out of sight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It wasn’t as though she was trying to keep an eye on Essätha, but the moment she’d spotted her heading down the hallway, Marie followed. If the sorceress was looking for something, perhaps she could help. If not then at least she could speak to her about how she managed to hunt up so many ducks for their dinner. It was an amazing accomplishment, especially when she’d only gone out alone to do so.

She watched as Essie paused, turning her face down to the floor. With a scoff, the Yuan-ti woman bent down to touch the floor where a scuff mark was against the wood paneling. A bloom of shadowy violet magic escaped her hands; spiraling out like the petals of an orchid and embedding itself into the floor. When she removed her hand, the stain of black was miraculously gone.

A satisfied little smile ghosted across the woman’s face. Marie found herself frozen, an unexpected grin upon her own face. She was supposed to be an honored guest, and here she was cleaning up messes as though this was her own house.

All of Amon’s guests were exceptional. Essätha was just as easy to like as all the rest; passionate, kind, strong. She was always trying her best and pushing herself to do better. There was no competition in her actions; she watched from a wary distance and seemed strangely homesick, as if something was lacking.

Marie hesitated as the woman stood, and snapped her fingers. A faint fragrance seemed to lift from seemingly nowhere at the crackle of magic that sparked off her her fingertips. She sniffed a few times, before it came to her why it was so familiar. It had been so long since she’d had Amon around, that his cologne didn’t register to her immediately. How baffling for the woman to conjure that of all things.

The door to the master suite’s sitting room opened and the Farthing girl shrank back. Amon would berate her for spying as she was, peering behind the doorframe from the balcony area, but it felt somehow wrong to intrude as he stepped out of his room and but a few feet from Essätha.

“Oh, Essätha-”

“I- I’m sorry m’lord I was just- going to fetch something from the room…”

Her eyebrows knit together at the breathless strain in the woman’s voice. Not wishing to be seen, Marie shrank back into the shadows of the doorway to continue eavesdropping, with barely passing her regard around the frame to watch.

Amon murmured something she could not catch, and held the door open for Essie. They passed a glance to each other; their faces slightly flushed.

Marie clasped a hand over her mouth to hold back a squeak.

She’d seen a similar look upon Amon before. He’d looked at some of his other lady friends that way, before.

But there was a withheld intensity in his regard. A secret in the light of his eyes as he smiled effortlessly at the woman, who met his gaze unflinching. There was a confident air that moved over her despite the shy smile and flirtatious way she looked up at him beneath her eyelashes as she passed by. It was like when Amon had been teaching her about magnets, and she’d watched the two come clicking back to each other each time they were pulled apart. Try as she might, the pair always came rushing together.

As the door closed behind Essätha softly, Amon raised a fist to rest gently upon the heavy oak door. He released a sigh. It was both heavy with longing and dreamy all at once.

Before she could be spotted, Marie flung herself out of the doorway and against the wall. Her hands were still positioned over her mouth as she glanced up to the enormous dragonic skeleton that hung above the dining room and dance area, and slowly dropped her hands down.

The sound of Amon’s boots were moving. She froze, and then relaxed to hear the opposite door to the library open instead as he went on his way through the estate.

Suddenly too many things made sense all at once. The way his eyes would slide over to Essätha during dinner. The offered hand to help her up off the sofa (who couldn’t get up from a couch on their own?). He kept his posture lax but reserved; turning away from her at first but gradually his body language moved to match where his face turned towards the longer they were in the same room together.

She couldn’t decide how to feel about it all. Amon had always been a cool gentleman, but any lady he ever brought home would leave calling him ‘frigid’ and ‘detached’. They couldn’t see the man she came to know; wise, caring, gentle, fatherly. They saw his walls and his barriers over time, and none of them could scale them. None of them could chase him long enough to see the man beneath the portrait of perfection.

There was rest in the way he looked at her. Comfort. Soothed. The calms of storms passed, and he appeared unscathed. Interested but refraining himself.

This was different, Marie realized rather swiftly. Something about this was different.

And she had to find out why, and what it all could mean.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was chatting going on in the lounge area by the kitchen. Curious, Marie rapped upon the door to hear a hush befall previous giggling and boisterous laughter.

“Who is it?” a voice sang.

“Uh… m-me?” Marie echoed, dumbfounded. “Marie.”

The door opened. For a moment, she couldn’t make out who this person was. Short, a daring and bold look about their wild eyes, and braided hair. Then it clicked; and beneath the dense poof of curls she could recognize what once was a poofy nest that usually rested in a large and somewhat knotted ball on top of the girl’s head.

Ravamora reached out, taking hold of her hand to usher her inside. Marie fumbled through the door as it opened and shut behind her, spotting a large portion of the house staff sitting upon the sofas and floor. Their expressions turned mortified and shameful upon being seen; some dressed casual, others in nightgowns and other attire. Each and every one had their hair done in various styles, and some were even wearing makeup.

Puzzled, her gaze fell upon the group of women sitting criss-cross on the floor. They were threaded in a line; each holding sections of hair with Essätha in the back, beaming ear to ear as she formed a dutch-style braid upon the woman before her. Others had pull-throughs, waterfalls, rope-twists, and the standard three-strand.

Despite half the room freezing like mice beneath the gaze of a fox, Essie tossed her hair back and squealed happily upon seeing her. She quickly swung around the last sections of hair; a bit sloppily, and wrapped a piece of ribbon around as she motioned to Rava.

“Would you mind making a bow here, Rava? I’d like to get started on Marie next.”

Marie immediately threw up her hands, offering a nervous giggle as she murmured, “Oh no, that’s okay  you don’t have to-”

“Oh,” the Yuan-ti remarked, halfway up already as Ravamora plopped down where she last sat. She ran a self-conscious hand over her clothes, taking out the creases as she did so.

A surprising and grumpy voice rose up from the corner, holding a goblet of wine as Penimra piped up, “If I was succumbed to the fate, so must the rest of you!”

“Penimra, you willingly jumped into the room and let us braid your hair,” Rava countered.

“I did no such thing!”

Ignoring the ongoing banter, Marie looked upon the disappointment within the lady’s face. She offered a friendly smile, and took a step forward as she exhaled nervously.

“Alright, Miss Essätha. You may try.”

“Are you sure-?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Essätha gave an eager squeal. Taking hold of her hand, she carted Marie over to the nearest couch, where the women scooted over to make room. They appeared somewhat nervous; the color staining their cheeks brighter than the rouge they wore.

A brush slowly began to comb through her hair. She fidgeted, trying to remain still as everyone began to gradually carry on hush conversation once more. Their voices began to rise steadily the more they exchanged words, and still the brush whispered carefully through her hair.

“Your hair is so soft,” the woman sighed. “You take really good care of it.”

“T-Thank you, Miss Essätha.”

With a click of her tongue, Essie began to part her hair into sections. “You know, Essätha works just fine for me. I’m hardly a ‘miss’, a bit too wild for that. But whatever you feel most comfortable using works fine for me.”

Marie remained quiet. A slowly lullaby hum she didn’t recognize emitting from behind her, in soft syllables as her hair was twisted and carefully pulled tight. She remained carefully still as it was twirled around and maneuvered so not to yank on her scalp or tangle the strands as they were weaved and interlocked together.

“You know m’lord’s missed you a lot,” she finally eased in.

A grin she couldn’t withhold appeared. “I know. I’ve missed him just as much.”

“I’m sure,” Essätha murmured. “He’s adores you. Can’t speak enough about you. Not a bad word to be had. You seem like quite the capable mathematician and scholar.”

“He exaggerates,” Marie answered; her voice small and timid as she blushed.

“I don’t know, I’d be inclined to believe him. You seem rather smart to me; only to be matched by a very pure heart. Briarton’s lucky to have you here; as are its people and everyone in it, from the manor to the bakery and beyond.”

“He tells a lot of stories-”

“Can you blame him? Lord Amon’s just proud, as he should be. You are a remarkable woman young lady Marie, and you should be very proud to carry that on your shoulders. Talented, a fun sense of humor, and clever.

She blinked rapidly, trying to find the words to say. Her head turned, following the layered fishtail braid that was set to fall down her shoulder before looking back at the brimming joy of the woman looking back at her.

“I try my best,” she stated simply; fiddling with the strands of the green ribbon through her fingers.

Essätha scoffed gently, patting her leg. “Humble and modest. I bet the baker’s son likes that about you too, hmm?”

Marie felt the sweltering heat enter her face, and gaped as the woman began to laugh. She didn’t know what was more alarming: the fact that Amon had apparently been spilling everything about her to his friends, or the conversation.

“Thank you.”

“Hmm? Oh think nothing of it dear; I’d be happy to do your hair any time.”

“N-No I mean… thank you. For the kind words.”

For a moment, Essie stared blankly. Then her smile reappeared; soft and lighthearted.

“Well you have quite the positive impact on everyone around you,” the Yuan-ti whispered quietly. “You’ve brightened the smiles on everyone in the manor my dear; you deserve recognition. Beauty is a nice quality to have, but it shines much better on the inside, and you carry both exceptionally well.”

Marie flushed, giving a short giggle.

She now understood.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Moving towards the maidens quarters, Marie froze as she spotted someone moving out from the shed that lead into the courtyard. She waited with a hand on her hip as Amon moved to pass her by, trying to move swiftly as he did so.

Not swift enough.

She began to cackle, wheezing as she pointed to his hair.

“She got you too!”

Splotches of red appeared on his face. The nobleman erected his posture, turning a narrow-eyed glance her way as he tried to hide his smile. His lips quivered however; and her rolls of laughter couldn’t cease. Tears streaked down her face, looking at the tiny braid twist hanging near his eye.

“Essätha has quick hands,” he defended, pretending to scowl. “Now shouldn’t you be in bed, young lady?”

Flinging her head to the side, the fishtail swung around to slap Marie in the face. She blew loose strands out from her mouth, countering him with a defiant: “I’m a woman now Amon. I can go to bed when I please.”

“Still a sassy pants,” he accused. “But I can see your eyelids drooping. Go get some rest.”

She stuck her tongue out, sniggering to herself as he rolled his eyes and chuckled softly to himself. He moved to glide past her, keeping his right arm strangely stiff as he passed.

Marie turned for the door, stopped, and glanced back.

As Amon slipped into the kitchen, she could see the untainted white of a peony carefully held by the stem in his grip. It disappeared, along with him as he shut the door behind him.

With a hand placed over her chest, she sighed softly at the romantic gesture. Certain she knew where he was going with the single bloom, Marie stepped into the maidens quarters, and shut the door behind her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You’re leaving so soon?”

Amon didn’t look her in the eye. He seemed to study his satchel filled with goods, rather than make eye contact with her.

“I’m afraid so, sweetheart. We’re only passing through for a few days to catch some rest.”

She gave a little nod of understanding. Her heart felt as though it shrank within her chest. An aching sorrow and longing for him to stay. Still she contained a tiny smile for him as she reached out, gently resting a hand over his shoulder.

“You do look happy spending time with them.”

The Briarton Lord gave a quiet snort, casting her a glance as he placed his folded clothing within the bag.

“What are you saying? I required an improvement?”

Leaning against the bedside, Marie rolled her eyes up as she gestured with her shoulders uncertainly.

“No and yes. You just seemed rather stagnant lately Amon, I was worried…”

The top flap of the bag flipped over. Her eyes moved over, seeing as he briefly clinched his knuckles to a bone-white before relaxing them. She cast a worrisome gaze up to his, frowning despite his loving and warm features.

“It’s my job to worry about you, Marie, not the other way around.”

Ignoring the sorrowful note in his voice, she merely tilted her head back to his sack. Her hand reached for the flap, flicking it open as she reached for the set of socks he’d forgotten to grab at the end of the bed to squeeze inside.

“What do you think of Miss Essätha?”

The slightly exasperated look on his face watching her correct his mistake vanished. Amon reached up, scratching the side of his beard thoughtfully as he took great care and time devising his answer.

“She’s… quite charming,” he stated slowly. “Why do you ask?”

Marie ran the leather folds together, latching the top into place. “Just because.”

“Marie…”

“You stare at her a lot,” she blurted; unable to hold her tongue as she whirled on him, pointing a finger towards his chest.

“Admit it. Admit that you like her.”

His jaw worked. The brooding darkness of his eyes were shut off as he clenched his teeth tightly together. A hand reached out to her, attempting to lower her hand.

“Marie-”

“Why do you do that? Why are you holding back? Does she not make you happy? What are you worried about?”

He sighed, ruffling a hand through his hair before dropping it by his side. His eyes averted; unable to stare at her.

“It’s… complicated. You shouldn’t-”

“Is it because of me?” she drilled.

“What?” Amon stammered, reaching for her. “Sweetheart no, that’s not-”

“I don’t understand, Amon. You’ve tried courting lady’s before; what makes Essätha different?”

He groaned. In so little words, it was the sound of a parent unable to express to their child the spectrum of a world they didn’t know. Or in the very least, a thousand layers of secrecy built up upon one truth.

“Many things,” he finally admitted, raising a hand for silence when she came close to interrupting.

Marie stood passive, but crossed her arms in front of her chest. The lack of explanation was maddening.

“It’s complicated,” Amon repeated gently. “Essätha is unique. We come from very different, very unusual backgrounds.”

“But she makes you happy,” Marie pointed out.

A ghost of a smile crept up his face that he couldn’t deny. “She does.”

“Then are you just making excuses to stop yourself from telling her, because you’re scared of the outcome; that you might get hurt, or because you really believe that all these differences are stopping you?”

He stared at her. A wordless shock. Mouth opening and closing, he swallowed hard against his adam’s apple. The smile began to reappear on his face steadily; quirking at an angle.

“When did you become so wise?” he teased.

Marie beamed at him, gently patting his chest. “I learned it from you.”

Scoffing with disbelief, he reached out to grab hold of her and drag her in to a tight hug. A large grin spread across her face, gently patting him on the back.

“Besides, she likes you too.”

Amon suddenly stiffened against her.  He gave a faint chuckle; almost nervous, as he murmured, “Yes, I believe she does. But that doesn’t mean she likes me enough to go steady.”

Marie rolled her eyes, happy to know he couldn’t see her do so. If he couldn’t see how devoted she looked at him, maybe it was time to start having his eyes checked to wear spectacles. Instead she patted his back lightly as they embraced, making only one, tiny little taunting remark.

“If Miss Essätha had been able to put up with your bear-smell this long, then she’s a braver woman that most.”

The hug that held her squeezed tighter and she squealed, trying to break free. But there was no freedom as she was crushed in a bear hug; squirming desperately for freedom.

“Looks like you’re going to smell like a bear now too!”

“Noooo Amon, put me down!” she laughed wildly, legs kicking. Her shouts of alarm did not grant her freedom as she thrashed, and even when she did break free, he grabbed her again and began to tickle her until she was collapsing against the side of the bed, tears strolling down her cheeks and trying to shove him off.

It felt good to laugh that hard. It felt like she hadn’t done it in years; or at least, since he’d left. And though she was going to miss him, she knew that before long he’d be passing through again. Then maybe, the next time or two, he’d stay again.

And maybe things would be different, or just the same. She’d have to wait and see.

But she had an awfully good feeling about what the future would hold.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sun had finally broken dawn. She hadn’t gotten up in time to eat breakfast with the gaggle of people Amon had brought with him, but Marie had thrown herself together enough to set foot outside and see them loading up their refurbished wagon to set out.

They each gave a parting farewell to her and the staff. Some were more elaborate than others (Essie’s kind speech), or more dramatic (Penimra’s flair as he’d thrown his feathered boa around his neck and trotted off), but they each seemed mostly heartfelt.

She clung to Amon the most as he whispered his goodbyes in her ear. The gentle love she’d always known as she clung to him, swallowing the threatening tears at the idea of him departing again. She held strong though; just as he always was. A calm demeanor but a slice of regret and hurt in his futures to let her go again.

They all began to pile into the back of their cart. Marie watched, arching an eyebrow as Amon offered a hand to Essie to help her up. His eyes remained on her a fraction longer than necessary; that same softness in his eyes she’d witnessed in the hall. As he turned to head back to where Maestro waited for him, he caught her staring. A mixture of humiliation and slight irritation morphed on his face.

As he carried himself towards the mare, her attention turned back towards the Yuan-ti. As she situated herself a spot on the cart, the tawny color of her eyes flickered over to watch Amon. When she turned away again, a pink color was on her face and she was staring off in the distance with a smile.

Marie raised her hand, grinning as she waved it back and forth as their equines began to trot down the road. Much of them called out in farewell in answer to her own as they disappeared down the way.

Her hand dropped to her chest. A quiet ache of misery to see Amon go again; even as he circled his horse around a few times just to continue waving back at her where he could be seen.

But he’d come back alright. Essätha promised that to her the first time, and she had kept her word. She had stated the same this morning in her farewell, and she believed her completely. How could she not trust her? The way she stared after Amon; hope and pining with a dash of wishfulness, there was not a doubt in Marie’s mind that everything was going to be just fine.

[luteia-fr]

Psst. List your fave dragons (both your own and others) and why for WBW?

Well this was unexpected, but thank you very much!

Under the cut because length. I’ve chosen one from my lair and one from each person on my friend list. Apologies to those who aren’t on that list.

Me - Rucuine

I always just kind of hope he ends up as popular as Even (from Kai’s Clan Amberspire) but let’s be honest, it’s not happening. 

I usually dislike pink, but it was his art that caught me. He’s the only fem-posed imperial in my lair. I honestly mistook him for a male imp, which is why he’s trans. (Which is why my trans dragons are trans. I make them that way if I forget their ingame sex; or if they’re a fem-posed guardian since I can’t stand masc-posed guardians.)

He’s a very precious guy to me. Despite all the shit he’s been put through, he just kind of sciences around and tries to make things nicer for those around him. That’s his thing. He isn’t edgy or an elder god in disguise- just a normal dragon trying to go about his life and consistently fucking it up while he does it.

I dunno really why I love him. But I do.

Kai - Althea

An old favourite. Let’s be honest, she’d murder me and I’d be okay with it. (I’d be okay with it if anyone murdered me, but point still stands.) 

She reminds me of a girl I used to know a long long time ago and that’s probably why I love her. Her plan would have worked probably. I’m not really sure what to say other than I love her. Because I do. 

Peach - Juniper

Peach doesn’t have much in the way of lore; but Juni here is another old favourite. I wouldn’t have him in my lair personally; but his colours go quite well together and I for one would have a delightful time dressing him up.

Vhann - BADKITTY

Like anyone didn’t see this coming. Little black voidcloud kitten of love. Aylin’s true bff. Vhann’s got a lot of really sweet dragons that I adore, but BK was the first I fell in love with, and that stays.

It’s fun to see how BK’s lore matches up with other things. Usually very creatively.

(Runner ups? Mossflight, Continuum, Canice, and Shadriel.)

Multi - Kalden

Nobody didn’t see this coming either. (Tbh it does kinda bother me that he isn’t wearing his sweater yet + his bio doesn’t reflect his relationship yet but that’s just me being weird and it’s totally possible it just hasn’t happened yet.)

Anyway this is the puffball of a water mage that somehow managed to make Thermos act less like a complete asshole to everyone around him. Nobody knows how this came to be.

That plus if I ever obtain more than one water sprite you can bet Therm’s going to send one to him in a letter telling him to please not leave his familiar in Lyra for she eats too damn much. (Or something along the lines of completely harmless but still somehow insulting; as is Therm’s way of being mad at people.)

Also, that accent is super cute and fits him perfectly.