#oc: emerald gale

[daughter-of-melpomene]

𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗛 𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗧 𝗕𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗜𝗘𝗦

The time has finally come for me to share my Ever After High plot bunnies with you guys!! I really did mean to post this shortly after I talked about my Monster High babies, but some things happened and I never got around to it. However, I’m here now!! Feel free to also check out my Ever After High fancast if you want to better picture these plot bunnies with their friends and ships!

(Also gonna tag my beloveds @ginevrastilinski-ocs and @manyfandomocs since they’re the ones who inspired me to share these, and also my beloved @auxiliarydetective!!)

Tempest Witch, daughter of the Sea Witch, poly Dexter/Raven ship, China Anne McClain FC. Hidden away in the sea and homeschooled for most of her life because her mother wanted to protect her from having to sign the Storybook of Legends and suffering the same fate she did, but starts attending Ever After High after the Storybook is officially abolished. Kind of in awe of Raven and has a bit of a hero worship crush on her at first since she’s the one who changed everything, but eventually that turns into real feelings as they get to know each other better and those feelings extend to Dexter as well. A total sweetheart who absolutely doesn’t want to be evil and believes in goodness and helping people, but also intensely awkward and a bit naïve after being hidden away from the world for so long. Can transform into an octopus hybrid form whenever she gets into water, and also has hydrokinesis and is actually one of the strongest magic-using students at school since she was with her mother for so long and didn’t have a lot to do but practice. Obviously a Rebel, since she absolutely doesn’t want to become evil and hurt people, and her roommate is Lilly Bo-Peep.

Helena Müller Jr., daughter of “Thousandfurs,” Duchess ship, Paris Berelc FC. Named after her mother’s real name, but call her Junior and she’ll stomp on your toes in heels. One of the most fashionable students at Ever After High, and has definitely collaborated with Poppy on designs before. Happy to be a princess and looks forward to ruling her kingdom some day, but also wants to be able to design and sell her creations and is way too much of a social butterfly to be content being in disguise and unknown for years, so she certainly isn’t upset when Milton finally gets rid of the Storybook of Legends. A bright, cheeeful, and energetic person, always the life of the party, but also tends to be a bit insecure that people only like her because of her looks (a leftover from what happened to her mother). Develops a crush on Duchess despite the vast differences in their personalities, and though Duchess initially resents her like she resents all students with happy endings she eventually comes around and they get together. Some kind of a mix between a Royal and a Rebel (she likes her happy ending but doesn’t want to go through everything leading up to it and anyway believes that people should get to choose their destinies), and her roommate is Clara Lear.

Faerena Upland, daughter of Glinda the Good Witch, poly OC ship, Maisie Peters FC. Basically for the longest time this girl is Apple’s pre-Legacy Day beliefs combined with Glinda’s personality before she became friends with Elphaba - Faerena is a master at becoming exactly what the person she’s talking to wants to see and hear so she can keep boosting her social status, but she’s also pretty self-absorbed and doesn’t care about much but becoming Oz’s beloved Good Witch someday. Doesn’t care for the Rebels at all, can’t understand why they won’t just suck it up and stop making things hard for the people who do want their happy endings, and is constantly rude to all of the Rebels and Ness in particular, since he is supposed to be her future “enemy”. Eventually does realize the error of her ways and strives to become better and make amends, though, especially after she falls in love with Ness and Em - she doesn’t quite ever lose the vanity or the instinct to put on an act, though. Like her mother, has the ability to do magic but isn’t super good at it, which frustrates her to no end. Initially a hardcore Royal but transitions into becoming a Rebel, and her roommate is Emerald “Em” Gale (and they were roommates!).

Ness Thropp, son of Elphaba Thropp a.k.a. the Wicked Witch of the West, poly OC ship (Faerena and Em’s boyfriend), Finn Wolfhard FC. Named after his late aunt Nessarose, which he isn’t exactly sure how to feel about. Most people at Ever After High tend to forget that he’s actually a student there, because he’s incredibly quiet and tries his best not to make his presence known. A good bit more skilled in magic than his mom since he has more opportunities to actually practice and learn about it, but mostly just practices so he can keep it in control because he’d much rather be drawing or painting than doing any magic. A dedicated artist who’s terrified of becoming Oz’s misunderstood pariah and is honestly kind of afraid of Faerena before he comes to realize just how constantly she puts on an act. The days Raven refused to sign the Storybook of Legends and when it was officially destroyed were the two best days of his life because it meant he didn’t have to be afraid anymore, but he also does have pretty bad social anxiety and has to learn to accept support from the people who care about him to overcome his worries and insecurities. He and Em start dating at first (he’s been hopelessly pining after her for literal years and she finally asks him out shortly after the Royals and Rebels start to make peace), and even though it takes him a bit longer than Em to forgive Faerena and start dating her - even though he’s also had a crush on her for a while despite everything - he fully supports Em entering into a relationship with her first and is the sweetest most attentive boyfriend to both his girlfriends when they all get together. Definitely a Rebel considering how much he’s always feared his destiny, and his roommate is Tucker.

Emerald “Em” Gale, daughter of Dorothy Gale, poly OC ship (Faerena and Ness’s girlfriend), Halle Bailey FC. Has always been excited for her destiny, since she can’t wait to visit Oz, but has also always thought Ness was sweet and doesn’t really want to go up against him, so she’s happy when the Storybook of Legends gets abolished because it means she won’t have to. Also doesn’t like Faerena much at first, since as her roommate she really sees how self-absorbed and image-obsessed she is, but eventually she sees how much the other girl puts on a constant mask and doesn’t really know who she is without her destiny and offers to help her make amends (essentially taking up the role of Faerena’s Elphaba rather than Ness doing it), and eventually winds up falling in love with her and dating her while also still dating Ness. Very happy when Ness and Faerena fall in love because she loves love and now the two people she loves love each other too! Definitely a lot like her mother, curious and adventurous and a bit quick-tempered, but also a sweetheart who would do anything for the people she cares about. Probably would describe herself as a Roybel (likes the idea of her destiny despite the fact that she completely flouts it, and does believe that people should be allowed to choose what they want to do), and her roommate is Faerena Upland (again, and they were roommates!).

Kieran Dancer, child of the eleventh Dancing Princess, Hopper ship, Keiynan Lonsdale FC. Justine’s cousin, but in her year at Ever After High since their mom didn’t have them until later in life. An absolutely terrible dancer despite the fact that their parents and aunts have had them and all their cousins in lessons since they were able to walk, so they’ve always been dreading their destiny and they’re intensely relieved when Milton finally gets rid of the Storybook of Legends. A very talented actor, though, and they get involved with Ever After High’s theatre department once Raven doesn’t sign and the Rebels are more free to pursue their actual passions. Kind of a class clown, super quick-witted and funny, but also has a big heart and knows how to be serious when it’s needed. Besties with Dexter since they both thought for a while that Dexter might be the prince in Kieran and Justine’s story, even though Kieran knew he was in love with Raven and was totally cool with it since they basically just see Dexter as a brother. Has had a crush on Hopper for years but never tried to make a move before Raven doesn’t sign the Storybook, but doesn’t hesitate to ask him out once the Royals and Rebels make peace. A Rebel who does also support those who like their destiny and want to go through with it, and their roommate (unfortunately) is Gus Crumb.

Molly Marian, daughter of Maid Marian, Darling ship, Ella Purnell FC. Has always hated the idea of her destiny, both because she hates that she doesn’t get to do anything important and because she thinks Sparrow is annoying and doesn’t want to get married to him at all (never mind the fact that she doesn’t even like guys). One of the biggest troublemakers at Ever After High because of this, because she is determined to make Milton’s life as miserable as possible before she has to sign the Storybook. The very first one, besides Maddie of course, to be on Raven’s side after Legacy Day, and is eternally grateful to the other girl for what she sees as saving her from the life she didn’t want. An absolute spitfire, fierce and defiant and never afraid to call out bullshit when she sees it, but also has a big heart and loves deeply. Has been pining for Darling from afar since they were kids, but doesn’t make a move until after the Wonderland adventure when she learns the other girl’s White Knight secret - they’re an absolute power couple when they do get together, though. Kind of becomes besties with Raven and Maddie after Legacy Day. Basically the original Rebel, and her roommate is Kitty Cheshire (which can be stressful sometimes, but most of the time she likes it).

Now, I don’t actually intend to properly introduce these guys or do much with them, but if you still want to ask any questions about them, feel free!! Hope you guys enjoy these babies!! <3

[ask-indigoskies]

New chapter update soon?

[viihxen]

From this day forward, I have a special hate for goblins ✨

[warlordfelwinter]

i'm inconsolable btw

[son1c]

What happens to all your sonic prime ocs at the end?

i feel like i've answered this before... but when i looked, i couldn't find the ask i was thinking of... so maybe i just made that up. oh, well.

prism dies. you knew this already. android prism does not die. though, nine really wants to kill him for awhile there. but he finds he can't--or, more accurately, won't--do it. :)

bullet is freed from his full-time-no-benefits-basically-just-imprisonment "job" working for the chaos council. the flickies are ok. he succeeded in protecting them. now he gets to enjoy their company and his life without the threat of imminent destruction weighing over him 24/7.

halcyon joins the megaflora hive. by choice. they come to understand each other, and their endless cycle of violence comes to an end. no one needs to die. the plants, scavengers, and refugee citizens of the space colony ARK can all live together in harmony, because the megaflora and halcyon are greater than their original purposes, and they can forge their own paths. together. it's quite beautiful imo...

windthrow has to say goodbye to his father figure, ""eggman,"" but he has the scavengers and halcyon now. he'll be alright.

bermuda gives up his grudge against the surface dwellers... for the most part. he's no longer actively trying to kill them at every moment, at least. so, what's left for him? he isolates himself for a while after the events of the show, sad in spite of himself that the first person who managed to gain his trust since the ARK incident--prime sonic--is gone, but there's always unfinished business in the sonic universe, and the final hazard looms for the world of No Place, necessitating the teamwork of him and his... bitter?... enemy, gale.

gale suffers for awhileee due to losing the chaos emeralds. after being fused with them for his whole life, their sudden absence makes him feel weak and disoriented. to make matters worse, bermuda's siren song--which he had previously been immune to thanks to the emeralds' protection--suddenly compels him. but bermuda is just as shocked as gale when he appears before him one stormy night, and quickly deems it an unfair advantage. though, it was certainly tempting to drag him under... bermuda just lets gale go, much to gale's confusion. what can i say? maybe there's some of lancelot's honor in bermuda after all.

regardless, gale continues adventuring like he always has.

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper greets the world as the new Duchess of Valtoria, but that is not the only newsworthy item that rocks the Apple Harvest Festival...

Word Count: 7,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Things are slowly coming to a head! Thanks for bearing with me on this series - I know I have a lot of other projects in the works, so I have not been updating as much as I probably should. But, we are finally getting to the exciting parts (as if what's happened until now hasn't been exciting 🤣) as after this chapter, we are into the meat of the engagement tour, and all the juicy plot changes that I have been wanting to write for over a year will finally come to a fore! *evil laugh*

A/N2: If you have not heard of TURN - the TV show from which I borrowed the chapter theme song - then, I can highly recommend it (especially if you like historical dramas, US history (specifically the Revolutionary War period), or just really good story-telling)!

A/N3: This is also much submission for @choicesjanuary2024 Day 12: Smiles / Secret

Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

"Are you sure I look okay?" I ask, nervously pulling at the high-necked strip of emerald lace that circles my throat.

"Stop fiddling!" Bertrand berates, slapping my hand away. "We are running late as it, and we cannot afford to lose any more time to last minute touch-ups!"

"Yeah, but—"

"You look great, Harper," Maxwell assures me with a beaming smile. "Marcie did a great job."

The petite make-up artist that the Beaumonts had procured out of thin air bobs a curtsy to my right. "It was my pleasure, Your Grace."

Her words hit me like a whiplash.

Your Grace.

My new form of address. One I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to. Lady Harper had been one thing, but that had always felt like a curtesy. A temporary formality that had been extended to me by virtue of my sponsorship by the Beaumonts during the social season.

But there is nothing temporary about my current situation. The weight of the ring on my hand — and its implications — bears down heavily on my finger... and my thoughts. Especially since I still haven't found a moment alone with Drake to finish our conversation from this morning... or bring him up to speed on my new status.

Because no sooner had my ennoblement been sealed with the very expensive — and very potent — champagne, than the Beaumonts had shown back up (somewhat mercifully) to crash Christian's surprise party.

And from there it had been a whirlwind of hair, makeup and outfitting for the all-important Apple Harvest Festival where I am due to make my grand debut as the new Duchess of Valtoria.

A position of some importance — Bertrand has stressed, multiple times — given that in addition to the impressive estate that I am now the official caretaker of, I also have a seat on the infamous Council, as well as a seat on the even more exclusive Privy Council. Not to mention my own fleet of staff, vehicles, bank accounts, and carefully curated online profiles.

Which is why — on top of everything — the ever-industrious press corps have worked at record speed to throw the fruits of yesterday's labours together into an exclusive, twelve-page spread as part of a special edition of Trend magazine, which dropped this morning.

And while I haven't actually had a chance to read through the copy that currently sits on the coffee table of my room (together with every other major national and international news publication), Maxwell has assured me that the social media reactions have — so far — been positive. The snaps of my stress-fuelled efforts at yesterday's apple pick have apparently helped.

Which means that Jonathan's PR gamble is starting to pay dividends, and I now have a public image to maintain. Not just for myself, but for Cordonia as well. Because when I step outside today, I'll be representing everything that the kingdom under Christian's burgeoning rule is striving to be — beauty, modernity, opportunity.

Definitely not the best day to wake up with a litany of awkwardly situated bruises!

Thankfully, both Maxwell and Bertrand seem to have had a chance to pull themselves together after this morning's surprising (and definitely explosive!) turn of events, and — after the initial shock — have set about covering for mine and Drake's mess with the same coordinated precision that they employed to pull the Beaumont Bash out of their butts.

With the result that they somehow managed to transform me from the black and blue disaster I woke up as, into the picture of a polished and refined lady.

I glance apprehensively out at the bright sunshine blanketing the hills. Hopefully, the carefully applied window-dressing survives the literal trial by fire it's about to be subjected to. Because just like yesterday, the temperature is set to climb into the mid-90's today as well, which means I'll most likely end up sweating buckets again, thanks to the Edwardian nature of my dress's neckline.

And what I definitely don't need today is for all the blush and cover-up getting smudged away so that everyone at the event can start speculating about the intimate placement of my of hickeys!

I close my eyes wearily. God, I can't wait for all this to be over...

"No catnaps!" snaps Bertrand, slapping a wide-brimmed hat onto my head. "The people are waiting on us!"

I barely have time to grab my matching clutch before the Beaumonts are whisking me out of my room and down the length of the corridor towards the manor's lawn.

"Surely the Festival can start without us...!" I gasp as I stumble after Bertrand in my heels.

"No, it cannot," he reprimands. "All members of the Council must be present for the ceremonial tree planting."

I frown. "Tree planting? Isn't that a little... agrarian for the aristos?"

"It is a time-honoured tradition!" corrects Bertrand. "Cordonia owes its existence and livelihood to the noble Ruby, so it is the duty of the Council to ensure that the fruits of our bounty are secured for future generations! Hence, the requirement to plant new saplings at the end of each harvest!"

"If you say so..." I concede as we pass through the back doors of the manor.

Based on what I saw at the apple pick, Bertrand's pronouncement seems optimistic at best, given that none of the aristos even bothered to lift a finger to a tree yesterday.

But, looks can always be deceiving, so maybe today is the day that the I am pleasantly surprised for once.

A deafening cheer erupts as the Beaumonts and I step out onto the manor's steps.

Snapping my head towards the source of the commotion, I see what appears to be thousands of people crammed behind velvet-lined cordons, screaming and jostling for position like they're in the front row of a Taylor Swift concert...

...and it takes me a second to realise that it's my name that they're shouting.

"Duchess!"

"Lady Harper, we love you!"

"You're the true Apple Queen, no matter what anyone says!"

"Wow..." I blink, taken aback by the fervency of the crowd's reaction. "I didn't realise I had such a rabid following..."

"Best wave to them," suggests Maxwell, leaning in as he raises his arm into the air with a wide smile.

"Okay..." I concede hesitantly, turning to the crowd to do the same.

The last time I experienced anything remotely like this had been on the red carpet at the Derby — my first public outing as a suitor. But even the bright flash of the cameras and the intrusive questions that the reporters had flung at me paled in comparison to the reaction I am receiving today.

Phones and cameras are thrust into the air as the Beaumonts and I descend the manor's stairs to the accompaniment of the increasingly frenzied cheers and shouts of encouragement. Even a few bouquets of flowers fly through the air, narrowly missing my hat.

And I can't help but smile in the face of the genuine outpouring of support from the crowd. Because it sure as heck feels good to be on top for once!

However, arriving at the edge of the orchard where the tree planting ceremony is due to take place, I am greeted by a very different type of welcome.

Snooty expressions drip down the ends of aristocratic noses as the members of the Council pass silent judgment on my somewhat bombastic entrance.

"They're just jealous," Maxwell whispers to me as we take up our spots at the edge of the gathering.

"Yeah..." I agree with a stilted voice. "That's what I'm worried about."

I know firsthand of the lengths that these people are willing to go to in order to exact vengeance for perceived slights. And I did not particularly feel like painting a target on my back a second time while I am still trying to recover from the hurt caused by the first.

Maybe this is a mistake...

But I don't have time to think on it long, because the public erupts into an even more deafening outburst as Christian appears with Madeleine on his arm.

"Look at her..." snips a voice from behind me. "Acting like she's Queen already."

I whip around in disbelief. "Olivia!"

The Duchess of Lythikos cuts her green eyes over at me with a derisive look. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Harper. Just because you are now a duchess, does not mean that the rest of us have taken early retirement."

"Trust me," I grumble under my breath, "this was not the plan."

"Opportunities multiply as they are seized," she replies sagely.

I quirk a brow at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," she expounds surly, "opportunity breeds opportunity. And only by exploiting every advantage will you uncover previously hidden gains. Do they not teach The Art of War inyour schools?"

"No..."

She scoffs under her breath. "Explains a lot."

I roll my eyes at her as Christian and Madeleine pause on the steps for photos and a couple of quick sound bites. "I guess this means your sabbatical was productive?"

"Exceedingly."

I heave a breath. "At least one of us is making progress..."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," she counters out of the corner of her mouth. "Your recent advancements have served as a welcome distraction..."

"Not sure if that’s a compliment, or not..." I admit sourly.

"You have more power than you realise," she insists quietly. "Make sure you use it."

"Wow..." I mutter, glancing over at her in genuine surprise. "Friendly advice from the Scarlet Duchess? What else have you learnt during your time away?"

"Our interests are temporarily aligned, nothing more," she replies, shooting daggers across the lawn towards Madeleine. "And I'll fill you in shortly."

"Well, it's good to have you back, regardless," I say with a dip of my head. "Your Grace."

Olivia shoots me a sidelong look. "Don't get sentimental on me, Duchess."

But I can see the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Christian and Madeleine arrive at the edge of the trees. Stepping up to the row of waiting saplings, Christian pulls a stack of notecards out of his pocket and delivers a short speech to the click of the cameras.

As the mandatory applause dies down, he slots the pieces of paper carefully away... and pulls off his jacket.

"What are you doing?" hisses Madeleine as the crowd descends into a hubbub of excited reactions.

"Taking a leaf out of the Duchess of Valtoria's book," he replies, handing his jacket off to the closest shocked Councillor as he sets about rolling up his sleeves.

"Out of—!" Madeleine bristles in indignation, while trying to maintain an outwardly calm composure. "The only thing you have taken is leave of your senses! Now get back here and—!"

Ignoring his fiancée's outburst, Christian grabs the ribbon-bedecked shovel out of the hands of the footman that was holding it, and steps up to a clear patch of grass. Adjusting his grip on the handle, he digs the metal blade decisively into the ground to the accompanying slew of clicking camera shutters.

"Shall we?" asks Olivia with a sly smirk as she pushes her way to the front of the line of gawping nobles.

"Let's," I agree, instantly catching onto her plan.

"Lady Harper!" hisses Bertrand from behind me. "What do you think you're—?"

"Lending a hand to the King," I throw back over my shoulder as I step to the front of the row of aristos who are looking mutely onto the sight of their monarch working up an actual sweat before them.

Grabbing another shovel from the pile in the corner — these ones obviously having seen some honest work already, judging by the dirt encrusted on their faces — I join the King of Cordonia in enlarging the hole in the ground.

Because regardless of Christian's underlying motives for ennobling me, and whatever his broader game may be, what he is doing right now is bigger than me, bigger than him, bigger than any of us. And that deserves recognition. Especially when he is taking such active — and public — strides towards being the change he wants to see unfurl during his rule. Where the ruling class doesn't just offer empty platitudes and hollow ceremony, but actually practices what it preaches. So, what better way to do that, than by planting the seeds of change in front of thousands of people in the literal heart of the kingdom?

Christian rewards my arrival with a nod and a smile as I take up position next to him.

Hefting my shovel, I slice it into the earth that he's already uncovered, using the somewhat flimsy sole of my heeled sandals to drive it deeper.

Scooping the blade back out, I suddenly feel a presence to my left. Looking up, I see that Maxwell has also joined our impromptu work crew.

Throwing me a wink, he drops his shovel in next to mine.

With the three of us working on tandem, it takes us almost no time at all to dig out a hole large enough to house the new apple tree.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead — the weatherman had not lied, that's for sure! — I see that Olivia, with some assistance from Hana, has already prepared the sapling by shunting it closer to the hole and removing the burlap covering from its roots.

Laying down our shovels, we help her manoeuvre the tree to the edge of the dint. Cheers and applause rise up from the onlookers as the sapling thuds into the earth. Olivia uses one of the knives from her hidden arsenal to slice off the twines holding the branches together, and the tree unfurls itself with a satisfied snap.

"Your Majesty!" shouts a reporter, who I recognise as Frederick Capone. "One for the Cordonian Times, if you please!"

"And for the CBS!" adds Donald Brine, muscling his way to the front.

"Certainly," accedes Christian graciously, holding his arm out. "It was a group effort, after all."

We all gather in — sweaty and dirty, but smiling — as the press corps immortalises the scene...

...and I innocuously sweep my hair over my shoulder in a vain effort to try and hide any bruises that may have become uncovered as a result of the unplanned exertion.

"Thank you for joining me in my moment of impulsivity," Christian acknowledges softly as the bulbs flash.

"Please," scoffs Olivia out of the side of her mouth. "It was coordinated from the start."

"The people don't seem to mind," counters Hana with a demure smile as she faces the cameras.

"With the exception of about half-dozen," I note, glancing back at the disgruntled looks of the Councillors from behind us, as they try to save face by applauding our efforts together with the rest of the crowd.

"They'll fall in line." Christian assures me as he lifts his hand with a wave.

I feel a prick between my shoulder blades. Turning my head, I catch sight of the cold fire radiating out of Madeleine's gaze from behind the mask of her perfect smile.

"Maybe not everyone..." I mutter under my breath as I turn back towards the paps.

I'm already on Madeleine's shit list for daring to return to court after my very public humiliation and banishment. On the night of her engagement tour launch party, no less! So, the fact that I ended up upstaging her — again — probably means that I've sunk even further down the ladder of her estimations.

To what end, I have no idea. But I'm going to have to start being more careful from here on out.

Once the press are finally placated, we disperse across the lawn in search of some much-needed refreshments.

"Harper!"

I swallow a groan as I'm brought up short, mere steps from the freshly squeezed, rosemary-infused lemonade that I desperately need after toiling away in this heat. "What now, Bertrand...?"

"I... uhm..." He clears his throat as I turn to face him. "I wanted to apologise for my earlier outburst. It was unseemly... and in retrospect, short-sighted."

"What do you mean?" I ask with a frown. Bertrand very rarely — if ever! — apologised.

"The public reaction to the tree planting has been overwhelming," he clarifies, pulling his phone out.

My eyes bulge as I take in the view count on the screen. "A hundred thousand views already!"

"And counting," Bertrand adds. "And that is only one website."

"And look at the comments!" I exclaim, scrolling through the feed. "They're loving Maxwell as well!"

"Yes, it appears that my brother has a keener instinct for media relations than I do..."

"You should tell him that," I say. "It would mean the world to him."

Bertrand looks momentarily taken aback. "I... Well..." He clears his throat again. "Yes. Maybe I will. He deserves some recognition for his efforts in diverting — at least temporarily — the negative attention away from our financial predicaments."

"A simple hug and a 'thank-you' will do," I tell him with a knowing look.

Bertrand reels back in abject horror. "I will not subject my brother to such a sordid display of affection! Especially in public!"

I heave a sigh. "And there's your problem, right th—"

I trail off as I spot a familiar figure signalling to me from over Bertrand's shoulders.

"Excuse me," I say, palming Bertrand's phone back to him as I move towards one of the marquees that had been set up at the edge of the lawn.

Slipping inside the flap of the tent, I come face-to-face with Ana de Luca.

"Your Grace," she nods, dipping into a curtesy, something she hasn't deigned to do before. "Thank you for making the time."

"Ana," I nod in return, wondering why the influential editor of Trend chose to pull me away for a private meeting. Especially after I cornered her so forcefully at Madeleine's garden party a few days ago.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she continues, straightening back up. "Since returning to court you have managed to elevate yourself not just in rank, but in the eyes of the public as well. Rolling your sleeves up in tandem with the King was a masterful piece of image enhancement."

"I didn't do it for myself," I reply evenly.

"Of course," she nods quickly. "We must all step in line with our new King. But your reputation is certainly reaping the benefits as well."

"As is your bottom line," I point out.

"Your initiative is markedly boosting sales of this month's special edition, as well as traffic to our website," she concedes. "For which Trend is very grateful. But that is not the reason I pulled you aside."

"What is it then?"

"I found out the name of the photographer," she replies, reaching into her handbag.

I feel my heart jump in my chest. "You're joking..."

She raises a brow at me from behind the lenses of her black-out Versace shades as she pulls a small flash-drive out. "I can assure you that I am not."

I quickly pull myself back together. "No. Of course not..."

Handing the drive over, she adds. "On there you will find all the pertinent information I was able to obtain through my own means."

"Thank you," I say sincerely, taking the piece of plastic from her. "I honestly was not expecting this..."

She shrugs an elegant shoulder. "I said I would look into it, so I did. It is not much, but I am sure you have people who can hopefully take it further."

"I do," I affirm, slotting the device into my clutch.

"After all," she adds with a knowing quirk to her lips. "You are not the only one with a vested interest in seeing your name cleared, Your Grace."

With another quick bob, she exits the marquee.

I let out a low exhale as the tent flap drops back into place in her wake. "Thank God..."

Some much-needed progress at last!

Hopefully, Drake can take the information from the drive and do a deep dive into the photographer to see if they ever crossed paths with whoever it is that has it in for me.

Which reminds me...

Opening my clutch up again, I pull my phone out and type up a quick message to my elusive boyfriend.

I haven't seen or heard from him since the event started. And now I have two pieces of critical information I need to share with him. So, rather than chasing after him like some damsel in distress, I'm going to make him come to me for a change. Because time is of the essence, and I don't want to wait.

Hitting send, I exit the tent and head back towards the orchard. I figure that since everyone is on the lawn, the secluded garden hidden amongst the trees will give me and Drake the best chance to meet in private, away from the prying eyes of the court and the press.

Slipping between the tree trunks, I try to make my way as casually as possible through the orchard, as if I am simply out for a walk, in order to ward off potential suspicion. But, as I drift further away from the Festival, I start to pick up the pace, mindful of the short timeframe I gave Drake... as well as the exposed roots on the ground.

Because as much as I might want to hurry, I definitely don't want — or need — a twisted ankle the day before we're due to start the international leg of the trip. As Mom was right — I should take advantage of the upcoming whirlwind tour of Europe to at least try and get some sightseeing in. As who knows when I'll get the chance to do this again...

...especially if I'm forced to become a hermit because we fail to expose the mastermind behind the press scandal.

I shake my head. No. I need to stay positive. It's the only way I'm going to get through—

"Competing with a herd of elephants, Gale?"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of Drake's voice... and nearly trip over a hidden apple lodged in the grass.

"You try sneaking ‘round in four-inch heels," I grumble back at him, while using the trunk of a nearby tree to steady myself.

He mutters something under his breath as he steps over to me with an outstretched hand. "Here."

Grabbing his hand, I navigate gingerly away from the tree, only to find that the slightly rotten fruit has become impaled on the end of my stiletto.

"Great..." I groan, trying to flick the stupid thing off... But it stays stubbornly stuck.

"You're a walking disaster, y'know that, right?" drawls Drake as he drops down in front of me.

"Ha-ha, funny," I snark back at him while trying to balance on one foot on the uneven ground.

He meets my eye with a wry look as he finally manages to pull the offending fruit off with a squelch. "You're only gripin' 'cause it's true."

"Yeah, well, not all of us have... reflexes... like Neo..." I reply sardonically as I save myself from tipping over by grabbing onto Drake's shoulder.

He stifles a scoff as he tosses the apple into the trees. "You good?"

"Yeah," I confirm, righting myself again and letting go of his shirt.

Drake regards me critically for a long moment — as if expecting me to keel over again at the drop of a hat — before pushing himself up.

"Thanks," I say, laying an appreciative hand on his arm.

The humour fades from his gaze at the contact.

"Drake..." I start...

...but he's already pulled away.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, not quite meeting my eyes as he slots his hands into his pockets, the momentary lightness of our previous interaction gone.

I heave a breath.

We really need to talk about what happened this morning. But his suddenly standoffish demeanour makes it clear that he's not quite ready for that yet.

So, I decide to start with something less contentious.

"We have a lead on the photographer," I tell him, reaching into my clutch.

His head perks up with interest. "That was fast."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I agree with a smile, pulling the flash drive back out and holding it out to him.

His posture suddenly stiffens. "The hell is that?"

I glance around me uncertainly. "What?"

"The fucking ring on your finger," he declares dispassionately, his accusatory gaze scorching into my outstretched hand.

My heart drops. Oh, no...

This is not how I wanted to break it to him. But unfortunately for both of us, the cat has now ripped itself out of the proverbial bag, so I'm just going to have to scamper after it.

Taking a steadying inhale, I look him square in the eye. "It's my new signet ring." I turn my hand over to show it to him.

His face darkens. "Fils de pute de—" he grits under his breath, snapping a hand out to grab my wrist.

My eyes widen. "Drake, what are y—?"

A storm is raging in his espresso gaze. "Signet rings go on the little finger. On the right hand."

"Oh," is all I can manage as he swipes the golden band off my left ring finger.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks softly, reaching for my other hand... more gently this time.

I shake my head with a constricted throat. "No, I—"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

My head jerks ‘round at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

"I see you couldn't resist a somewhat impulsive stroll through the orchards, either?" he asks, more rhetorically than anything else. "The scent of apples is truly luscious this time of year."

"Erm... yes...!" I manage to squeak out, shoving my right hand behind my back. "Smells like apple juice!"

Christian's brow quivers ever so slightly at my slightly random — and obviously unexpected — comparison.

But I'm too busy coordinating with Drake to get the signet ring shoved back onto my hand while trying to palm the flash drive off to him without dropping either in the process. As both outcomes would lead to some very awkward conversations!

I feel the warmth of the metal slide onto the index finger of my hand (Drake had probably ascertained that the circumference of the band was too large for my pinky), and I'm finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Embarrassing backpedaling, narrowly averted!

Drake uses the opportunity to extract the flash drive from my hand as well, dropping the device casually into his pocket as he moves beside me. "She ain't wrong."

"No," concedes Christian, eying the two of us for a second longer than strictly comfortable. "She rarely is."

"So, umm... Are you hiding from the paps as well?" I ask in a bid to diffuse the growing tension in the air.

"No, I came looking for you, actually," he corrects, taking a step forward. "I saw you slip into the orchard, and thought it prudent to follow you."

"Oh?" I say, feeling my stomach tighten again. "Worried I might get lost?"

"I was hoping to catch you alone," he corrects, coming to a stop in front of me.

I swallow tightly as I see him glance over at Drake.

Please don't fight... Please don't fight...

Christian's gaze reverts to me. "But I suppose it is convenient for Drake to happen to be here as well."

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat. "It is?"

"Yes," he affirms. "I have received some news that you'll both be interested in hearing."

"Well, don't keep us in damn suspense, then..." mutters Drake with a noticeable edge to his voice.

I try to reach discretely out to brush my fingers against his, to reassure him that come what may, we'll get through it together, that—

"We found Tariq."

Christian's words hit me like a kick to the chest. The breath explodes out of me so forcefully that I am actually forced to take a step back in a bid to maintain my balance as the apple trees descend into a spin around me.

No way...

"Where?"

Drake's voice floats across the edge of my awareness. And even in my spaced-out state, I can feel the weight of the cold, calculated fury infused into that single word.

No corner... No mercy.

"Dubai," replies Christian, who also sounds like he's miles away. "He—"

But Drake's already spun away. "Send me the coordinates."

"Harper?"

I blink up at Christian in a daze. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" he asks, laying a concerned hand on my cheek. "You... You looked as if you were about to faint..."

"I..." I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm okay."

"Are you certain?" he presses, peering down at me. "I could ring for a doctor, and—"

"No," I insist, pulling away from him. "I'm fine. I... I guess I just got caught off-guard..."

"It is an unexpected development, certainly," he concedes. "But hopefully still a welcome one?"

"Yes!" I blurt out. "Of course! I want to clear my name more than anyone, and Tariq is key to that! I just..." My voice trails uncertainly off.

Christian flashes me a knowing half-smile. "Feel some trepidation about the prospect...?"

"I guess so," I concede, my fingers moving unconsciously to the horseshoe charm at my wrist.

Because as much as I may want Tariq to pay for what he did from a rational point of view, from an emotional standpoint, I’m terrified.

As even though I know in the back of my mind that a lot of my trepidation has to do with the fact that I am still trying to recover from the psychological trauma that Tariq inflicted on me, a major part of me is also scared of what setting the record straight would entail in practice.

Christian had mentioned that there were 'methods of persuasion' that could be used to force a confession from Tariq. But then what? Would I be made to very publicly relive the entire horrible episode in the form of TV spots and interviews, or would we be able to get by with one official press release? And given my spotty history with the press, will people actually believe my side of the story...?

I mean, Meghan and Harry didn’t exactly fare well in the court of public opinion when they tried to counter the official royal narrative...

On top of all that, in light of my very visceral reactions to returning to Applewood, I have no idea how I'm going to react to seeing Tariq in person again. Would I burst into tears? Have a nervous breakdown? Dissolve into a panic attack? Stab him in the gut and then the nuts?

And (possibly worst of all) what if we discover that Tariq had been acting alone? And his attack on me — while traumatising — is in no way connected to the larger, and definitely more dangerous plot to remove me from the running for Queen? What then...?

"Your qualms are not as misplaced as you may initially think," Christian consoles. "It is a daunting prospect to face the person who actively sought to harm you."

Something in his tone catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

Christian heaves a sigh. "I do not know if you are aware of this, but several years ago, I was the target of an assassination attempt."

I nod tightly. "Yes. Drake told me."

"Then I presume he also told you how deeply the experience affected me," he says, catching my eye with an uncharacteristically guarded look.

"Yes," I affirm, thinking back to the conversation in Olivia's wine cellar that felt like years ago.

"What he probably didn't tell you, however," he continues, "is that I visited the perpetrator in prison."

My jaw drops. "You what!"

"Not publicly and certainly not in any official capacity." He shakes his head wryly. "I did not even talk to the man."

"Then why...?"

"I... I was having trouble reconciling with what had happened," he explains. "And moving past it. The trauma councillor that I was working with suggested that it was perhaps because I was subconsciously endowing the gunman with too much power, and thereby transmuting the man into something more akin to an evil monster."

A shiver runs down my spine at Christian's words. It's like he's talking about Tariq...

"So, to help break the negative emotional associations I had built up, my councillor arranged a clandestine meeting where I would have the opportunity to face the man."

"How... How did that go?" I ask nervously.

"I was terrified, of course," Christian admits. "I had no idea what to expect and each scenario I imagined in my head was worse than the last. But, when I finally got into room where the meeting was to take place, I was surprised by what I saw. As rather than some hulking, shadowy fiend, it was a pale, somewhat diminutive man sat across from me."

"So… what did you do?"

"We simply sat at a table and stared at each other," he recounts. "He with more than a bit of contemptuous malice, I have to admit, but in that moment, I realised that he was a flesh-and-blood person who had fallen prey to the same misguided emotions as I — anger, fear, resentment — just manifested differently. And that helped set me onto the path of true healing. As ultimately, I was able to forgive him."

"Forgive him?" I gasp disbelievingly. "For trying to murder you?"

"Nobody acts in isolation," Christian advises calmly. "Even the most unconscionable horrors perpetrated by the villains of humanity — torture, mass murder, genocide — sprout from the basis of an emotional or psychological motivator such as love, fear, greed, jealousy... to name but a few. So, while we may disagree with and condemn the action retrospectively from the safety of the moral high-ground, it is very possible that had we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would end up being just as guilty as the person we are looking to condemn."

"So, what?" I demand testily. "I should feel sorry for Tariq for what he did to me?"

"Showing empathy and compassion towards our counterparts does not mean forgetting or excusing the harm suffered," counsels Christian. "But it will certainly allow you to start on the path of true healing."

I shake my head as I turn away. "I'm not sure Tariq deserves that..."

"It is by no means an easy assignment," he admits, laying a hand on my shoulder. "But even if you cannot find it in your heart presently to forgive him, do at least try to keep yourself open to the possibility down the line. You may be surprised by the results."

Looking up, I can see that there is sincerity welling on his emerald gaze. And — for once — I don't doubt the true intent of his words. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

"As diplomatic as ever," he smiles, the tips of his fingers brushing down my back as he drops his hand. "And, regardless of what you choose to do, I'll be right by your side to support you."

"Thanks," I mutter with what I hope is a genuine smile, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Drake’s abrupt departure, it’s just me and Christian amongst the trees. Taking a step back towards the way I’d come, I ask, "So, umm... How did you end up finding him?"

"Instagram," replies Christian with a wry chuckle as he falls into step beside me.

My head snaps up in bewilderment. "He posted his whereabouts?"

"No," he laughs, looping my arm through his in reassurance. "Not intentionally, at any rate. He took shelter on his cousin's yacht docked off the coast of the Palm Jumeirah, and—"

"What's that?" I ask with a frown.

"One of a trio of artificially constructed archipelagos located off the coast of Dubai," he explains. "They are so called for their shape, which resemble stylised palm trees."

"Sounds... fancy," I admit, while trying to maintain some semblance of platonic distance between the two of us.

"They really are a sight to behold," he affirms, pulling me back to his side. "But it is part of the reason why we were not able to locate him initially — we knew he has family in the Emirates, of course, but—"

"He does?" I interject in surprise. This is certainly news to me...!

"Yes," he nods. "His father is a Cordonian nobleman, but his mother hails from the House of Al Falasi, the branch of the Bani Yas tribe that also produced Dubai's ruling family."

My eyes widen. "So, his mom is royalty?"

"No," chuckles Christian. "She is not directly connected to the Al Maktoum dynasty. But her family is nevertheless influential in the region. Which is why when we hit a roadblock with the French authorities, we decided to focus our efforts on countries where we knew he had familial or business connections. The Emirates, however, boast a multitude of private airfields, not to mention water-based ports of entry, so attempting to narrow down Tariq’s possible time and method of arrival and determining where he went from there was providing to be a complex undertaking. Especially since we had to ensure to conduct our enquiries outside of the official channels."

"Specifically, via social media," I supply dryly.

"Yes," confirms Christian, only half jokingly. "When we realised that Tariq must have switched off or changed out his phone, Drake suggested that we set up a facial recognition-based search algorithm that could scour the various social media and news portals in a bid to help us pinpoint his exact location."

"That sounds... technical," I admit.

"A few years ago, it would have been, But the technology is relatively commonplace now, thankfully."

"So, you managed to get a hit?"

"Yes," he affirms. "One of his cousins on his mother's side posted a selfie featuring his new yacht a couple of days ago... and someone who partially matched Tariq's features was visible on the edge of the frame. But it wasn't until this morning that our man on the ground was able to obtain independent confirmation that it really was him."

"Wow..." I manage. "Talk about blind, dumb luck."

"Never underestimate the awesome power of serendipity," counsels Christian with a smile as we reach the edge of the trees again. "It certainly played a hand in crossing our paths."

I swallow nervously. "Yeah, I—"

"You have some nerve!"

Before I have a chance to realise what is happening, Madeleine has swooped in from seemingly out of nowhere to intercept us with all the wrathful precision of a homing missile.

"Ow!" I hiss, feeling the ends of her manicured nails sink into my arm as she wrenches me off Christian like I'm some kind of plague.

"One would think you would be grateful to His Majesty for his benevolent generosity in elevating your previously non-existent status to that of a duchess," she spits with barely disguised contempt as she pulls me nose-to-nose with her.

"Get off me!" I grit, trying to shake her loose.

"Madeleine..." interjects Christian from behind me in a voice that I only heard him use once before... in the hallway at Ramsford when he realised that Drake had brought me back to Cordonia. "You overstep."

But the Countess of Fydelia seems to hear neither of us as she tightens her claw-like hold on me. "Yet instead, you repay him by not only by hijacking a royal event to serve your own shameless self-aggrandisement—"

I shake my head in disbelief. "Wait... Wh—?"

"—but then you have the unmitigated gall—"

"Madeleine," says Christian again, more forcefully this time. "That is enough."

But Madeleine is oblivious to the quiet threat suffused into the sound of her name, choosing to continue her tirade instead, "—to sneak off into the bushes with my fiancé in order to do God-knows-what when he should be—"

"I said, enough!" snaps Christian, coming suddenly between Madeleine and me with a face of thunder.

The force of his command is loud enough to cause a few heads on the edge of the lawn to turn curiously towards us.

Even Madeleine startles somewhat in response to the uncharacteristically vehement order. But not enough to let go of me.

"Can you not see what she is doing?" she demands indignantly as she turns to face Christian. "Or does she have you wrapped so tightly around her finger that you cannot even—?"

"How I choose to spend my time with the Duchess of Valtoria in private is of no concern to you, Countess," interjects Christian bluntly. "Or do I need to remind you of the conditions of our engagement?"

Madeleine's alabaster cheeks flush scarlet. "No..."

"Then I strongly suggest that you unhand Lady Harper, and ensure that this kind of juvenile outburst does not happen again."

Madeleine's eyes blaze with cold fury. But she relinquishes her hold on me, nevertheless. "My apologies, Duchess..." she snips, her voice dripping with insincerity.

I reach up to rub the spot where her nails had been on the verge of puncturing my skin.

Bitch...

Christian nods tersely in approval. "Now that that is sorted, I believe our guests are waiting. Lady Madeleine, if you'd be so kind..."

Madeleine takes his arm with a look that could've killed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Lady Harper," acknowledges Christian with a dip of his head as he starts to steer his seething fiancée away.

Knowing that all eyes are still on us, I drop into a quick curtesy as they walk past, on one hand grateful to Christian for shutting Madeleine down, but on the other hand wondering how badly we kicked into a nest of hornets in the process.

As it is clear that Madeleine is still raging with jealous insecurity... Perhaps even more so than she had been back at her manor when she cornered me in the bathroom. And the fact that — despite the massive diamond on her finger — I now technically outrank her is definitely not helping the situation!

So much for making allies at court…

Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of my face, I turn back towards the festivities…

…only to be greeted by a wall of judgemental eyes, and more than a few camera lenses.

"Great..." I mutter under my breath.

Whether catching me with Christian had been the genuine straw that snapped Madeleine's cool, or whether she deliberately fabricated the showdown to undermine the positive reactions I got from the press earlier, the end result is the same...

I'm going to be on the front page tomorrow. Again.

Exactly in what form, I have no idea. But I've been at court long enough now to know that the whole thing will be blown completely out of proportion, and the resulting story will generate even more press frenzy.

But if there’s one thing that Drake has taught me, it’s that I cannot allow myself to give the aristos the satisfaction of ever thinking that they’ve managed to squash me into the dirt. Because that would undermine the entire reason why I came back to court in the first place, and given how close we now are to claiming back the truth, it would be a massive and premature admission of defeat.

So, raising my chin defiantly, I make my way back across the lawn to rejoin the remainder of the Festival.

The story continues in Chapter 17 - News Flash

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“Loathing:” Chapter 2 to the ETL Astarion X Tav fic “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x F!Tav (OC) | E | 6k of angst / longing

Summary: He is darker, different, and for Cordehlia he is a constant reminder of what was. As their journey continues, truths come to light in the dark, and blood will be shed. Willingly and unwillingly.

Stargazing scene, Bite Scene, finding the Gur hunter

CW: blood, biting, jealousy and angst, manipulation and memories, slow burn feelings (that Astarion is bad with), bloodlust and regular lust, OC gets defensive of her newly found again love/hate interest

Previous Chapter | Read on AO3 | Master List

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Restless. The night was restless. Well, not wholly. She did meditate deeply, enough to regain her strength, to rest her mind. But, as always, it was the dreams, plaguing her mind. For Cordehlia, it was probably more rife with ghosts than usual.

Every night is restless when you hear the echoes of battle and nurse the wounds of your heart.

All night, all she could feel was the cold, all she could see was crimson eyes and toothsome smiles. Her ears were filled with his voice, muffled, muted. He had whispered in her mind all night, words she remembered him offering her ages long ago… sweet, words like nectar, lapping at her wounded heart, promising himself to her, hers forever, until they found one another again in their next life… words that purred of her beauty, poetry that likened her hair as brighter than the flames, her eyes more captivating than the stars, her sex sweeter than honey from the comb…

That was when her eyes had flashed opened at last, waking to the grey light of dawn and a dying fire in the camp. Waking to find herself the first one stirring.

Nearly.

Except for him… where he perched outside his tent, looking over the pages of a book. His bright eyes ringed in shadows, as he stared at her, watching her eyes open, her body stretching and shifting.

His lip twitched slightly, a knowing smile as their eyes locked. Did he know how restless he made her… did he know how real her dreams were…

That’s when he stood. So graceful, so balanced. A true fighter, a true rogue. And, by the hells, so beautiful in the dawn. It was what he was made for, she always thought, to shine like the stars that still break the morning light. But that hardness still stiffened his face, his eyes still exacting and harsh. For a moment, Cordehlia thought he would approach, thought he would saunter over and wish her a good morning… but he stalked away to the treeline, the noises of the other companions catching her ear as they also woke in the dawn.

They each began to rise, the Wizard grabbing some of the goods collected, making a rough breakfast for everyone. He grunted as he lifted the pot to hang over the fire Karlach had stoked back up.

The backache of sleeping on the ground was nothing unfamiliar to Cordehlia, but still… unpleasant. She huffed as she stood, and while her body moved towards the rest of the group, her eyes kept scanning for Astarion.

Always in her thoughts, even when she wanted him out.

She sighed, folding her arms and nodding as Gale spoke about the Emerald Grove, a good next place to seek out cures and allies perhaps.

As the meager porridge was ladled into the various, mismatched bowls that made up the camp’s dishes, she couldn’t help but notice that he had not returned. Even for food.

“Looking for your old friend?” Gale asked, his voice quiet and soft as he sat next to her by the fire.

“He’s no friend,” she commented, blowing the steam from her food before trying it.

“He needs to be one now,” he replied, doing the same over his breakfast. “I suspect there is more to him than he wishes anyone to know, maybe even especially you, given your… history.”

She swallowed loudly, trying to lose herself in the pain of the hot food down her gullet than the ache in her heart that came from such matters. “History is often rife with pain and loss, Wizard,” she hissed. “I should know, I’ve lived centuries watching it… committing it.” She felt his eyes focus on the side of her face, but she would not give an inch as she spoke. “The long memory of the elves is their greatest joy and their deepest sorrow, Gale.”

“Mortals may not know hundreds of years at a time, but I do know of joy and sorrow too, my friend,” he whispered. “And if we have any hope of finding a cure, a way forward, we need him.”

A heavy sigh came from her little frame. “I know,” she muttered.

“And maybe, just maybe, you will find your way back to one another. Don’t you elves feel yourselves bound by blood?”

“Pfft, hardly,” she scoffed, turning an amused if skeptical glance at the mortal. “At least not with him.” She looked away quickly, hoping it was fast enough not to show the pricking tear in her eye. “That connection forged when we trothed beneath the stars was severed centuries ago.” Another sigh, so heavy her shoulders drooped. “Washed away by grief and spite like the rain waters.”

“Hmm,” Gale gave a considerate pause. Thinking. The man was always thinking. “It is a phrase humans have, that blood is thicker than water, not sure you’ve heard that one.”

Cordehlia arched one brow. “At my age, I’ve heard it all.” A wry smile teased at her lips at last. “But I appreciate the timely, apropos application, dear Wizard.”

“Happy to be of service, my lady,” he bowed his head.

But the She-elf instantly bristled.

“O-oh…” Gale sputtered. “I meant no disrespect, I…”

“Just… Cordehlia,” she muttered back. “No titles, no accolades. You can just use my name.” Her voice was flat, her muscles clenched, even as she smiled.

“It’s a beautiful name,” Gale nodded, eyes wide and soft. Relieved.

“Yes…” a voice chimed in from behind them both, where they sat side by side. “I thought so too, once it came creeping back to my memory.”

Astarion.

He perched behind, grinning that knowing, half-twisted smile as they both spun their heads. “At least… I’ll always be your first, darling,” he purred.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, just a twitch. Enough of a tell to goad him on, she realized.

“The first to know your true name, that is…” he added, sweeping down to sit beside the She-elf in that fluid and elegant motion of his.

“Knowing one’s name is not the same as knowledge of the person,” Cordehlia snapped, her hackles raised as Astarion reached across her lap to help himself to the bowl of piping hot porridge she had set down the second he appeared.

“Smells atrocious, Gale…” he raised the spoon, sticking out his tongue to give the tan gloop a lick, one far too sensual for its own good. “Tastes horrible,” he added before setting it back down. “Couldn't you have magicked something better?”

Gale just stared back, wry and disbelieving at his arrogance. “You’re welcome to try your luck at cooking for the camp next time, Astarion.”

“And possibly singe these perfect hands? Get food under my nails?” He gagged as he finished his whining. “I’d rather eat something raw…”

Something about the way he replied made Cordehlia stare at him just a little harder. His lip turned at the corner of his mouth. As if he thought himself terribly witty. The same glint shined in his eyes, a sparkle of mischief and self-indulgent humor. Just like it always had when he was up to something.

“Well,” Gale stood, clearly done with the Elf’s presence. “Since I’ve had my fill, I think I’ll get my things ready for our journey. Emerald Grove isn’t going to explore itself for a cure, you know.”

She could feel his look still on her as the wizard stood, trying to read her inscrutable expression. With a sigh, he relented trying to puzzle out his companion and left.

“Good riddance,” Astarion hummed, sliding his lithe body just a hint closer to where she still sat. “Let’s hope he’s better at magic than his cooking, my dear.”

“Would it kill you to try to be kind, Astarion?” She snapped, turning her head to face him at last.

“I am being kind,” he crooned, leaning just a bit closer, “you tasted that gruel, I could have said so many more dreadful things, you know.”

She snorted, her own dark humor tickled as he elbowed her in the arm. And even as he smiled back with those strange, red eyes squinting at her, it was the same shine, the same glint and the same creases that had always warmed her heart.

Dammit.

Then, his hand came to rest atop of hers. Where she had it splayed into the dirt beside her.

Just like he always used to.

For a second she closed her eyes, the shine of those happy days giving the chill in her heart a warmth of happiness. Of connectedness.

But it was a lie.

At least something was a lie, she realized as she ripped her hand out from the heavy, cold weight of his touch.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He hummed, “I thought you were all for getting to know one another again.”

Her voice was direct, steady and calm. “Then you can start by telling me the truth of what happened, when you’re ready of course. Until then,” she stood, brushing the pine needles from her breeches. “Until then, you’ll excuse me if I bide my time trusting you with more than watching my back in battle.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, politely, but through gritted teeth.

“And I hope, personally, our next adventure leads us to looting a pair of gloves for you, if you’re going to insist on touching me. Hells below, Astarion, the chill of ice seems to always be on your hands.”

“A wise idea,” he smirked slightly. Darkly. “Such insight for a seasoned fighter such as yourself.”

Cordehlia shook her head, leaving him at her feet. Feeling his gaze on her as she moved quickly away.

That gaze stayed on her all day. She could feel it. Observing. Assessing. Scanning her strengths and weaknesses. Gleaning details of how she fought, how she persuaded aid from any strangers they met, how she could leap and tumble and sneak with an ease remarkable even for her kind.

He followed in her wake all day, covering her back in battle just as she had asked.

And she knew it was his intention. The little ways he caught her eye during their fights, nodding as he removed obstacles behind them… ahead of them… dealing the heaviest, most damaging blows of any of their party.

If he was one of her men, she would have promoted him. Would have gone weak in the knees at his prowess. Gifted him with all her favors at his brutality, his vigor.

But he was not hers to command.

He was not hers… at all.

Her mind swirled with such memories and dreams, fighting to keep the most lustfilled ones as far from her mind as possible.

Which was only harder and harder to do as they all prepared the camp at nightfall again. Especially when she stumbled on him near his tent, lounging back on a bedroll, gazing with such wonder at the burst of stars that speckled the sky.

Cordehlia tiptoed closer, drawn by his relaxation. Remembering so many nights of doing the same, together.

“Coming to join me?” he purred, just a glance of his eyes to where she stood before they trained back into the heavens.

“I…” she began, but the way he scooted himself to make room on the leather and blankets, it was just… too much to resist.

Gods help me, she prayed. Nestling down alongside him, not so close they touched. But still too close for her to ignore that scent that clung around him now. Sharp and aromatic. Citrus and herbs.

Swallowing, she dismissed how it made her mouth water.

“Glad to see you come to your senses, darling,” he spoke just loud enough for her to hear without straining.

“You looked comfortable,” she offered as a reply. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You do more than just disturb me,” he sneered. “I have never felt more… unsettled. Confused. I have never felt freer, unchained from my enslavement, and yet…” he rolled on his side, narrowing his gaze at where she laid beside him. Her silver eyes like stars themselves as she stared into the lights above. Those heavenly mirrors her brightness. “What I… suffered… it made it impossible to remember things… about me from before. I have endured horrors. Torture. Centuries of darkest anguish. It was simply easier to find peace in feeling numb than clinging to… anything from before.”

He meant her. Easier than remembering her.

He scoffed softly, watching as she just kept her eyes above. But he could feel her breath burning in her lungs as she held it. Frightened to hear what more he might say. Frightened to scare him away.

“I would hate for us to part ways so soon, you know. Once we find the next… solution… to our parasite friends, will this all be over? Is this it?”

She breathed at last. “It doesn’t have to be, I suppose,” her voice was shaking. Gentle.

“Good,” he smirked before reaching to brush a single strand of her fiery red hair off her cheek. “Because you are quite the ally, quite the commander. You’ve survived so much, just like me, traversing Avernus, surviving the crash, surviving everything that has followed.”

His fingers brushed her cheek one more time, making her turn to finally meet his suggestive stare. And then he smiled, that half smirk that just pulled his face a little sharper, that made his eyes glow and glint with the passion inside him. “You are quite impressive too, you know…” he murmured as they locked eyes.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her belly rising and falling beneath her resting hands just a bit quicker. “You’re assuming I think you’re impressive as well, Astarion…”

“I have no need to assume, darling. I know,” he preened, that arrogance coloring his words, making them drip with pride. With seduction. “I know I’m impressive. And I know you already think it, darling. No one smiles that much in battle when your eyes lock into mine. No one’s heart beats so quickly at the slightest touch of my fingers over their skin if they don’t think I’m at least a tinge… impressive.”

And just to prove his point, he reached for her neck, ghosting his fingertips over it, her pulse pounding in her veins so hard, it must deafen her.

Her brow raised slightly, eyes sharp as she scanned his face. “You’re staring,” she murmured.

“Of course I am,” he eased into a smile. “Why wouldn’t I?” He stood to his feet gracefully and quickly. “But after gazing at such beauty, I think I’ll get some air, clear my head so as not to forget completely about the horrible parasite that swims in my mind.” He waved his long, elegant fingers at her where she still laid at his feet. “I’ll see you later I’m sure…”

“I’m sure,” she called after him, still staring into the sky, refusing to watch him tread into the forest. But she couldn’t help but add a little something more. Something sharper than those soft words he tried to whisper into her ear. “You look horrible, Astarion, don’t miss dinner later. You look like you need a good meal and a good rest.”

He stopped in his tracks, glancing over his broad and sloping shoulder. “Maybe I do…” he seemed to bristle as she refused to look at him. “Thank you for being so observant, my friend,” he chimed, if a bit sarcastically.

“Here to help,” she turned at last.

“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, darling,” he flashed her the fullness of his smirk, his canted brows and shining eyes.

She shrugged, a muted smile in return. “Thank you,” she added just before he began to turn. “For telling me a bit more of… what happened. I can see the pain when you speak of it, but I do not want you to think me.. ungrateful for the truth.”

He nodded his head, just once, before turning on his heel and heading for the trees.

Dinner came and went. Conversation turned unavoidably towards the fact that the mercurial rogue of the group still hadn’t returned.

Shadowheart laughed. “Well, didn’t he say he would rather eat something raw than suffer Gale’s cooking once more?” She sniffed a laugh through her little nose. “I wouldn’t put it past him with just how… vicious… he seems…”

Karlach gave her burst of a belly laugh in reply. “Sounds like someone has taken a fancy to the pale pretty boy!”

Gale’s eyes widened, his head snapping to check on Cordehlia. Her face was gaunt, even as she gave a laugh and made her full, pink lips smile. “You know,” he cleared his throat, “our leader, Cordehlia has a history with the Elf, isn’t that right?”

“Ancient history,” she added, a musical tone in her voice. One that seemed unnatural and forced. “But that is most of how time is measured for the Elves…”

“Oh,” Shadowheart stopped her mirth for a moment, “I am sorry. I didn’t know…”

“It is no matter,” the She-elf shook her head, the picture of reassurance.

Someone settled down in the circle of light. Tossing his silver hair, Astarion looked so very pleased with himself, sitting himself right between the cleric and Cordehlia, throwing them each a glance that bled conceit and oozed flirtation. “Don’t you worry,” he leaned back on his hand, lounging as if all eyes weren’t staring at him… amused, or jealous, or irritated, “I am a man of tremendous appetites. There’s enough of me to go around…”

The wizard gave an uncomfortable cough, as if he cleared his throat. “Umm, well, I’m turning in for the night,” Gale stood, dumping out the rest of his stew into the fire before leaving. But not without a concerned glance at the She-elf… not before he watched her face stiffen with all due stoicism, her eyelids fluttering rapidly as if she wasn’t thinking about reaching for her weapon to inflict some equal pain.

He sniffed, angrily… dismissively… before he left.

“I’m turning in too,” the She-elf followed the same procedure, remnants of her meal on the fire before she retreated to her bedroll nearby.

She tried not to look behind her.. tried to ignore the way he looked at her. The way that cleric seemed to give him a flirtatious if taunting smile. Dismissing the knots in her stomach and the enraged rapping of her pulse.

Second time today he made her heart feel like it would burst. And not for the same cause.

He was aggravating. Unbearable. So soft and yet provoking. Making her angry and aroused all at once. Perhaps that was the same as before between them. But that darkness, that delight he seemed to get from making her suffer, that twisted joy from forcing her feelings to ebb and flow at his will… it made every hair on her head tingle with suspicion, with dread. A reminder he was not as he always was.

She grit her teeth, trying to keep her mouth soft and her eyes open, even as all she wanted to do was scream and shove them both face first in the dirt. That lascivious rake of an elf and that powerful, if vapid, cleric.

But her body relented, drawn by the comfort of her bedroll. Maybe a little extra rest would help calm this bile that rose in her throat, she thought. Tucked int, she tried to chase away the memories of the past, turning over all the hints and clues to cures that came up over these last days.

At last, once all she could hear was the hiss and pop of the fire, her mind drifted away, thinking of the stars… of how they shined like his eyes once did… deep violet like the night, those gold and silver flecks in them like the lights themselves….

It made her hand search for a little something she had stowed away under her sheets.

As her fingers wrapped around her weapon, she breathed easier. Rest finally taking her under. Letting her soar. Until… something broke into her peace, a shadow that blocked the starlight.

And that’s when she woke.

His mouth hung above her, bearing down on her with fangs glinting in the fire. The second she stirred, he froze. Caught.

“Shit,” he hissed, he kept his arms framed over her head, his body still dangerously close. “Well, I was sure you’d figure out the truth sooner or later…” he purred, rubbing the tip of his tongue over his fang points.

That’s when he noticed something prodding into his ribs. The point of a stake in her hand, she smiled brightly up at him. “Sooner was the safer bet, old friend. Vampire. You never were skilled at being subtle… or planning ahead.”

“Or keeping your hands off pointy sticks,” he chuckled, grabbing her hand where she fisted the stake. “You’re more insightful than I gave you credit for, and I already admire you a lot, darling…”

“Oh please, it doesn’t take centuries of a life and years of battle to piece out your mysterious disappearance or why your eyes are crimson…why you’re colder than death or why you have yet to sit and eat a full meal with the rest of us.”

“Beautiful and brilliant,” he purred, still unrelenting as he caged her body. “It’s not what you think, however. I’m not a monster. I only feed on animals, boars and the like… but with all this fighting you've made me do, I’m just too slow… too weak. I haven’t been able to catch a decent meal for days because of how much you’ve pushed me.”

He was pouting. Eyes wide and wet, the perfect image of pleading innocence.

“Since it’s your demanding nature that has made me so hungry, I thought it only fair to come to you for a… solution. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer… fight better…”

“So you decide to lay the blame at my feet? To creep into my bed, deciding that I will just say yes to you because of our history?” Her eyes are wide and shining. Bright with rage. “You promise to make the effort to get to know one another as we are… you make absolute certain I find your every attack, every parry in battle utterly perfect… you touch me… flirting… then trying unsuccessfully to turn me green with envy by casting your attentions on the cleric…”

She snapped the last word, making him flash those fangs at her again.

“Well…” he breathed, “can you blame me? You are being rather stubborn… as you always have been, darling Cordehlia…”

Her hand struggled against his grip on her weapon, fighting as he pried it from her fingers, tossing it into the fire with a hiss of flame. Her breathing grew rough and ragged, that empty hand closing into a balled up fist. She pummeled it against his chest. “You say you’re not a monster,” she hissed, “you’re not giving me a lot of grounds otherwise.”

“Some females like monsters,” he lowered himself on her a little more. “Some crave the danger, the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of being devoured…” he softened his mouth. “Not that I have tasted anything other than vermin.”

“Save your breath,” she hissed. “I hate everything that you’ve become, Astarion.”

He gave a chilling smirk. All honey and sweetness in his voice, even as his eyes seemed to catch the fire to glow a brilliant red. “So be it, but I’m not going hungry tonight. I will be quenching my thirst one way or another.” He purred, lowering his mouth beside her straining neck, licking the curve of her pointed ear. “And don’t you want it to be from you, after everything we've been through?”

He felt so heavy, even with all his danger and threat… even if he could rip her throat out and drink her dry. Part of her heart was beating in her chest that he wouldn’t, couldn’t do that. But her mind raced. The reality of his words, his sweet lies shrouding that history between them. Loathing did burn bright inside her. But her body still melted into his. “Why do you keep referring to what was ours? Our past, our history… our love… You can’t even recall it…”

His hand wound behind her neck, those long fingers tangling into those fiery strands of her head. “I’m beginning to… I’d like to remember everything, but I won’t if I’m so hungry, I can’t think… I’ll never remember you if I die in a fight because you didn’t let me feed.” His eyes softened, his icy touch making shivers run up her spine. “I may not recall everything, but you, darling, you can. And I think it would break that poor starlight-kissed soul of yours if it was a certain cleric that I drank from tonight in your place… darling.”

Her chest heaved. Her own teeth gritted and bared as she struggled to decide. “Fine,” she sneered. “Fuck you, Astarion.”

“Now that was more in line with my thinking,” he rasped, placing a kiss on the ivory skin of her neck. “I’ll stash that suggestion away for later consideration, darling, but first things first.”

It was colder than ice. Sharper. Deadlier. The piercing of her flesh made her shiver but not in fear.

In ecstasy.

His lips sucked on her wounds, gentle and loud, deafening as he took swallow after swallow from her body. She could almost see it, feeling it as her blood filled him. Feeding him. Strengthening him. Making him full and hard and virile.

“That’s enough,” she snapped, hiding the moan in her voice as a grunt. Faking the pain to hide her pleasure.

The commanding tone made him slide right off, the vampire shuffled to his feet. His fingers dabbed the corner of his mouth, keeping most of that trickle of her blood for her to savor its sight as it cut down the pale skin of his chin. “My mind is clear. I feel strong, I feel… happy…”

“I feel bitten and bloodletted,” she hissed, getting to her feet too, chest rising and falling as she panted.

“You’re fine, darling,” he purred, contented like a cat bathing in sunshine. “Now, as delectable as you were, I’ll need something more substantial than your blood.” He trod towards the treeline, pausing to speak softly over his shoulder. “This is a gift, dearest Cordehlia. This, I won’t forget…. for all I have forgotten.”

He crept into the woods, somehow more silently, feral and strong. The predator out to hunt.

And as Cordehlia settled back down in her bed, she knew sleep would not come the rest of the night.

Not with how her thighs shook and her neck stung. But at least she could rest.

And try not to remember the way his kiss caressed her neck, even if it was while drinking from her veins.

As dawn began to seep its light over the trees, she heard him return. A deep sigh in his sated throat as Astarion returned to his tent.

Cordehlia fought through the woozy haze to stand. His eyes found her easily in the dim light as she slowly approached him. “Good morning,” he smiled politely, as if he hadn’t just hours ago snuck into her bed and sliced her with his fangs. “How do you feel?”

“What do you think?” She sneered softly. “Lightheaded from the literal pain in the neck you’ve given me.”

“Tch,” he grinned and sucked his teeth, conceited and rife with his pride. “It’ll pass. Just be glad I’m but a weak little spawn and not a true vampire. A bite from one of them might kill you… if you’re lucky.”

Her brows furrowed. “Spawn you might be, but not weak.” She corrected him, even before she realized the kind affect her words would have on him.

“Well…” he coughed, hiding how he was taken aback. “I appreciate the sentiment, even if in reality all I have of a vampire’s experience is their unquenchable hunger, and precious few of their powers.”

“Then why haven’t you done me the favor, then, of bursting into flames when the sunlight hits your flawless skin?” She taunted, a laugh in her voice, even as she needled him.

Her humor did not go unnoticed by the vampire. “Oh, I should be cinders in this light, you’re right. These… parasites… someone, or something, has changed the rules. I shouldn’t be surprised if I can wade through rivers and sneak into houses uninvited.” His eyes flashed with that glint of seduction. “And as for my other… quirks… we can figure those out in time.” He bared his pointed fangs in the rising sun as he drew a bit closer to her. “A little… trial and error… I’m sure I could use some more of your help with…”

Her mouth flattened into a line, unamused outwardly, even if her eyes had just a hint of laughter as she looked up into his smirking face. “Perhaps, if you remain on your best behavior. That means, dear vampire, you feed on what you can hunt…”

His face drooped. “But…” he grimaced, more pain on his face than she had expected.

“But what?” she pushed. Just a tinge aggressively.

“Well, it’s just… my master did the same,” his reply eked out through clenched teeth. “I’ve spent two centuries barely fed, living on the vermin, the rats and mice and bugs he would allow me to eat. And now that I’m free, now that I’m basking in the sun, surrounded by friends and those who wish to help me…”

He turned those wide, soft, crimson eyes down on her. They brimmed with pain. And while she knew what he wanted, that he was using it to manipulate her, get her to agree to something more between them… She paused, searching into his face. He was lean, strong but small. But for once, his face looked full, those shadows beneath his eyes vanished, that gaunt, sickly edge to his cheeks and jaw rounded out.

The effects of her blood, she knew.

“Alright,” she relented, narrowing her eyes, commanding even in compromise. “Animals you hunt, and, if it truly makes a difference to your strength, your health…”

His head cocked slightly. Waiting.

“…you may feed on me. But only in secret, and only if you ask, and I accept you.”

“Of course,” he smiled. Truly smiled. “I’ll be gentle with you in the future, my darling,” he purred again. That rakish smirk twisting his handsome features. “I’m just glad you’re being so very sensible and thoughtful about these revelations. I feared stakes and torches and pitchforks, to be sure.”

As if on cue, the rest of the party, obviously woken by the conversation, approached.

“A vampire? Of course we are traveling with a vampire,” Gale chimed in, “Word of warning, I taste disgusting.”

“I’ll make you catch on fire, pretty boy,” Karlach added with a laugh. “Not joking.”

“I—” Shadowheart started with a chilling smile.

“None of you need worry,” Cordehlia interrupted before anything more came from the cleric’s mouth. “Astarion knows his rules, and if he wishes to keep himself in the good graces of the group, he will abide by them.”

“Oh my honor,” he placed a hand on his dead heart and bowed. “Now, who wants to see how many enemies I can decimate today? Since, after all, I can fight with all my weapons, teeth included…”

______________________

High sun found them creeping in the Grove, mists swirling as they searched for some wise woman… someone who might know how to remove these parasites before they took hold.

But something stank, and Cordehlia wrinkled her nose as they spotted a stranger in their path. Tall and scarred.

“Greetings, and pardon the smell,” he waved kindly. “Powdered iron vine,”

The metallic, sour stink was so strong, she could taste it on her tongue.

“It’s an old hunter’s trick...” he grinned and patted his leather vest. “Monsters usually give me a wide berth of comfort even as I pursue them.”

Astarion crept forward, sidling right behind Cordehlia, every muscle in his lean and lithe frame clenched and throbbed. “You're a monster hunter? I thought all Gur were vagrant cutthroats.”

He rippled with tension, Cordehlia could feel it, sense it swirling under his skin. Muscles bundled with tension, Astarion’s long and lithe fingers slowly creeping for the hilt of his blades at his back.

“What are you searching for, friend?” she smiled softly, flashing her bright elven eyes at the Gur, tucking her fiery hair behind her pointed ears.

She could feel Astarion lean in behind her ear. “Yes, work that elven charm… make him trust you.”

“Nothing so fearsome. Just a vampire spawn,” the stagger waved his hand. Dismissive. Underestimating.

The tips of her ears grew hot. That veil of red began to draw over her eyes. “When you’ve been in these realms as long as I have, you learn not to underestimate anything created out of malice and subjected to horrors.” She paused a moment, reaching behind her quickly, pressing her palm against Astarion’s rigid arm. “I’m sure a spawn could rip out your throat if he wanted to…”

“And he does want to, mind you,” he whispered into the back of her head.

“True,” the Gur nodded appreciatively, “spawn are only weak when compared to their masters.” He looked only at Cordehlia, who certainly looked the part of a helpful, curious hero. Batting her eyes and nodding her head encouragingly.

“I have not heard of many vampire spawn in the woods,” she giggled. Giggled. “And besides, you would be hard pressed to find one in the daylight. Near impossible,” she rounded to look at her band, her bell-like, merry laughter peeling among them all. Even as she gave a look to her rogue. Warning.

“To true again, lady of the fair folk,” the hunter added his own laugh. “But this one, Astarion, he is special. I’m to find him and bring him back to my people. I’m hoping the hag of these lands can help me flush him out…”

“He must be special if you are hoping to cut a deal of blood price just to find him,” she added. That laughter in her voice turned. It chilled the spine. “But if he is but a spawn as you say, why go to such effort? After all, are not monsters only creatures we perhaps do not understand, some are not born to the dark.” Her shoulders went rigid. Her voice beginning to turn sharper. Harsher. “Some are made into the monsters they become, and not of their own choosing.”

“I assure you,” the hunter began to match her tone. “A monster is far simpler than that. Unthinking, unfeeling, driven by the dark and fed by evil.”

Astarion held his breath, watching as her hand flexed and twitched behind her back.

“If that were true, it would sound like quite the threat,” now her teeth were gritted.

Astarion could hear her blood in her veins. Pounding. Beating. Raging for action. She turned towards him. “Hmm,” he met those piercing silver eyes, they swirled with lights, her skin flushed and hot as she stared. As if he could read her thoughts. “Maybe we should do something about this threat?”

The corner of her lip quirked slightly. Only for a moment. “My thoughts exactly. So glad you are so sensible, Astarion.”

“That’s…?” The Gur looked into the sky, the bright sun still filtering through the forest enough to turn a vampire to ash. “It can’t be. It’s…”

“Impossible?” Cordehlia gave another chilling giggle. “Maybe you judge your so-called monsters too harshly…”

“As the so-called monster, may I?” the vampire asked so prettily.

“No,” she replied, pulling her own blade from her hip. “Together?”

“Oh I think I see what I liked about you before…” a feral, wild smirk darkened his face. That smirk deepened at the glint that he caught in her eyes. That look of bloodlust, of twinkling aggression. A kindred spirit, he thought for the slightest second before his favorite part. Launching at the enemy, blades shining. Hearts racing. Most satisfying thing he thinks they could do side by side.

Most satisfying thing, for now.

[sm0lprism]

Bite-Sized (9) - A G/t BG3 fanfic

This contains g/t (giant/tiny content) so if that isn't your thing, then I suggest you stop reading. Thank you!

Read on ao3

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Summary: Astarion brings Ria along with him to the heart of the Goblin Camp without the rest of the group knowing. However, before they can even get inside, things take a very unfortunate turn. In other words, this is the beginning of Ria's VERY bad day.

Pairing: Astarion x f!borrower!oc (Tav/oc) (slow-burn)

Warnings: MOUTHPLAY WARNING!!! If you are uncomfortable with mouthplay or vore-ish themes, then DO NOT read this chapter! No actual vore occurs but mouthplay is VERY prominent. Don't worry, Ria will be completely fine, I promise. Swearing/course language, mentions of blood drinking, vampire stuff.

Word count: 2.4k

The smell of burning meat and alcohol hit Astarion’s nostrils well before he had even stepped foot into the Goblin Camp. While he preferred more refined company, he did relish in the chaos that goblins often brought with them – and it was clearly abundant in the stronghold of the camp as he followed behind Gale, Wyll, and Karlach. Lae’zel and Shadowheart had reluctantly been nominated to look after the camp while the others were away, much to both the half elf’s and gith’s dismay. He wondered if they would kill each other while he and the others were gone.

His stomach grumbled as dozens of goblins flitted around a roasting spit, cooking what smelled like dwarf meat, as they downed pints of alcohol. Seeing this many exposed necks and pulses made the never-ending ache in his stomach worsen. Soon enough he would be able to feed – thanks to Ria persuading the group, he could drink all the goblins dry if he wished once they were done with the leaders.

Ah, yes, the little snack in my pocket…

He was so swept up in the moment that he almost forgot about the tiny passenger that he was carrying. She hadn’t stirred since they had left camp and he wondered if she had in fact fallen asleep. Her small heartbeat had slowed down considerably as well.

His hand hovered over his breast pocket where Ria was concealed inside, and he gave the pocket a little tap to alert her that they had arrived. Almost immediately the borrower inside began to stir, her tiny heartbeat increasing as he felt her squirm against his chest.

Scanning the area, he noticed that everyone else had gathered towards the centre of the camp. Karlach, Gale, and Wyll were standing near a small stage where Volo, a poor bard that he and the others had met in the Emerald Grove some time ago, was performing some terrible rendition of Dror Ragzlin. They seemed completely enthralled by Volo’s presentation as they didn’t even bat an eyelid towards Astarion’s direction.

“Oi! You smell funny, mister.”

Astarion blinked and swiftly turned his gaze downwards to see a female goblin standing directly in front of him.

“How polite of you to say,” Astarion sneered, sharpening his gaze at the little goblin. “And you smell utterly dreadful. Is that all you wanted to say to me or can I be on my way?”

The goblin chose to ignore his statement and instead took a deep inhale of air through her nose. Her eyes grew as big as saucers as she inhaled and she stared at him intently.

Shit. She can smell Ria.

“There’s something in your pocket, isn’t there?” The goblin said, folding her arms across her chest. “I can’t quite make it out, but it’s different to whatever poxy perfume you have on, and the smell of blood in yer mouth.”

“That’s not for you to know,” Astarion hissed, flashing his fangs at the goblin. “Why don’t you mind your own business. Unless you want my fangs to meet that green neck of yours, you best move along.”

The female goblin nearly jumped out of her skin upon seeing Astarion’s perfectly white fangs flash in the sunlight and she immediately backed away from him.

“S-shit, sorry!” she exclaimed, panic evident in her voice. “I didn’t think a blooming blood-sucker could walk in the sun…you must be some freak or somethin’.” The goblin quickly scampered off, not daring to look behind her as she vanished into the hazy crowd.

The sudden outburst seemed to garner some attention as a few goblins had stopped what they were doing and eyed him up curiously. There was no doubt that they could also partially smell Ria’s scent to some extent, too. It seemed that his own scent wasn’t quite enough to mask the borrowers unfortunately. If any of the goblins stopped to really smell him, then he would be in trouble.

He had to get out of there. And fast.

Astarion wasted no time in melding into the shadows, something that came very naturally to him as a vampire spawn, and quickly vanished from sight. Ria was still safe inside his pocket for now, but he knew if the goblins were made aware of a borrower in their midst, it could end very badly for her. Perhaps it would be a good idea if they could mask her scent somehow. He snuck behind a large stone pillar, now out of sight from the masses of goblins and his own companions.

“Astarion?” Ria’s small voice chimed from inside his pocket.

He opened the lip of the pocket and glanced downwards at the tiny passenger he was carrying. He would never say it aloud, but as her little face stared up at him, he couldn’t help but to admit she did look rather cute. She was so tiny, so vulnerable, so fragile – it would be so easy for her to become injured if he wasn’t careful.

Not that he cared if she got hurt. She was just a borrower after all, nothing more.

So…why was he feeling a sudden urge of protectiveness when he looked at her?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought from his brain.  

“Are you just going to stare at me or will you tell me what’s going on?” Ria asked, bringing Astarion back to the present.

He blinked and flashed her a grin. “Well, I was just thinking that it might be a good idea to disguise your scent, darling.”

Ria’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh…right. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that…” Her voice trailed off as her brain tried to think of a solution. “Maybe I should’ve thought about that before we left.”

“Perhaps that would’ve been a good idea,” Astarion commented. “It’s just fortunate that the goblin from earlier didn’t press me further. I thought my scent would be enough to mask yours, but it seems that you just smell so…” He paused as a grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

Appetising. That’s what he was going to say, but he held his tongue. He knew that teasing her like this when she was only just starting to trust him a little was a bad move, especially after she had asked him not to call her things like that from now on. Still, he couldn’t deny that she did smell delicious. Even with the masses of goblins around him – who significantly had plentiful more blood – her blood sung to him the loudest out of everyone there.  

“So…what?” Ria said, her tiny brow furrowed as she craned her neck up at him.

“Never mind,” Astarion chuckled lightly, attempting to shake the growing thoughts of hunger out of his brain. “Well, you know what I mean, anyway. I’m sure you heard the conversation with the goblin. We really do need to hide your scent somehow.”

“You do have a point.” Ria pursued her lips in thought. “I need to have a better look at what’s going on outside.”

He watched the borrower as she wriggled around until her tiny head just barely managed to peak out from the lip of the pocket. He imagined she must’ve been standing on tip toes just to reach that high.

Ria’s gaze searched the Goblin Camp, concentration hardened her facial features as she tried to think of what to do. After a few moments, her eyes finally settled on a large tub where some goblins were collecting alcohol from.

“That’s it!” Ria exclaimed, pointing towards the tub full of booze on the other side of the camp.

Astarion glanced down at the borrower and then his gaze flicked to the giant tub of booze she was pointing at. Multiple goblins were walking up to the tub to take a swig of alcohol in large mugs, some of them downing their drinks as if it were only water.

“Hm, the pungent alcohol would most certainly cover up your scent,” Astarion said. “But getting you in the alcohol, however, seems like a risky move. Are you sure about this?”

“You’re a rogue! Use some of that dexterity of yours!” She flashed him a small smirk. “Just dip me in the booze quickly and then I’ll be out in a second. I’m sure a vampire spawn can handle that.”   

Astarion arched an eyebrow, wondering just where the sudden burst of confidence that she had was coming from. Not long ago she had been deathly afraid of letting him hold her, now she was placing even more of her trust in him to pull off a stunt that could backfire badly if he didn’t do it carefully. Still, he wasn’t going to let a borrower downplay him like that.

“If you insist,” he replied. “And I suggest we do it quickly. We really don’t want to attract any more attention to ourselves.”

Ria gave him a small nod in reply before she vanished into the inside of his pocket again to conceal herself. With their new goal in the forefront of his mind, he clung to the shadows of the camp to pass by unseen until he reached the large tub. Very swiftly he reached into his shirt pocket and plucked Ria in between his index finger and thumb and leaned towards the large tub of booze.

“Do it!” Ria whispered fiercely.

Before Astarion could do anything, a strong force collided into the back of his legs, causing Ria to fall out of his fingers as he was knocked forwards. All he could do was watch as the little borrower fell out of his grasp, followed by a small plop as she disappeared into the liquid.  

Shit!

Seething with anger, he whipped his neck around to see who the culprit was and his gaze fell on a goblin who looked like they were on the verge of passing out.

“Oh man, I could go for another-HIC!” The goblin spluttered, the smell of beer radiating from his mouth as he wobbled around to gain his footing before passing out on the floor.

Astarion rolled his eyes and hastily returned his attention back to Ria, who was now, quite literally, swimming in the tub of alcohol.

“Hey, you’re holding up the line!” A raspy voice hissed to his left, and he noticed yet another goblin standing close to him. “Hurry up and grab a drink, we all want some!”

Growing somewhat stressed now, Astarion snatched up a nearby cup before returning his attention back to the tub. Ria had fortunately resurfaced, looking rather dishevelled and shaken up, but otherwise she was alright. He wasted no time and scooped her into his cup, keeping it close to his chest as he attempted to sneak away from the masses of goblins that were starting to cluster around them.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” The same goblin with the raspy voice from earlier tugged on his armour, stopping him in his tracks.

Astarion immediately grimaced.

This can’t be good.

“Don’t mind me,” Astarion replied through gritted teeth, wanting nothing more than to turn invisible. “I’m just passing through.”

“Not without having a drink you’re not!” The goblin persisted, clearly somewhat drunk, and clung on stubbornly to his light armour. “You look as pale as a bloody ghost. I’m not letting you go until you’ve drunk every drop from your cup!”

The commotion had now brought even more attention to him, as Astarion quickly realised that multiple sets of eyes were glued to his frame and watching his every move. No matter how he looked at it, there was no getting out of this.

He tentatively gazed down into his cup, and saw Ria’s little face staring up at him with pleading eyes. She could obviously hear everything that was going on, and judging by the petrified look that was painted across her face, she knew exactly what he was going to do.

“Go on!” The goblin pulled on his armour once more, and Astarion had to restrain himself from biting the creature’s head off with how hard they pulled at the fine fabric. “You could do with some colour in your cheeks.”

He pulled his lip into a thin line as his gaze flicked back down to where Ria was sitting in his cup. All the colour had drained from her face as she stared at him with watery eyes, she looked as if she had been crying. Knots twisted in his stomach as he felt a wave of dread wash over him as he tried to rack his brain to think of an alternative. If he pretended to drink, there would be the chance of Ria falling out of the cup and to her death, which he wasn’t going to risk.

The only other option was to drink.

He gave her a wink before mouthing the words ‘I’m sorry,’ silently to her, and her eyes widened in response as he brought the cup towards his lips. The beer hit his tongue and he immediately had to force himself not to spit out the liquid as he took a forceful gulp. He had never been one for beer, wine, on the other hand, or better yet, blood, was more to his liking, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice in the matter. His attention on the beverage was soon replaced as he felt something soft and warm press up against his lips.

Ria.

Her tiny hands were pushing against his lips, her body squirming as gravity pushed her rather forcefully towards his mouth. He was very careful not to swallow her, and rather gingerly he used the tip of his tongue to push her tiny body away from the inside of his mouth so that she wouldn’t fall in.

He pulled the cup away from his lips and glanced downwards at the goblin. The goblin was still stubbornly standing beside him with narrowed eyes, very clearly not impressed with his half empty cup.

“I said drink all of it you elf pansy!” The goblin exclaimed. “That was merely a sip! Come on, you aren’t leaving until all of that is completely gone, and I’m going to look at your cup afterwards, so make sure you guzzle it all down!”

Oh dear.

If the goblin was going to investigate his cup afterwards, he had to ensure that it was completely empty.

Ria wasn’t going to like this.

Very slowly the cup was brought to his mouth once more, and this time he took a hungrier gulp than before. He could smell the overwhelming fear from Ria as she was once again pressed against his mouth, her tiny hands scrambling across his lips, and this time, he didn’t stop her from falling inside. With a final gulp, the borrower disappeared into his mouth and he sealed his jaws shut.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Hear my pleas

This one’s different from my usual fics and set in an alternative universe where all the worst-case scenario outcomes had happened (set post BG3):

Astarion has ascended, his vampire spawn lover Tav, a Bhaalspawn, is dead, Gale reached godhood, Shadowheart was killed by her Sharran kin, Karlach's beheaded for the sword of Tyr, Wyll and Halsin are dead along with the tieflings and the grove, Lae'zel and Minthara had been killed in the last battle against the Netherbrain.

Astarion's lonely and tired. He has no one. Thus, in his desperation, he builds an altar for the God of Ambition and prays to him despite not expecting an answer. – His prayers are heard though.

Astarion x Gale

(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, angst, anilingus, anal sex, nonconsensual blood drinking, blood, biting, cum-eating, choking, dom/sub power dynamic, derogatory language, dubious consent, fellatio, face-fucking, violence, vomiting, spanking, sprinkle of praise kink, these men have trauma, character study, emotional rollercoaster, happy ending (I wouldn't stand it otherwise), unnamed Tav, they/them pronounce for Tav, original character, OC, post-canon)

Notes:

I finally forced myself to play the Dark Urge and to choose all the worst options 'for fun'. It wasn't fun. It hurt. Badly. Now, you all gonna suffer with me for a bit.

Also, just so that it's said: I do NOT support romanticising and/or defending violent behaviours, especially when it comes to sex!

In this fic, Astarion and Gale both know that what's happening is wrong.

The Netherbrain was defeated, but at what cost?

The Emerald Grove was dead and with it dozens of tieflings and druids, as well as Halsin the Archdruid and Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers. They had exchanged Zariel's attack dog, Karlach, for a sword blessed by Tyr – which hadn't been worth it at all. Shadowheart had been killed by her Sharran kin because of a betrayal the cleric couldn't even remember. Lae'zel and Minthara had been killed in the last battle against the Netherbrain, both of them fighting 'till the end. Gale had become the God of Ambition, now dwelling in the Outer Planes. Astarion had finished Cazador's Infernal ritual and had ascended to an all-powerful vampire lord. He had turned his lover Tav, a Bhaalspawn, into his first and only vampire spawn, granting them one single drop of his own blood to make them his spouse.

Everything had been perfect until Withers had gathered the three remaining members of the heroic group for a night of celebration. There, Tav had lost themself completely, giving themself over to Bhaal instead of Astarion, and attacked their lover, Gale, and Withers. The God of Ambition had killed them, incinerated them to a heap of ash, and the vampire lord had wept for the loss of his first true love.

Seven years had passed since then, but Astarion still couldn't find any joy in his immortal life. With his mad love dead, Astarion was alone again and once more at the brink of forgetting how to love. The Szarr palace had never felt like home and it still didn't, but Astarion had nowhere else to go. He hated the place, hated the servants who only bent to all his wishes because they hoped to be turned into spawns and gifted with immortality. He hated to host parties for the nobles, politicians, and other people in power because it forced him to put his mask back on and slip into a character that wasn't fully true to himself. He hated to be pleasant company and to show interest in people and things he didn't care about the slightest to secure his place in the city. He hated his life, his existence, and the worst of it all; he had to face it all by himself. Once again, Astarion was alone to survive the hells of eternity.

It was a breezy spring morning and Astarion decided to go for a stroll through the bustling city. His mindless wandering led him to the tabernacle near Basilisk Gate. He entered it, not knowing why he did so exactly, and came face to face with the statue of the God of Ambition. With a blank mind, Astarion stared at it, taking it all in. The long hair, the knowing eyes, the warm smile, the flowy robes. Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep, the God of Ambition. No deity had ever answered Astarion's prayers in the two hundred years of torture under Cazador. No deity had ever deemed the high elf turned vampire spawn worthy of their attention or their help. Astarion despised them for it. Would Gale answer to his prayers, he suddenly wondered. Would the God of Ambition, his former tadpole-infected companion, listen to his pleas?

"Start praying or get out," one of the clerics told him angrily - and Astarion laughed maniacally.

The huge marble statue dominated the room, chiselled by the most talented artist of Baldur's Gate. On its round base, purple candles, sweet buns, a couple of books, and a silver chalice with high-quality red wine were placed. Only one last thing was missing.

At the reunion party, Astarion had noticed how much Tara had detested Gale all of a sudden, hissing at him whenever he'd gotten too close to her. Gale had seemed utterly crushed about it. Thus, Astarion had planned to summon a tressym for Gale to lure the God of Ambition to him – or so he told himself.

The vampire lord checked his ritual again. The runes and the circle were right, the candles placed around it, the incantation was in his hand and its pronunciation perfected over the last two months. The potion that allowed him to understand tressym speak had already settled in his stomach. Astarion remembered what Gale had told Tav when he'd showed them how to access the Weave (no, Astarion hadn't been eavesdropping. He'd just been nearby accidentally). He hoped his plan worked.

Astarion lit the candles, tried his best to connect to the Weave, and uttered the spell. The runes started glowing and a breeze wafted through the room.

Please work, the vampire pleaded and repeated the ancient words that sounded foreign even to his old elven ears. Suddenly, a ball of fur popped into existence, dropping right into Astarion's arms.

"Oof, apologies. I'm usually much more graceful," spoke the tressym with a feminine, warm, young-sounding voice.

The vampire laughed and hugged the creature tightly. He'd done it. It had worked! The tressym let out a sound of distress and he finally gave her space to breathe again.

"Apologies, I'm just very excited. I wasn't sure if the ritual would work. I'm not too well-versed in higher magic, you see. My name's Astarion, by the way, and who have I the pleasure to meet?"

The tressym looked up at him and the vampire was met with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. The long, fluffy coat was snow-white and her nose adorably pastel pink. She was stunningly beautiful.

"I'm Kalina. Nice to meet you Astarion. Why did you summon me? Forgive my question, but I'm still young and was never called upon before."

"Oh... well, you see, I –" Astarion paused, suddenly embarrassed and unsure how to phrase his request. The tressym awaited his answer patiently. He sighed deeply. "Look, there are two reasons why I summoned you. Firstly, I'm a vampire lord and I have no desire to create any spawns. I'm alone in this palace and have no one to share it with and I crave intelligent conversations. Secondly, I have - had a friend who was a talented wizard. He lived with a tressym that he adored, but then, he ascended to godhood and his tressym started to hate him for it. Gale seemed sad about it and I.... well, we both are lonely, I suppose. I'll try to call for him, pray to him to meet me once again, and I thought he might be persuade if... you know, if I had someone like you by my side to sweeten the deal a bit."

Astarion hated how he stumbled over his words like a bumbling amateur, but Kalina didn't seem to mind.

"I understand," she snickered amused. "You need me to wrap him around your little finger. To lure your lover back."

"He's not my –"

"Mhm." The tressym smirked as much as a cat can smirked and hopped onto the stone floor. "How about you offer me a nice meal, hm? I'm your guest after all."

At that, Astarion snorted an amused laugh, but guided Kalina towards the staff's kitchen in which he'd already stored a bunch of tressym-friendly food. Just in case.

Kalina decided to stay for a while and help him with his plan to get Gale down to the mortal realms. She turned out to be excellent company and Astarion started to understand why Gale had loved his 'dear old' Tara so much.

Finally, it was time. Astarion kneeled in front of Gale's statue, folded his hands, and closed his eyes reverently.

"Uhm, hello Gale, God of Ambition. It's me, your old friend Astarion. You're probably wondering why I'm praying to you. Funny story actually... If you could spare a moment, I'd like to talk to you after all these years. I'm... well... I'd like to see you again. – Please."

Astarion huffed, irritated about laying his heart bare. He hated it. He opened his eyes and stood up. His prayers were neither heard nor answered, and if they were heard, they were masterfully ignored. Bloody typical. Astarion couldn't prevent an angry snarl forming on his face. With another huff he turned around, stomping towards the door.

"Hello Astarion."

The addressed froze dead in his step, then, he whirled around with a gasp, eyes wide in disbelief. Behind him stood the God of Ambition. His skin shimmering silvery blue, wrapped in a dark purple toga. His eyes glowing with white light. He looked exactly as Astarion remembered him, not having aged a single day.

"Gale," the latter croaked out. He wanted to rush across the room and hug the other man, but his pride stopped him from doing so. Astarion didn't want to seem desperate, weak, and pathetic. Thankfully, Gale acted instead, embracing the vampire warmly. The latter was barely able to keep from sobbing.

"You came," he whispered. "You answered my prayer."

"Of course." The God of Ambition smiled. "It's an honour to be remembered by an old friend who went through the same horrors as I did."

"There's no one else left," Astarion spoke, close to tears. "We're the last ones standing."

Gale sighed, looking sad.

"I'm aware," he nodded. Then he turned around to look at the altar Astarion had made for him. "Impressive. And put up in your home... that's – I'm speechless, really."

Astarion snorted, replying: "I don't think it's possible for you to ever be speechless."

Gale chuckled at that and tasted some of the wine that served as an offering.

"Mmh, what a lovely vintage. Velvety, with a hint of blackberries. Wonderful choice."

The vampire preened. To him, all drinks tasted like vinegar and all foods like ash, thus, he was happy he'd picked the right wine.

"I got something else for you. Well, not something you can own, but... Kalina?"

"Yes?" purred the tressym, slinking through the door.

"Oh!"

Gale's eyes went wide in delight and surprise, a huge smile spreading over his face. Kalina looked at him.

"Ah, the God of Ambition has heard your pleas, I see," she spoke, the amusement audible in her voice. She moved closer to him. "Gale, wasn't it?"

"A tressym," the addressed breathed, ignoring the creature's question. "Oh, and what a beautiful specimen."

He bent down to sweep Kalina off the floor, cradling her close to his chest. She purred happily and rubbed her head against his shoulder.

"Your friend's delightful," said the tressym. "He knows exactly how to scratch my chin just right. You could learn something from him."

Astarion laughed.

"You cheeky thing!"

"Huh?" Gale looked at him confused and seemed flustered. Only now, the vampire realised that the other man thought he'd addressed him. Frowning, he asked: "I used a potion to understand Kalina. I thought you're well-versed in tressym speak."

"Uhm, no," muttered Gale, lowering his gaze. "I enchanted Tara's collar to give her the ability to be understood by everyone. I don't speak tressym."

"Oh..." Astarion was dumbstruck. He hadn't known and had just assumed. "Well, she says she likes you and you have talented hands, darling."

He winked suggestively at the last sentence and swore he could see Gale blush despite his silvery skin. The latter cleared his throat and asked: "Why did you call for me, Astarion?"

"Am I not allowed to wish to speak to an old friend?"

"Of course you are. It's just... unusual. I didn't expect you to call for me. We got along fine, but you never seemed that fond of me. If I remember correctly, you called me annoying at every occasion."

"Tsk, tsk, Astarion," tut-tutted Kalina and the addressed started fidgeting.

"I just -" Words were lost on him. It was so difficult to say the truth. Gale looked at him. Those intelligent eyes boring themselves into Astarion's ruby-red ones and straight down into his soul.

"You're lonely," the God of Ambition stated matter-of-factly.

"So are you," Astarion snapped back, angry that Gale saw right through his façade. "Don't tell me there are parties up there in the Astral Planes? Or did you reunite with your beloved Mystra? Fucking her again, now, that you're finally deemed her equal?"

Gale narrowed his eyes, the air around him suddenly crackled with purple magic. Kalina hissed in surprise and a flare of fear, jumping out of his arms and fleeing the room.

"You're just trying to rile me up because you're mad I struck a nerve," the God of Ambition spoke calmly. Of course, he was right and gods, did Astarion despise it. The latter bristle, putting up his defences.

"Why?" growled the vampire.

"Why what?"

"Why did you answer my prayers?"

"Because it's my duty."

"Ha! Fuck off!" Astarion cackled uglily. "There's not a single god that answers their devotees' prayers! Don't be ridiculous, Gale."

The addressed frowned, his mouth a thin line, visibly miffed.

"Would you prefer it if I say that I came because you deserve to be heard?" he asked then.

Astarion glared at him, his ruby-red eyes full of fiery rage. Baring his fangs, he roared: "Don't you dare! Don't you dare pitying me!"

"I'm not."

"Of course, you are! You always thought you're above me, above everyone else, because you were Mystra's Chosen! You were always haughty, but now that you've reached godhood, you're so much worse! You scolded me for being power-hungry and for ascending, but you did the exact same thing, Gale Dekarios!"

The addressed inhaled sharply, the air around him crackled again. The electricity of the magic made Astarion's hair stand on end.

"Vampire ascension changes a person," Gale replied. "It kills all your feelings. Your soul. You're not yourself anymore, Astarion."

"You know nothing about me!" roared the vampire lord. "I'm no longer a pathetic, scared spawn. I'm finally strong enough to force anyone to their knees and ensure my safety. I no longer have to run and hide."

"But at what cost? Your siblings and seven thousand innocent victims are dead. And so is Tav."

"Don't speak their name! You have no right! They were mine and you kill them!"

"They were a Bhaalspawn, Astarion. They attacked us at the reunion party. I had to save us."

Astarion screamed. His bat wings split the skin and shirt on his back and unfurled to their full glory. Usually, he had himself under control, but apparently not today.

"They were mine! They were my perfect vampire spawn spouse. Mine, forever!" Astarion heaved a breath he technically didn't need to breathe. He felt dizzy and nauseous all of a sudden. With another scream, he collapsed onto the floor. "They were my mad love."

"Astarion..." Gale moved closer, kneeled down beside him and pulled him into an embrace. The vampire sobbed, not remembering when he'd started to cry.

"I'm sorry," whispered the God of Ambition and kissed Astarion's temple.

The latter went very still under him. They had never really touched each other before today and the quick, mindless kiss was definitely unexpected. Something bitter and ugly coiled in Astarion's stomach at the gentle affection he received. He wanted to hurt Gale, to punish him for what he'd done to him and to his beloved spawn.

"I should kill you," Astarion growled viciously. "I should make you pay for what you’ve done."

"Then do it."

The words made the vampire's thoughts come to a screeching halt and he stared up at Gale.

"What?" he whispered.

"Punish me, Astarion."

"No, that was just –"

"Do it. Make me pay for killing Tav. For berating you for your choices. For not being able to save the grove from Tav's bloodlust. For not being able to save Shadowheart, Lae'zel, and Minthara. If you believe I deserve it, then, punish me for failing you and everyone else."

Gale's words stoke the fire of hatred in Astarion again. He felt violent and the wish to hurt the other man grew with every second. The vampire gave in to his urges and grabbed a handful of Gale's hair, yanking his head back painfully, gleeful to see the other man wince.

"You'll regret your words soon enough," sneered Astarion. "You'll wish you haven't left your cosy little spot in the Divine Planes."

He saw Gale swallow thickly, eyes big and nervous, and felt a sick kind of satisfaction. Astarion tugged on the other man's hair again, ordering: "Stay where you are. Don't you dare move."

The vampire stood up and retracted his wings, sneering down at Gale.

"You're exactly where you belong; on your knees. Soon, you'll beg for mercy. – Now, take your clothes off."

The addressed squirmed, but snapped his fingers and his clothes disappeared. Grinning, Astarion traced the branding of the Netherese Orb on Gale's chest with his fingers. The dangerous fracture of ancient Weave was still stuck there, emitting a subtle purple light under the vampire's pale fingers. Now though, with Karsus' Crown and Gale's godhood status, the Orb was permanently stabilised and had become a part of Gale, just like the rest of the ancient magic.

Astarion dug his fingers deep into the silvery blue skin, feeling its warmth and the chest hair. Gale grimaced and hissed at the pain. The vampire revelled in it.

"Look at you," he mocked. "At my feet. What would the other gods say if they knew, eh?"

"I don't care," answered Gale, and strangely enough Astarion believed him.

Suddenly, the vampire smacked him across the cheek with an open palm. The God of Ambition gasped, looking up at him. Shock and surprise written all over his face. Astarion laughed and hit his other side. The sound of skin hitting skin echoed loudly through the room.

"That's not enough," Astarion voiced his sick thoughts. "You need real punishment."

With that, he took a step back to open his belt and free it from his trousers. Gale's eyes widen in realisation. Astarion sneered. He was ill in the head and he knew it. Still, he ordered: "Get up, hold onto the base of your statue, and bend over."

The addressed trembled slightly when he obeyed and hid his face behind his hair as he lowered his head between his shoulders. Astarion stalked closer, sliding his fingers along the leather belt.

"Good," he praised and Gale shuddered slightly.

Interesting... The vampire cracked the belt over Gale's right butt cheek with force, revelling in the sharp cry of pain he coaxed out of the other man.

"Yes. Sing for me, pet."

Another hit, another cry. Astarion grinned, lost in a mixture of rage, arousal, and sick fantasies. Drunk on power. He landed another two blows on each butt cheek before he stopped. Gale was panting elaborately now, arms and legs shaking slightly. Astarion leant forwards and licked up a rivulet of black blood that welled from where Gale's skin had broken. The vampire made a face at the taste. It didn't reek of bile anymore like it had before, but there was something sharp and acrid about Gale's blood.

"You still taste disgusting."

At that, the God of Ambition chuckled lightly.

"Apologies. My body contains even more Netherese magic than before, thus, I'm sure it –"

Gale's reply ended in a yell when Astarion racked his sharp fingernails down his back, leaving bloody trails behind.

"You're still talking too much," the vampire said coldly. "I guess it needs more drastic measures to shut you up."

Astarion pushed Gale back down on his knees again and forced his jaw open with one hand, pressing his thumb into his mouth to pry it open. With the other hand, he freed his dick from his trousers skilfully. Gale's eyes widened in fear, but Astarion couldn't hear his pulse quickening. Actually, he couldn't hear a heartbeat at all.

Right. Gale's a god now. Immortal like me, the vampire realised, slightly bitter about it.

"What? Never sucked a cock before?" he taunted, releasing his grip on Gale's jaw to let him speak.

"Mystra liked to change her form sometimes. Thus, I know how to –"

"Don't speak that bitch's name ever again!" spat Astarion, riled up. "That bitch doesn't deserve to be worshipped nor anything else! Least your attention. She's the reason for your folly."

Surprised, the God of Ambition looked up at him. Oh, how Astarion wished the other's eyes were still as brown and expressive as they’d been before his ascension to godhood.

"I – Apologies. I didn't know it would upset you so much, but you've asked if I had any exp-"

"Shut up and suck me off, pet," Astarion interrupted him harshly, grabbed Gale's jaw again, and shoved his member into the other man's mouth and down his throat. The latter made a choking noise.

"Don't be dramatic. You don't need to breathe anymore," Astarion taunted and the addressed glared up at him. An ugly grin split the vampire's face. "How does it feel, God of Ambition? On your knees and used like a toy by a mere vampire lord. Where are your godly powers now?"

At that, Gale slightly bit down on Astarion's cock as a warning. The latter gripped the god's hair tighter, hissing: "Don't you dare."

To Astarion's surprise, Gale obeyed and his jaw went slack again, letting himself be face-fucked by the vampire who moaned blissfully. Astarion's eyes rolled back in his head as he pushed as deep as he could and spilled down Gale's throat.

"That's it, darling," he groaned. "Take it."

And the God of Ambition moaned as he swallowed the vampire lord's cold seeds. Astarion bit his lip to hold back a whimper. It felt so good. So loving.

He'd tried to find joy in sex again ever since Tav had been killed, but nothing and no one excited him anymore. Everything felt fake and wrong. Either because Astarion forced himself to enjoy it, or because whoever joined him in bed only did so because they were terrified of him or wanted something from him.

It didn't feel fake or wrong now. The only thing that felt wrong was forcing Gale to go along with what he wanted, but Astarion didn't particularly care about that right now. He still panted as he stared at the ceiling of the Szarr palace. The place that once had been his prison, had become his unwelcoming, cold home. Astarion hated it. He blinked slowly before looking down at Gale. A genuine soft smile appeared on the vampire's beautiful face.

"So good for me," he praised and couldn't keep himself from gently running his fingers through Gale's hair. "You can release me now."

That he did. Gasping for air and coughing, Gale looked positively wrecked and Astarion felt smug and almost satisfied, but when the God of Ambition initiated to stand up, the vampire spoke sharply: "I'm not done with you, pet."

The addressed froze.

"Astarion, I think that's quite enough. You had your revenge."

"I decide when it's enough! As I said, I'm not done with you, God of Ambition!"

In a sudden outburst of anger, Astarion backhanded him across the face, sending Gale onto the floor again. Sneering, Astarion placed a foot on the other man's chest and pushed him backwards onto the cold marble floor.

"You took everything from me," growled the vampire lord.

At that, Gale bristled.

"That's not true! You did this to yourself, Astarion! I warned you. I warned you that the ritual would change you and it had. It took away all of your humanity."

"Humanity?!" roared Astarion and cackled. "I'm an elf! I never had any humanity in me in the first place!"

"You know what I mean! Look how cold you're acting now. No more empathy. No more feelings. No more heart. No more love."

Snarling, Astarion bent over Gale, bringing their faces so close together that they felt each other's breaths on their skins when they spoke.

"My heart stopped beating over two hundred years ago when I was turned into a spawn. My heart's long dead – and so is yours now."

Astarion grabbed the other man's thighs and pushed them upwards, purring: "You better use that grease spell on your rear or I'll take you dry."

Gale's shocked, almost terrified, expression wasn't as satisfying as the vampire lord had hoped for.

"Astarion... please..."

"Any time now, Gale!" the addressed snarled, baring his fangs.

The God of Ambition looked hurt now, and even though he was trembling in fear, he muttered the spell.

"What an obedient pet," praised Astarion and pushed all the way into him until he bottomed out.

Gale screamed hoarsely, tears running down his face as he dug his nails into the vampire's shoulders. The latter set a violent pace, revelling in the other man's cries, and started to choke him just for fun. Gale wheezed, gasping for air. He obviously didn't need to breathe anymore, but his brain apparently hadn't gotten the memo yet.

"Astarion... please..." the God of Ambition begged, gulping in ragged breaths and the addressed squeezed his neck just a little tighter for a second to taunt him before releasing him. Gale's eyes rolled for a second as he gulped in lungful’s of air in a panic.

"We're not so different, you and I," sneered Astarion. "We both ascended, became something far more powerful than others could ever dream of. We're both immortals and can inflict terror in anyone. You're as power-hungry and greedy as me, Gale."

"If I... if I could turn back time," the addressed sobbed. "I'd stop you from ascending and I'd return the crown to Mystra. We both lost our humanity, our hearts, and ourselves. We sought power to prove ourselves, but we lost everything dear to us in the process. Now, there's only loneliness for us."

"Shut up!" yelled Astarion and buried his fangs in Gale's neck. His blood was vile and insulting, but also held power, so much power. Pure magic. The vampire wondered briefly if he'd become even more powerful if he'd drain the other man dry, or if the Netherese magic would kill him instead. He didn't care either way.

Gale choked on a sob, but continued talking.

"I'm sorry I failed to save us. I'm sorry I couldn't save you from yourself. I regret it. Forgive me... please."

His body went limp under Astarion, his hands losing their grip on the vampire's shoulders. Almost panicked, the latter, stopped drinking from him to stare at the other man instead. Astarion grabbed Gale's face with both hands, slightly shaking him.

"Don't die! You're a God, you can't die! Don't you dare leave me alone!"

Groaning, the God of Ambition opened his eyes.

" 'm not dying. Just... tired... can't...."

Suddenly, Astarion felt vile and it finally hit him what he'd done. He let go of Gale as if the touch had burned him and slipped his softening dick out of him. The vampire scooted back on his bare arse, horrified of his actions, before bending sideways and retching onto the floor. Gale's black blood was a stark contrast to the white-grey marble floor.

"Ugh..." Astarion groaned miserably and dry-heaved again. "I'm - I'm a monster. Just - just like - Cazador."

His eyes flitted back to Gale who winced as he sat up. All the fight had left the vampire and he trembled now.

"Why?" His eyes spilled over, an ugly sob escaping his throat. "Why did you let me hurt you like this? You're a god, you could have easily overpowered me."

"Because -" Gale wheezed. "Because it seemed like you needed it. You're lonely, sad, and hurt. Let me help you. Let me ease your suffering."

"Gods, you're the worst," Astarion cried and, before he could get cold feet, he crawled back to kiss the God of Ambition. He didn't expect the thrum of magic that zapped through him like lightning, even though he should have. Gale was glowing with old Netherese magic after all. It wasn't unpleasant though, thus, Astarion didn't pull away. Gale moaned – loudly, desperately, wantonly, needy – and deepened their kiss as he wrapped his arms around the vampire's neck. The Orb in his chest started to pulse with purple light, illuminating the cold marbled room. Astonished, Astarion gently stroke the mark with his fingers, hissing at the crackling magic there.

“It - it glows?”

“When - when I’m excited, yes,” Gale panted, slightly bashfully. Then, he added: "I'm - I am too."

"You're what, darling?"

"I'm lonely, sad, and hurt too. I no longer want to be alone. I miss having company I can trust."

"Yes," sobbed Astarion, desperately clinging to Gale's shoulders. "I miss it too. Please, Gale, please don't leave me. Don't go back to the Astral Planes."

"I'm not sure if I'm allowed to stay in the mortal realm, but I want to."

"You're a god. Can't gods do whatever they please?"

Gale sighed, answering: "Not always. It's complicated. But I stay as long as I can and if I must go, I'll come back as soon and for as long as I'm allowed. – If that's what you want."

Astarion nodded hastily.

"Yes, yes, I want that. Please, Gale."

"Yes," answered the God of Ambition simply and the vampire lord kept weeping.

3 months later

Astarion awoke from his reverie to the chirping of sparrows and screeching of seagulls. He stretched lazily under the white sheets, sleepily gazing at the sun-dappled room in Gale's tower in Waterdeep. Next to him, his lover stirred and Astarion turned to look at him. Gale looked ethereal as always. Like Astarion, he didn't need to sleep anymore, but he loved the sentiment of it.

"Good morning, darling."

Smiling softly, the ascended vampire lord stroke the God of Ambition's cheek, marvelling at his soft, long mane and silvery-blue, warm skin yet again.

"Good morning, dear," said Gale, voice husky from sleep.

Astarion leaned over to kiss him gently and Gale hummed happily. The vampire rolled on top of him easily, deepening their kiss while stroking his lover's hair out of his face. For a while they simply kissed, entangling their tongues, while rubbing against each other. When it wasn't enough anymore, Astarion asked: "Darling... may I?"

And Gale nodded, easily parting his legs around the vampire after the latter had pushed away the blankets.

"So gorgeous," praised Astarion before engulfing his lover's erection with his mouth.

Gale sighed blissfully, running his fingers through the vampire's white curls while closing his eyes. The latter stretched out his hand and, with a flick of Gale's wrist, a bottle of oil flew over to him. Astarion caught it easily, pouring some of the oil directly onto his lover's perineum and coating his fingers with it. Then, he started to carefully prepare Gale. Fingers pumping in and out of his hole while sucking him off. The God of Ambition panted and moaned beautifully as the Orb in his chest started pulsating with purple light. It was music to Astarion's ears.

"I'm ready," Gale panted and the vampire looked up at him, mirth sparkling in his ruby-red eyes.

"I don't deem you ready yet, darling," he retorted, basically bent his lover in half, and dove his tongue into him.

Gale almost yelled, clawing the sheets as he let out a string of moans.

"Astarion... Astarion..."

He repeated the name like a prayer and the vampire revelled in it. Gale's fingers tightened in the sheets, his hips spasming.

"Astarion!" he warned, sobbing.

The Orb in his chest started to glow brighter and brighter. The vampire knew his lover was close, thus, he kept going. Gale climaxed with a hoarse shout, spilling his seeds over his own belly and torso, and the light of the Orb exploded, making the god's entire body glow purple, almost as bright as the sun. When the light diminished, Astarion finally let go of Gale, placing one last kiss on his hole. Then, he bent forward and licked up his lover's still warm spent. When he was done, he wiggled his tongue into Gale's mouth to let him taste himself. The latter moaned and kissed back eagerly. Finally, the vampire entered his lover, slowly and carefully.

"You're so beautiful," he praised, gazing at the man beneath him through half-lidded eyes.

The God of Ambition blushed, intertwining their fingers.

"So are you," he whispered.

They kissed again, deeply but tenderly, as they made love (yes, love. They weren't fucking). Gale moaned blissfully and Astarion let out a harsh breath every time he bottomed out and his eyes threatened to roll back in his head. The vampire licked his lover's sweaty neck before biting down gently and drinking his vile but oh-so addictive blood.

"I love you," mewled Gale, throwing his head back on the pillow, and, with a loud moan, Astarion reached his high, spilling into his lover. Even through his closed eyelids, he could see how Gale emanated purple light once more. The vampire collapsed onto the God of Ambition, removed his fangs and licked the wounds until they stopped bleeding. With a deep sigh, he placed his head on Gale's shoulder.

"I love you too," he whispered.

He's content when the other man wrapped an arm around him and held him close. They dwelled like this for a while, recharging.

"I want to stay like this forever," revealed Astarion, slightly bashful.

Gale smiled, tenderly stroking the scars on his lover's back.

"Well, technically, we can," he answered teasingly and the vampire snickered.

"Yoo-hoo, Astarion, Gale!" lilted Kalina as she scuttled through the doorway and jumped up onto the bed. "Good morning, lovebirds. May I remind you that I am neither a god nor a vampire and need real substance to survive. It's already elven o'clock!"

The men chuckled amused and Astarion replied: "Of course, Kalina. We're very sorry that we forgot the time. I'll feed you right away."

With a happy purr, the tressym hopped off the bed and rushed towards the door.

"Ah, one more thing." She turned around to look at the pair with her pretty blue eyes. "I've spoken to Mrs. Dekarios and Tara and they've both agreed to visit you tomorrow."

"Really?"

Gale smiled broadly and happily. These were the moments Astarion missed his lover's human form. He'd always had such beautiful, expressive, warm, brown eyes. Now, they were simply two pools of bright, white light.

Kalina nodded.

"They're compliant on the condition that you'll meet up regularly and behave decently. No ascended, godlike behaviour and such."

"That can be arranged," Gale replied, smiling fondly.

Astarion simply nodded.

"Wonderful," the tressym purred. "And now that that's settled, I'd like my very plentiful brunch, if you'd be so kind."

Barking an amused laugh, Astarion swung out of bed, put on one of Gale's robes, and followed Kalina to the kitchen. The God of Ambition got up too, walking to the window in his birthday suit, and watched how the wheels of time and life spun.

'Fate spins along as it should' Withers had said, and he'd been right.

With a deep sigh, Gale gazed at the sea.

If I could turn back time, I would, and I'd change so many things, he thought woefully. But it's impossible and we must live with our decisions.

He smiled when Astarion wrapped his arms around his middle from behind, kissed his shoulder, and muttered: "Come back to bed, darling. I want to ride you until the sun goes down."

Even though our fates seemed dark, we've found the few specks of light in the darkness, the God of Ambition thought as he was led back to bed by his ascended vampiric lover.

Over the past three months, they'd realised that they both were still capable to feel and to love. Their true selves still existed, underneath all the power and ascension. The men clung to them more consciously now, not willing to let go of their humanity, hearts, and souls. It was a wonderful revelation.

Astarion and Gale would live forever, but they'd also love each other forever.

[mumms-the-word]

In Fathoms Below - Ch. 2

Ch. 2 - The Launch

Characters: Gale, Karlach, Wyll, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Astarion, Halsin, Minthara, Gortash + other OCs; pairing is Gale x fem!Tav Plot: The island city of Nautera disappeared over 4500 years ago, if it ever existed at all. Now not a single, legitimate record of Nautera exists, save for one. The Nauterran Account. Long thought lost, it has recently been retrieved from the depths of Candlekeep’s archives and placed into the capable hands of one Gale Dekarios. With the Nauterran Account in hand and an eclectic team of Baldurians and other allies mounting an official expedition, Gale journeys to find the ruins of Nautera…but hopes to find so much more. A/N: Gale is meeting the team and the submersible is about to launch! For those curious about where a certain pale vampire is, don't worry. He's around here somewhere. Also, have some mood music!

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Lord Enver Gortash. It wasn’t a name that Gale immediately recognized, but the man carried himself with an air of confidence and self-importance that was impossible to deny. Whoever he was to the city of Baldur’s Gate, it was someone of significance.

Gortash straightened from his subtle bow to offer Gale another charismatic smile. “I’m in charge of this little expedition, at the behest of Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard himself. It has been a lifelong dream of mine—and his—to locate the fabled Nautera. When we heard that there was an ancient record of the islands and that there might be a man capable of reading and deciphering it—well, it was practically a dream come true. We wasted no time in organizing this expedition to seek out the fabled city. Rest assured, I’ve gathered only the finest to ensure our success. Including you, naturally. You’ve come highly recommended.”

Gale struggled to keep up. Recommended by who, Elminster? And how did this man know about the Account when not even Gale had been certain it still existed until only a few short days ago? And Ravengard—that was a Baldurian name, if he recalled. One of four Grand Dukes that ruled the city. If this was a Baldurian expedition, why had Elminster arranged for him to join? Then again, perhaps he ought not to look a gift submersible in the mouth...

He set those concerns aside for now. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Gortash.” 

“Likewise.” Gortash snapped his fingers at the drow woman. “Minthara. Gather the others will you? We can have a little debrief before we launch.”

Gale didn’t miss the withering look Minthara shot at the back of Gortash’s head, but she turned and left even so. In the meantime, Gortash gestured toward the githyanki, who was watching them both with a sour expression, her arms still crossed over her chest.

“This is—”

“I am capable of introducing myself, istik,” she said, cutting her eyes briefly at Gortash before settling her gaze back on Gale. She straightened and lifted her chin. “I am Lae’zel of K’liir. No doubt I will be this expedition’s strongest fighter, should the need arise.”

“Lae’zel is here to offer her people’s expertise on Nautera,” Gortash said, appearing unruffled by her interruption. “The libraries of K’liir contained quite a few tir’su slates with accounts of the islands. I’m sure the two of you will have much to discuss as we draw closer to the city.”

“Truly?” Gale couldn’t help but be intrigued. “I confess, I’ve always wanted to learn tir’su. No doubt time in your company will prove valuable to us both.”

“Save your words, istik,” she said, settling back against the table and folding her arms again. “I offer only that which is necessary, be it in words or with blades. I do not chatter.” 

“Ah…duly noted.” 

Gortash chuckled. “Don’t mind her. She’s like that with everyone. Ah, here we have our healers. This is Halsin Silverbough of the Emerald Grove and Shadowheart, a cleric who has offered her services to the cause.”

“You must be the translator we’ve been waiting for,” Halsin said, nodding to him. “Well met.”

“Funny,” Shadowheart said, looking Gale up and down. “I thought you’d be more…”

“More…what?” Gale tilted his head. “Dashing? Roguish? Elegantly dressed?”

She pursed her lips. “More of a peacock, I suppose. Your reputation precedes you.” Her gaze settled briefly on his silver Mystran earring before returning to his face.

“Ah. I dare not ask which reputation you’re referring to, if that’s the case,” he said, laughing somewhat awkwardly. He could just imagine what the others had heard about him by now, especially if Elminster had arranged for him to join up.

But just as she noticed his earring, he couldn’t help but notice the symbol on the circlet she wore over her hair—a round black disk like a new moon. Any follower of Mystra would recognize that symbol. It was the mark of Shar, one of Mystra’s longest and most relentless divine enemies. The two goddesses absolutely hated each other.

Curious that there would be a Sharran cleric on board. But if she was here as a healer, perhaps she intended to do no harm. Or so he hoped. He offered her his most charming smile and a little bow.

“Rest assured, I’m more than happy to offer my services to the expedition. The discovery of Nautera is not something a man simply passes up.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gortash said, flashing him a quick grin. “Ah, and I know you’ve met Karlach.”

“Hello again, Gale,” Karlach said, giving him a little wave. He waved back.

“And this is young Wyll Ravengard, son of Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard.”

“At your service.” The young man bowed gracefully before rising and offering Gale a smile. Gale noticed that one of his eyes had been replaced with a smooth, stone eye and that there were several scars on his face and neck.

For a young son of a grand duke, Wyll didn’t look the part. This man had clearly seen trials the like most could only find in their nightmares. Still, it was curious that he was here. From what little Gale recalled of Baldurian nobility, Ulder Ravengard only had one son, and this expedition was sure to be dangerous at times.

Wyll's presence must be a hint of Ravengard’s confidence in the success of the expedition...or else there was some other, darker reason no one dared to name. Gale hoped it meant the former.

“And finally,” Gortash said, as the drow woman returned to the table, “allow me to introduce our general, Minthara of House Baenre. She has brought with her a retinue of drow scouts and soldiers that will no doubt be invaluable as we explore any Underdark passages along the way.”

“I also serve as the second-in-command for this expedition,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. “And I suffer no disobedience of any kind. If you will not listen to Lord Gortash, you will listen to me. Is that clear?”

“As crystal,” Gale said, trying to look sincere. He glanced around the group, trying to match faces with names and names with occupations. Gortash, the lord and leader. Minthara, the general. Karlach, the bodyguard. Wyll, the young noble. Halsin, the druid healer. Shadowheart, the cleric. And Lae’zel, the githyanki soldier and tir’su expert.

An ecclectic group if he ever saw one. He couldn’t fathom why half of them cared about finding the ruins of an ancient city. At worst they would find nothing, save perhaps stone blocks and broken pottery, and at best they’d locate ancient writings, perhaps a rare fragment of the legendary mythallar. Gale knew what he wanted out of the trip—answers about Nautera and its relationship with Netheril as well as the pride in knowing he had proven generations of Candlekeep scholars wrong—but he dared not wonder why the rest were interested.

Perhaps it was better that he did not know…for now.

“Now,” Gortash said, clasping his hands together. “There are plenty more important people to meet but you can make those introductions along the way. We had best be off. Gale, you will be sharing a bunk with Halsin and Wyll while aboard the submersible. I trust they can show you the way?” At Wyll and Halsin’s nods, he continued, “Splendid. Everyone, we will meet at the helm in exactly one hour. If you’re not inside the submersible, you’ll be left behind. And, Gale…” 

Gale paused just as he was turning away to follow Wyll and Halsin down toward the submersible. He faced Gortash again, finding himself caught beneath the Baldurian lord’s dark, unreadable gaze. Gortash’s smile, however, was as charming and practiced as ever.

“Bring your little book. We’ll have need of it.”

-----

The interior of the submersible was nearly all metal. Metal sheets, metal pipes, metal grates, metal bolts. If it wasn’t metal, it was thick glass that peered out into the blue depths beyond. While not entirely unwelcoming, it was certainly different from the creature comforts Gale was used to in his Waterdhavian wizard’s tower.

The bunks, at least, looked passably comfortable, though Gale was a bit disappointed that there was no chance of a private room. Still, Wyll and Halsin seemed sensible, even friendly company.

“How does a young noble and a druid come to join an expedition like this?” he asked them as he dropped his pack onto the only available bed in the room. It was little more than a narrow padded mattress with a thin pillow and a blanket folded at one end, but it was his now.

Wyll, leaning against a ladder-like set of rungs that led to a bunk over Gale’s, gave a light shrug. “It’s a legendary city at the bottom of the sea, like a fairy story of old. What's not to enjoy? I wanted to see it for myself and my father was only too happy to negotiate a place for me...so here I am.”

Gale noticed a shift in Wyll’s voice at his last sentence, but couldn’t quite discern the meaning or emotion. Wyll’s pleasant expression and soft smile were polite, but impenetrable. If there was more to his tale than he was letting on, there was no way for Gale to know it.

“I take it you’re interested in the legends and the history of Nautera, then?” Gale asked.

“Only what I don’t already know. I’ve heard the stories, of course.” Wyll began to gesture with his hands, as if painting the scene. “A fabled city on a distant island, home to a thousand wonders of every kind. Flying ships, walking stone creatures, marvels and magic and more. Only for it to disappear over the span of a single day. One day it’s there, another island in the vast sea, and the next—” he snapped his fingers, “—gone. Not even a rock jutting up from the water to suggest it was ever there.” 

He smiled and dropped his hands, shrugging. “They say the person who finds Nautera will be granted one wish, whatever their heart desires. But I’m not so sure that’s true.”

“Perhaps not, but there are always elements of truth even in the midst of a fairy story or a legend,” Gale said. “Perhaps wishes were granted there, back when it was above water.” 

He turned to Halsin, who was seated on the bunk opposite, his wooden staff resting on his knees. “What of you? I’m surprised to see a druid of the forests showing an interest in an underwater city.”

Halsin smiled faintly. “It is odd, and this…submersible is unnatural to me. But I was told there was a need for a healer, and I have been many strange places in my modest life. To see the ruins of a civilization that predates my own people…such marvels are not to be ignored, I think. I am here to be of service and to satisfy my own curiosity.”

“Then our interests align. Though I hope we will not need to rely on your services too much, Master Halsin.”

“Just Halsin, please,” the old druid said, chuckling. “And I agree. Though if the need arises, I can be useful in other ways.”

Before he could explain further, there was a sharp knock just outside the bunk room. A young man in uniform leaned in through the open doorway. “Saers, you’re wanted at the helm. We’re to launch in a few minutes.”

“We’ll be right there,” Wyll responded, and the young man disappeared. Wyll took a deep breath and turned to smile at Gale and Halsin. “We’d best be off. I hear the best place to witness a submersible launch is at the front.”

He and Halsin ducked out of the room, the tall elf literally hunching to make it through the rounded, low doorframe. Gale made sure to retrieve the Nauterran Account and tuck it carefully into his satchel, alongside his spellbook and a few other supplies, before following them out of the bunk room. 

The helm featured an impressive array of controls, dials, levers, and gauges, all manned by various pilots, including one surly-looking blonde dwarf at the very front. Overhead, bolted sheets of metal made up part of the sloping, dome-like ceiling before transitioning to curving panels of thick, reinforced glass between metal bars, giving them a clear view of everything immediately ahead and above them, and a fair view of the sides too. At the center of the room, a large, curving, mahogany desk and a surprisingly plush chair took up much of the space, looking elegant yet out of place, as if they had been teleported in from someone’s office back in the city. Someone had laid out several maps and navigation tools on the surface. The chair was unoccupied at the moment, but Gortash stood just to the side of it, hands clasped behind his back, watching the pilots work. 

A few paces away, Karlach shifted restlessly on her feet, tapping her fingers against her thigh and turning her head this way and that, as if trying to catch all the action going around her. Minthara, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart stood nearby, with Lae’zel and Shadowheart eyeing each other darkly and Minthara ignoring both of them to stare over the head of a gnome pilot messing with specific controls.

Gortash glanced over his shoulder and noticed the three of them entering. “Ah, good. You’re here, just in time to watch the magic happen. So to speak,” he added, sending a grin Gale’s way. 

Before Gale could respond, Gortash turned away and directed his next words to the blonde dwarf at the front of the room, where a big metal ship’s wheel was waiting. “Redhammer, begin the launch and take us out to the open sea.”

“Aye, saer.” The dwarf pulled one of the levers and took the wheel. “Commencing launch.”

All around the room, various pilots began to flip switches, pull levers, and turn wheels, calling out responses or numbers that Gale could make no sense of and watching various screens and gauges as they worked. He felt the floor beneath him shudder as distant engines roared to life, the dull rumble and vibrations reaching them even there in the helm. The excitement in the room was palpable. Gale’s heart began to pound and his blood began to race through his veins, all in anticipation of the launch. 

All at once the entire submersible gave a downward lurch, as if being dropped or let go, and a flurry of bubbles billowed up against the glass. Gale moved to a free space near one of the windows, out of the way of the pilots, watching as more curtains of bubbles bounced and twirled upward as the seacraft began to lower gently away from the docks. He felt his ears pop as they sank lower and lower and began to turn away toward the deeper blue of the ocean depths.

No turning back now.

“Watch those power gauges, boys,” Redhammer said, directing his fellow pilots. “Steady now. Increase engines one and three and bring them to thirty percent.”

The rumble from the engines louder grew until it was a sonorous thrum in the background, the vibrations beneath Gale’s boots now a constant drone. Outside the submersible, the massive metal fins on either side came to life, frightening and scattering several fish that had ventured too close. He felt the seacraft tilt and adjust before it fell into a steady, subtle rocking pattern, like that of an undulating whale, as it began to move forward. It wasn’t unlike the rocking of a ship on the sea, though perhaps more regulated. 

As they moved away from the docks and out toward the open expanse of the ocean depths, they cut through fronds of thick, towering kelp, sending fish and other creatures fleeing through the waving undersea plants. It was surreal to watch the underwater world pass by them through the windows of the submersible, almost as if he were seeing merely illusion rather than reality.

“Whoa…” He turned to see that Karlach had joined him at a nearby window, staring out of it in wide-eyed wonder. Her glowing eyes were even more alight as she took in the waving plants, the fish, and the bubbles as they moved through the water. “We’re really doing this…”

Her wonder bolstered his own and he offered her a somewhat crooked smile. “Nervous?”

She glanced sidelong at him and laughed. “Too late for that now, soldier. Besides, Gortash doesn’t pay me to be nervous.”

Redhammer’s voice called out again. “All engines to forty-five percent. Take us down ten degrees down-angle and hold us steady.”

Working in tandem, the pilots pivoted the seacraft and maneuvered it downward, increasing the speed until they were moving along at a noticeable clip. The kelp forest quickly gave way to rocky reefs with sparse coral and from there to gray, silty sand that disappeared into darkness the farther they descended. The sunlight overhead grew fainter and fainter until at last they were enveloped by inky blue and cobalt, the waters ahead illuminated only by the brilliant enchanted lights that shone outward from the front of the submersible. 

Beyond the reach of the seacraft’s lights, the depths below beckoned, looking like a vast, empty void of velvet black. Gale held tighter to his satchel, his eyes on the dark waters ahead. He was loathe to pray to any goddess other than Mystra—and even she hadn’t been listening to his prayers lately—but he was tempted to offer a meek prayer to Umberlee, the chaotic goddess of the seas. They were in her territory, after all...

And at the mercy of her infamously temperamental whims. The darkness of the depths was a tangible reminder of their tentative place in her domain, because, as any Waterdhavian knew, the Bitch Queen was more than capable of summoning a creature from the depths to sink a ship.

A massive submersible diving into her depths would only be that much more annoying to her, and that much more susceptible to destruction. Gale could only hope her attention was diverted elsewhere.

[ask-indigoskies]

Lovebug and Emerald Gale: When you were foals, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Love bug: “I wanted to be an author when I was young”

Gale: “I really really wanted to be a librarian! Being surrounded by books all day sounded like the best job ever?!”

[keldae]

Tagged by the incomparable @dingoat -- thank you! <3

3 ships

Right now, to nobody's surprise, Gale/Devi is eating my soul. On paper, they shouldn't work -- he's an educated, wealthy, powerful mage (who makes very poor life choices), and she's a much-younger-than-him thief who grew up as an urchin on the streets of Baldur's Gate, whose only "acceptable" skill is playing a violin (apparently pickpocketing and stabbing people aren't considered widely acceptable or desirable skills?). But in all the ways that really count, they are compatible -- they're protective of each other and their friends, and Devi's street-smarts balance out Gale's book/arcane knowledge, and her feisty-ness is another counter to his more balanced way of dealing with things (read: he's 90% of her impulse control). I suppose opposites DO attract! ;)

Theron/Xaja has lived in my brain ever since Shadow of Revan dropped, in canon-verse and in at least two AU's. Theron definitely brought out a side of Xaja that isn't necessarily a proper Jedi side to show, but it's definitely her -- she's also feisty, and protective, and she's got a snarky streak to her that sings to Theron's soul. And she loves Theron's devotion to the cause, and his intelligence, and his wit.

(also, looking at Xaja and Devi... apparently I've got a TYPE when it comes to my main characters in RPGs. You should take a look at my canon Warden from DAO sometime, Lynaen... who ALSO is a redheaded dual-wielding rogue with a healthy dose of snark. At least she was raised a Cousland and didn't spend time learning how to pickpocket on the streets like the other two? #roguelifeFTW)

And I gotta talk about Reanden/Mairen too. They started on a bit of a whim when @andveryginger and I decided to throw them together for a couple of one-off kiss prompts, annnnnd now they run a good chunk of our respective brains (Reanden likes to hang out in Ginger's head a lot). Mai (Ginger's) loves Reanden's intelligence, and his dedication to his kids and the Republic, and the compassionate, caring streak he has under his sociopathic facade. And he's got a type for snarky redheaded Corellian Jedi ladies -- the fact that Mai loves his kids like they're her own, and doesn't think less of him for his rare moments of vulnerability, means the galaxy to him.

First Ship

Oh man -- my very first OTP was Faramir/Eowyn from LOTR, ever since I first read the books at the ripe old age of 12 years old, and it's STILL one of my favourite ships. I think, even 20 years ago, I was seeing myself in Eowyn (as a female character, as one who wanted to fight and seek out renown, as one who, as I would discover later on in my own life, had a bucketload of mental health problems to the tune of depression), and wanted my own Faramir (gentle, noble, compassionate, intelligent). So a bit of projection there? ;) The first ship I wrote... well, I'd started a girl-falls-into-Middle-earth fic in high school, and the endgame goal was my OC with Legolas, but looking back on it now, I think my OC may have had more chemistry with Boromir. Either way, that fic has been abandoned for like 15 years -- I ain't bringing it back out to resurrect it. ;)

Last Song

According to Spotify, "Master Of Illusion" by Battle Beast! If/when I come up with a Gale playlist, that song's going on it.

Currently Reading

"Tress of the Emerald Sea" by Brandon Sanderson. I'm not too far into it, but so far I'm enjoying it! (Also, I LOVE Sanderson's writing style, and the little bits of snark he peppers in there. Current favourite line: "... he had a jaw so straight that it made other men question if they were.")

Last Film

In theatres -- "Argylle", which I enjoyed! I wouldn't class it as a "favourite" movie, but it was fun! At home (read: at Chez Boyfriend), it was "RED" -- that's one of my favourites. Bruce Willis and Karl Urban snarking at each other... =D (Karl is also my faceclaim for Reanden, and that movie was a big inspiration!)

Currently Craving

Nothing at the moment! I have my coffee and I have a big-ass Costco-sized muffin that I'm working on before I go for my tattoo appointment. (Also, Part 1 of my tax return came in last week... I could get ALL the groceries, thank God! Part 2 is dropping on Thursday, for all the backpay after the CRA applied the ADHD disability credit to my previous years... I legit cried when I saw that number. I can afford to get my car fixed, AND get this new tattoo, AND a haircut, AND maybe, I don't know, throw something into a retirement fund!)

Tagging, if you wish: @greyias @storyknitter @nayci @elveny @abysskeeper @auroraesmeraldarose

[dndfantasygirl]

Unbroken Chains (Chapter 1: The Ring of Daybreak's Embrace)

Rating: Mature Word count: 1.2k Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, self-deprecation

Summary: After defeating the Netherbrain, Astarion, Delphie, and Arabella set out on a trek to find the Ring of Daybreak's Embrace, a magical item that will allow the vampire spawn to walk in the sun once again. However, Delphie's past catches up with her as two hags from the Hourglass Coven track her down, endangering the lives of those she cares for the most.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

It's been almost two weeks since they defeated the Netherbrain. Since they were freed from the parasite. Since he was bound to the shadows once again.

But Delphie made him a promise. She would help him find a way to walk in the sun again. If there's no cure, at least there's that.

Gale, although still in his pursuit of the Crown of Karsus, offered to help them out. He found the artifact and its location. Before they left, he gave them a scroll of sending just in case they had any questions along the way.

It was a kind gesture from the wizard, Astarion will give him that much.

They traverse the expansive lands of Elturgard under the veil of night, their path leading them toward the enchanting depths of the Misty Forest. Just him, Delphie...and the little imp. While he had yearned for some intimate moments alone with his beloved, Arabella's presence disrupts his plans, courtesy of a promise she made to the eager novice.

Amidst the journey, the topic of magic resurfaces in Astarion's mind, spurred by the golden scales interwoven with the scars on his back. Delphie broached the subject upon their return to Last Light, attributing his revival to a peculiar exchange of powers. Alden's act of bringing him back bestowed upon him the same mystical abilities that Delphie possesses.

Yet, magic feels foreign to the vampire spawn, a realm where he struggles to find his footing. His proficiency lies in the art of blades and archery, the tangible weapons of his trade. While he remains willing to assist Delphie when needed, the notion of wielding magic as his primary means of combat feels alien to him, a territory he's uncertain he can navigate with confidence.

A flicker of frustration dances across Astarion's features as he contemplates the presence of Arabella on their journey. He can't shake the notion that if it weren't for the little imp's company, Delphie would devote all her attention to him and his potential for mastering sorcery. Yet, for the past ten days, Arabella has monopolized the wood elf's attention, leaving the vampire spawn to simmer in the shadows as always.

Despite the reassuring grip of Delphie's hand in his, Astarion's gaze drifts towards Arabella, his expression clouded with resentment. There she stands, a picture of innocence and wonder, her eyes wide with curiosity at the world unfolding before her. Yet, to Astarion, her naivety is a source of irritation.

He can't help but scoff inwardly at Arabella's awe-filled demeanor, dismissing her fascination with the landscape around them as trivial.

"Are you nervous?"

The wood elf's voice pierces through the veil of Astarion's thoughts, drawing his attention back to the present moment. Her melodic tones serve as a welcome distraction, prompting him to cast aside his brooding demeanor.

He meets her gaze, finding solace in the warmth that emanates from her emerald eyes. "Not necessarily," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "But I won't lie and say I won't be disappointed if we can't find it."

Astarion's mind drifts to Gale's words, echoing in his memory with vivid clarity.

'The Ring of Daybreak's Embrace is said to be hidden within the depths of a forgotten crypt, buried beneath the roots of an ancient oak tree deep in the heart of a mist-shrouded forest. Legends speak of a hidden chamber guarded by spectral sentinels, where the ring rests atop an ancient pedestal, awaiting a worthy hand to claim its power.'

A worthy hand? Is his hand worthy enough?

Despite his undeniable progress towards redemption, a lingering sense of guilt continues to plague the vampires spawn. Memories of his past misdeeds weigh heavily on his conscience, casting a dark shadow over his newfound sense of purpose. He grapples with the knowledge that, regardless of the circumstances that led him down a path of darkness, he cannot fully absolve himself of the sins he committed.

In the past, Astarion found solace in his ability to detach himself from the consequences of his actions, numbing his emotions in order to survive. But with Cazador's demise and Delphie's unwavering presence, he can no longer shield himself from the overwhelming tide of emotions that threaten to consume him.

With the wood elf by his side, Astarion finds himself experiencing a depth of emotion he never thought possible. The warmth of her love serves as a beacon of light in the darkness, illuminating the path towards redemption. Yet, it also forces him to confront the full extent of his past transgressions, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

Lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, the vampire spawn fails to notice the passage of time until Delphie's gentle touch breaks through the fog of his introspection. "Dretri, what's on your mind?" Her concern is palpable, reflected in the furrow of her brow and the tender caress of her hand against his cheek.

Sensing the need for privacy, Arabella gracefully withdraws, busying herself with the vibrant tapestry of flora that surrounds them.

The rustle of footsteps fade into the distance, leaving the elves ensconced in a cocoon of solitude. Drawing a deep breath to steady his nerves, Astarion tentatively broaches the topic that has been gnawing at his mind.

"Gale mentioned that the ring awaits a worthy hand to claim its power, didn't he?" His voice trembles slightly.

Delphie nods, her curiosity mingling with concern as she reaches out to intertwine her fingers with his own, offering a tether to reality amidst the whirlwind of doubts that threaten to engulf him.

"What if..." Astarion's voice trails off, his words faltering as he grapples with the unsettling notion that has taken root in his mind. "What if I'm not worthy enough?"

A heavy silence hangs between them. The vampire spawn's hand instinctively rises to scratch at his head, a nervous tic betraying the turmoil that churns within him.

In response to his vulnerability, Delphie offers a reassuring squeeze. "You saved an entire city from being turned into mind flayers," she reminds him.

"I'll admit, darling, my reasons weren't exactly as altruistic as yours," Astarion confesses.

"You could've run, but you didn't," the wood elf observes, her voice soft and reassuring. "You stayed and you fought. I think that's pretty worthy, my love."

Her words resonate within Astarion's heart. As she rises on the tips of her toes to press a tender kiss to his lips, he finds himself momentarily lost in the warmth of her embrace.

Despite the fleeting comfort her words provide, Astarion's mind remains clouded by uncertainty. The echoes of his past misdeeds continue to haunt him, casting doubt upon the notion of his own worthiness. Yet, in the quiet intimacy of this moment, he allows himself to bask in the love and acceptance that Delphie offers so freely, if only for a fleeting moment.

"The sun's starting to rise."

As Arabella's voice breaks through the tranquility of the moment, the elves turn their attention towards the horizon, where the first tendrils of dawn begin to paint the sky with hues of rose and gold. The imminent arrival of daylight signals the end of their nocturnal journey, prompting Astarion to draw Delphie closer to him in a tender embrace.

Feeling the warmth of his cold touch, the wood elf leans into him, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she revels in the comfort of his arms. Astarion presses a gentle kiss to her temple. "Time for bed, my sweet."

[mahvaladara]

Neer - BG3 Character Dev Questions

@cassieuncaged Baldur's Gate 3 Character Development Questions

For Neer (Neer is an OC from the Lore of Iasanera story). Applying the answers to the world of BG3

1: Where in the Faerûn is your Tav from?

He'd be a Reithwin survivor (as the Shaddowlands are simmilar to the Cursed Valley). A former noble and city ranger. He'd be a Selunite (though in the world he's from he's a worshiper of Nix, who's Iasanera's equivalent of Shar, having in count the goddess's behaviours and personalities, Selune is more like Nix than Nix like Shar).

2: What is your character's alignment?

Neutral good. Though he's usually quite lawful, he's not against bending the rules to fit his agenda and his morality.

3: Race and subclass?

Elf, high elf. Fey ancestry.

Druid - Circle of Stars multiclassing with Gloom Stalker.

4: If your Tav was a companion, where would they be found?

Last Light Inn or somewhere in the Shadowlands, scouting the abandoned battlefied on in one of the Reithwin building roofs with a moon lantern trying to map the corruption.

5: Dark Urge or no?

No. Noble background.

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

Gale. They both share a love for knowledge and an ambition for self improvement. They share a lot of knowledge with one another and Neer was actually the first to suggest to Gale that perhaps, he's just an educated sorcerer, the same way Neer is a wealthy druid.

Wyll. They have a simmilar background and origin. They do bond over baldurian history and feats of heroism. They have never met before, the Shadow Curse fell before Wyll and Duke Ravengard's time.

Shadowheart. They share some religious understanding and Neer understands her devotion and her religious crisys. Deep inside, he wonders if she's truly a Sharran. He respects her religion. But before she turns to Selune, he pokes fun at her.

He's indiferent to Lae'Zel. He doesn't get in her way, she doesn't get in his.

He loves drinking and laughing with Karlach and sees her as a friend.

Jaheira is his sister of arms, his mentor and both adores her sense of humor and has a large degree of admiration and respect for her.

But of all, he's more platonically close to Gale and Jaheira.

7: Romantically close with?

Halsin and/or Shadowheart/Astarion.

8: Who are they suspicious of?

Lae'Zel, Astarion, and Minthara. The Emperor.

9: Is your Tav from Baldur's Gate? Why are they travelling there?

No. He had been to Baldur's Gate, before the Shadow curse befell Reithwin. He was a member of a noble house and would often deal in diplomacy and politics, so he was often to Baldur's Gate dealing with a myriad of political businesses. Currently he was heading to Baldur's Gate in hopes of finding a solution for the Shadowcurse plaguing his home. Jaheira had sent him towards the Emerald Grove.

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

Piano and violin, as it is expected for a noble bred elf such as himself.

11: Weapon of choice?

Bow and arrow and Glayve.

12: What is their orientation?

Bissexual.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

Necessary evil. They don't particularly enjoy killing, but they are an ambush ranger and are not against shooting someone down to achieve his agenda.

14: What hobbies does your Tav have?

Neer is into reading, playing music and gardening. And, though he'd never admit it or be caught doing it, Neer enjoys embroidery.

15: What NPC's do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

He likes Halsin, Zevlor, Duke Ravengard, Kith'rak Voss and Withers. Has a soft spot for Mol, and the tiefling kids. Adores Arabella but is also senses something brewing but has chosen to trust Withers. Enjoys Alfira's company. He also adores dame Aelyn. Has a healthy degree of respect for Nine-Fingers, Raphael and Auntie Ethel. He despises the Emperor, Mizora, Gortash and fuckiiing Oriiin.

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Faerûn?

Dire Wolves, dragons and tressyn. Adding owlbears to the bunch.

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

He does now. He'd never consider it when he was a noble man playing the politics game. But now he cannot see himself return to the posh, dull and pompous life of high-elven nobility.

18: What would your Tav be doing if they weren't kidnapped on the Nautiloid?

Probably trying to save Halsin from the Goblin camp anyway, as Jaheira would have pointed him towards the Emerald Grove and the Emerald Grove towards Halsin.

19: How do you think they'll meet they're end?

They had expected to be killed by the Shadow Curse or the abominations that dwell within it.

20: Would they destroy the elder brain or control it?

Destroy.

21: What is your Tav's favorite spell?

Telekinesis. Just yeet a bitch of a roof.

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

Common, elvish, druidic and celestial.

23: What do they do after the absolute crisis?

He returns to Reithwin with Halsin to run the commune.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

Yes. He very much does. This was how the Emperor was so easy to manipulate him with the image of his late wife.

25: What arcana major best represents your Tav?

The Chariot Upright on his qualities, the Emperor Reversed on his flaws.

26: What animal best represents your Tav?

The Wolf - loyalty, strong family ties, good communication, education, understanding, and intelligence.

27: What was their life like before the events of BG3?

Neer, before the Shadow Curse was a noble man of a noble elven house, married and with a child. He was a very wealthy man with a high social standing and some political power in Reithwin. He worshiped Selune, and after the worship of the Moon Maiden was abolished he conformed (but worshipped Selune in secret) to maintain his social status and wealth and comfort of his family. After the Shadow Curse he became a lone-wolf ranger, working with the Harpers to find a solution to the curse. He started learning druidic magic under the guidance of Jaheira and the harpers.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

He's the de facto leader. Neer was a noble and former politician. If he wasn't born with leadership skills, his parents made sure he learnt and acquired them from an early age. When Jaheira joins the party he suggests she takes the lead but she trusts his judgement. He's killed Ketheric and proved more than his worth.

29: Does your Tav want to utilize the tadpole powers or not?

Absolutely not. And now that he figured out who the Dream Visitor was? Absolutely not.

30: What's your favorite thing about your Tav?

Other than his overall looks? This guy is very confident and secure of himself and walks around with the smuggest of smiles ever. He has a "takes no shit" atitude. So yes, he told Lae'Zel her upside down bat nose was not any better than his dangling piece of flesh. He sometimes comes off as conceited, but he doesn't do it on purpose, just an overall result of his being of noble and wealthy background and having had the privilege to study and invest on his own personal growth.

[thegirlfromstationsquare]

1,2,16,25

For the OC ask game

Noelani because i haven't talked about her in a while

I like to imagine she and sonic tie the knot with their friends and family and a few other guests. It be a big party on the beach. Before that tho it's just with sonic and lani reciting their vows in private. They don't even exchange rings because they know they don't need physical objects to show how much they love each other. She didn't even want a ceremony but decided to do one anyways to not come off as a killjoy.

They'd adopt a couple of kids and name them Gale (as in gale force), Sirrocco (a type of Mediterranean wind) and Kahlani ("sea and sky" in Hawaiian)

Lani goes to school in the Movie verse in fact one of her arcs is learning to overcome her shyness to connect with other students. It's more vague in the games where she sometimes goes to school but otherwise teaches herself.

The reason I chose Noelani was to fit the stage she's based on (Emerald Coast), while also fairly common enough to showing that she's a normal girl. Also Noelani means "mists of heaven" tying into her hydrokinetic abilities and kind, sort of wispy personality. Her planned name Cameron wasn't interesting enough for Sonic aesthetic.

[southsidewrites]

The Capitol's Jewel

Born in the shadow of the Capitol, Emerald Bellona's life has never been her own. She was only six years old when her mother, beloved District One victor Amethyst Alexander, overdosed on morphling. "An accident," they called it, an inexplicable tragedy. But even then, Emerald knew the truth--her mother just couldn't take it anymore, couldn't bear the weight of being one of the Capitol's darlings.

Ten years later, the arena calls. It's a moment she's always known was coming. As the child of a victor that dared to take her own life, it was never a question of if Emerald would go into the Games, only a matter of when. And after a lifetime of training, Emerald thought she'd be ready.

But no one is ever truly ready for the Hunger Games, especially when the arena is only be beginning. As the final canons sound, she's faced with a chilling truth--the games never really end.

Emerald's life may never have belonged to her, but if she wants to escape her mother's fate, she's going to have to fight like hell to get it back. Luckily, hope can be found in the unlikeliest of places, like a steely-eyed boy from District Twelve

A Gale x OC Hunger Games Fic Coming to AO3 November 1st