#shin is a biter

[melanie-ohara]

It's a Long Way to Peridea

Part II - Bait

Smut warning - it gets real spicy!

Read it on AO3 here!

Sabine wasn't sure how long it took Shin to come crawling back to her door. Meditation made it difficult to keep track of time, and the featureless cell didn't help. With the ship in hyperspace, even the rumble of the engines was a constant. Eventually, the day's events caught up to her and she felt the wave of exhaustion sweep her away. The bed barely deserved the name: a single slab of flat metal with no pillow or covers that offered so little comfort she might as well sleep on the floor. Sabine stretched out on it anyway. She missed the loth-cat - even if it didn't curl up with her, its snuffles and purring was a lot more comforting than the unbroken silence of the brig.

Sabine slept, but wasn't sure for how long. It wasn't the soft click of the slats on the window sliding partially open that woke her, but the certainty she was being watched. She didn't need to look to know she'd see wide, pale-blue eyes watching her. Sabine was lying on her back and stretched lazily, like she was still sleeping. She didn't need her eyes to see Shin - she would be standing a step back from the door, leaning forwards to spy on her with that oh-so-enticing lost animal expression on her face. Shin knew that, much like Ahsoka, her Master would not approve of this… fascination. The idea made Sabine smile, but she quickly hid it. Shin thought she was spying, and this would be much more fun if she didn't know Sabine was aware of her presence.

She wished they'd at least taken the cuffs off so she could sleep, it made unclipping her trousers much more difficult. Clearly, someone was aware of the Ghost crew's proclivity for daring escapes, even if that had been Ezra's field more than hers. Sabine thought about pushing her trousers down her thighs, to give her admirer a look at her skin, but quickly decided that if Shin wasn't going to make a move then she wasn't going to reward her. She had to open her legs a little more to work the chunky imperial cuffs into her waistband and the angle left one hand dangling uselessly, but it was worth it to hear the barely perceptible hitching of breath across the room. She disguised her self-satisfied chuckle with a mumble of pleasure as she touched one finger against herself through her underwear. The sensation was dulled by the fabric, but she was planning on taking her time while she was being watched. Slowly, she started to rub her middle finger back and forth, pressing down just enough to feel a tingle of arousal grind through her senses. She wished Shin could see how her wetness made her underwear cling, indistinctly outlining her pussy. She wondered if she was blushing yet, and the idea of Shin's sharp face glowing with embarrassment and excitement only served to turn her on more. Sabine remembered how Shin had looked at her neck like she wanted to bite her, and pressed her head back against the metal to expose her throat for her.

Sabine imagined Shin opening the door and storming inside. She wouldn't stop. Her fingers moved faster, and she pressed a second digit against her pussy through the fabric. Her hips lifted into the sensation, and she overextended the motion for Shin's benefit. Sabine worried it might be too much, that Shin wouldn't believe she was that excited already, but she heard nothing from the other side of the door. That made her wonder if Shin even touched herself, and then her head was filled with the idea of teaching her how. She could sit behind her on her bed, arms and legs wrapped around her slim, athletic frame, taking her hands and gently guiding them down her body and introducing her carefully to all the places that enhanced the feeling - from her throat to her tits and then down over that taut stomach and between her thighs.

Impatient for more feeling, Sabine rushed to get her hand inside her underwear. The elastic waistband of her briefs pushed down on the cuffs but the discomfort of the metal digging into her waist was enticing in its own way, and Sabine let out a soft moan. She didn't exaggerate it for Shin this time. She wanted her to hear what real pleasure sounded like from her lips - and now that she could touch herself properly, she could give her voyeur all she could want. The stupid restraints meant she couldn't use the heel of her hand against her clit the way she normally preferred, but she could show Shin that another time. Instead, she ran two fingers up and down along her slick folds and humped her hips into them. With her eyes closed, she imagined her fingers were Shin's tongue as she inexpertly but eagerly tasted her. If she had a hand free she could take her by the hair - roughly, of course, she could tell Shin didn't want to learn gently - and teach her some technique, but for now she would have to be content with the mental image of her surprisingly soft blue eyes looking up at her as she licked.

Sabine wished she could get out of her underarmour. Focusing all her attention on her pussy was infuriating when more than anything she wanted Shin's hands and mouth and teeth elsewhere on her body. Or maybe, she thought, she could use the Force. She imagined Shin focusing until she felt her throat constrict, and let out an involuntary gasp of excitement. Her mind wandered, exploring the erotic potential of the Force, and almost absent-mindedly she felt the tip of one finger press inside her. The ideas she had made her more determined than ever to fully connect with the Force - if only so she could pin Shin in place so she couldn't even wriggle as Sabine gave her orgasm after orgasm with her fingers and tongue until she was an overstimulated mess.

Sabine moaned again at the image of her enemy sprawled out on ruined bedsheets, her pussy raw and red from cumming too many times to count, and pushed a second finger inside herself. The hard, almost painful stretch made her cry out until she bit her lip to stifle the sound. It was too much too soon, but given what Sabine was imagining doing to Shin she thought she deserved to see her suffer a little discomfort too. She slowed her pace a little to adjust, but soon sped up again until the sound of her slick fingers pumping in and out of her pussy started to fill the tiny cell. Sabine knew Shin would be able to hear it, and the thought only spurred her on. Fighting in the Alliance had got her used to masturbating quick and quiet in crowded starships, and the illicit thrill of getting to put on a show only intensified the pleasure and within seconds she was close.

So much for taking it slow, she thought, surprised how quickly she had brought herself to the edge. Picturing Shin defeated and begging for more - for her - had really had an effect on her. She could pull back, slow her fingers, and show Shin how to edge herself for when she relived this guilty peep show back in her bunk, but self-control had never been a skill she possessed and instead she sped up. Her back arched and she lifted her ass off the metal, twisting slightly to angle her hips towards the door. She wanted Shin to have the best view possible when the thought of her finally made Sabine cum.

The wave hit and Sabine clenched, her muscles squeezing down and gripping hard onto her fingers. Her eyes fluttered closed and she let out a couple of short, hard breaths as the electric pulse of a hard orgasm shot through her nerves.

"Oh, Shin…" she heard herself gasp. She hadn't meant to: the orgasm had overwhelmed her senses and she could barely think - at least, not about anything other than the girl on the other side of that door, watching her grind on her fingers. Her muscles gave out and she fell flat again on the bed as her eyes snapped open and immediately found Shin. They locked eyes for a half-second as Sabine panted with satisfaction, and then she was gone. Sabine heard a thud and in her still-dazed state hoped she'd made Shin fall over in shock, and then quick footsteps as she rushed away down the hall. Sabine held back her laughter until she was sure the other woman was out of earshot, and then finally rolled onto her back and allowed herself a giggle. Perhaps it was cruel, she thought as she freed her hands from her restrictive underwear and wiped her wet fingers on her trousers, but Shin had started it. If she hadn't stabbed her on Lothal the way she did, maybe neither of them would be so intrigued by the other.

-

Shin ran from the brig with a desperate ache between her legs. She had felt it before, but never this strong and never this demanding. Sabine had felt it too, but rather than push it down the way Shin instinctively believed was right she had… attended to it. Shin knew she shouldn't have watched, but found herself rooted to the spot until Sabine had broken the spell by crying out her name like a lover would.

She made herself stop running. Her head hurt from where the shock of eye contact had made her slip forwards and bang her forehead on the door, and she rubbed it distractedly. The Mandalorian had been thinking about her while she touched herself, Shin had felt it through the Force. She couldn't read her mind, only sense her intent, but what she got from her was frightening: there was a possessiveness Shin couldn't understand from an enemy, a desire to have her in a way that didn't involve lightsabers or those irritating blasters Wren waved around. It was carnal, and vicious, and alien, and she felt it too. When she saw Sabine's neck she wanted to feel skin against her teeth, hard enough to bruise - not to hurt her, just to mark her. To mark her as hers. While she had been watching her writhe and gasp and think about stripping Shin's clothes, she had wondered where else she could sink her teeth, what other parts of Sabine's body she could claim. The urge had frightened her then, but now it made her want to rush back to the brig and let herself in.

Meditation wouldn't be enough tonight. Shin palmed the door release button and called her lightsaber to her hand before it had even closed behind her, and the projectors had started up by the time it was ignited. There were scans of Mandalorians in the archives, and now she had Wren's armour it wasn't long before the holo in front of her was the spitting image of the prisoner she couldn't stop thinking about. She would practice all night if that's what it took - as long as she needed to be able to beat the infuriating, smirking devil and quell her inexplicable need to be close to her, to feel her hands grip her and tangle in her hair and touch their lips together and -

Shin struck out with raw howl, and felt the force feedback of holographic beskar under her blade.

[fulcrum-art-fox]

Sabine, about Shin: she don’t bite!

Sabine, after a pause: she does actually I don’t know why I said that

[bestboielectric]

shin’s a biter (canon)

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 7, MDNI

You awaken early in the morning with warm sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a soft, dappled glow across the room. As you sit up and stretch, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, your feet bump into something soft. You draw your knees back to your chest. Simon has also fallen asleep in your bedroom. He is curled at the foot of the bed. His fingers are wrapped around your shin and your sock is rolled down to your ankle. In his other hand, he is clutching a knife. You can't help but wonder how he managed not to cut himself while sleeping.

You try to pry the blade away from his clenched fist. But your touch stirs him up from his unconscious state. His fingers tighten around the handle of the knife. Simon yanks your arm towards him. His movements are rapid and forceful. The confusion swirling in his eyes is tangible. Yet, upon seeing your face, his frantic gaze softens, and he relaxes. He releases his hold on the blade, allowing you to slide it out of his hand. His body sinks back onto the mattress. As he blinks groggily, trying to adjust to the bright light, he wipes the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

For a few hours, an uneasy silence hangs between you both, heavy and palpable, like a thick fog. It's clear that you and Simon are teetering on the edge of voicing your thoughts. The only question is who will dare to shatter the fragile stillness first. After breakfast, consisting of nothing more than stale bread, a slice of aged cheese, and a shared large cup of tepid tea, you summon the courage to speak. Your words cut through the mounting tension.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night?"

"Do we have to?" Simon replies without looking at you. He smokes while leaning against the window that's barely ajar. The half-finished cigarette that dangles in his fingers, somehow, has survived the night. After falling to the floor, it had miraculously avoided being crushed under your feet.

"Yes," you say, moving towards him. You press your shoulder against the cool wall. The chill seeps through your clothing and sends an icy shudder skittering down your side.

You refuse to forget about yesterday's event. You need answers to the questions that have been plaguing you since you saw the light flashing at the end of the street. The harsh realisation that those people who you thought were your family coming home were, in fact, just strangers, is a bitter pill to swallow. But you are certain that Simon knows who they were and where they came from.

"Fine," he says through the gritted teeth. His fingers race through his hair, messing it up. You notice it has grown out and make a mental note to ask him later if he wants you to trim it. "Before the disease spread and everything went to hell, I was a soldier in the Special Forces."

His confession fills in the gaps that have been puzzling your mind since the day you met him: his muscular physique, his proficiency with firearms, and his combat skills that could only come from years of experience in the battlefield. It also explains his fearlessness and recklessness, which now appear not as erratic traits, but as the hardened exterior of a soldier.

Simon recounted how the dead attacked him and his team during what was supposed to be a routine mission. Upon returning to the base, they discovered they had been bitten. Likely during the chaos of the attack. His teammates' skins were littered with scratches and bruises. During the incident, Simon was separated from the group. As a result, when a small horde of biters cornered his squad, he managed to evade any injuries.

Rumours of a deadly disease began to circulate, amplified by the constant news cycle. The media showed footage of people in a rabid state. They behaved like wild animals and attacked everyone with a pulse and a beating heart. As the situation deteriorated and communication systems collapsed, the severity of their predicament became starkly evident to Simon and his team. The world as they knew it seemed to crumble around them. His team, once confident and composed, had to face the grim reality of their fate.

The final blow came when a group of outlaws attacked their base. Simon was faced with a decision that still haunts him to this day. His captain, bitten and doomed, like the rest of his teammates, ordered him to leave, as he was still unharmed. Torn between guilt and duty to his team, Simon was reluctant to abandon his friends and leave them to face the outlaws alone. But his captain didn't give him a choice. He packed Simon's duffel back with a few spare guns, some food, and then basically pushed him through the gates.

"I'm tired of fighting, of constantly putting my life on the line because I believe it's the right thing to do," he sighs. His shoulders slump, bearing the invisible weight of his internal struggle. His body folds inwards. "I didn't understand it before, couldn't comprehend it, but after meeting you... now I do. Even though part of me yearns for revenge, I can't risk dying because of you."

A sudden fluttering sensation fills your chest, like the delicate wings of a butterfly trapped within your rib cage. You swallow, but your throat feels parched, as if no amount of water could ever quench the dryness.

"I-I don't know... what — Do you think those strangers will return?" You find it hard to form a coherent sentence. There's so much you want to say right now. But you struggle to find the right words.

"If we are lucky, we won't see them again."

Throughout the rest of the week, you are on a constant edge. You are afraid that at any moment someone will march down the street, knock on the front door and when you open it, after aiming a gun at your head, will put a bullet through your skull before going to track Simon. A part of you wants to confess your dreadful thoughts to Simon. But you hold your tongue back. You don't want to add to his worries. Because even if he says nothing to you either, you see the pain in his eyes each time you look at him. Talking with you brought back a lot of awful memories to him. But the main reason you say nothing is because you don't want to appear weak in front of him.

Supplies are dwindling at an alarming rate. When Simon addresses the need to venture outside in search of more before you have a chance to ask if you can tag along, he makes the decision for you.

"You are coming with me. I don't want you to be alone in the house while I'm gone."

* * *

You are curled up in a bed, buried under a pile of heavy blankets. The harsh, biting cold from outside has seeped into the room. It turns your breath into small clouds of vapour that dissipate into the frigid air with each exhale. The chill is so pervasive that sleep becomes an elusive entity. Despite being swathed in layers of clothing and having your feet tucked into not one, but two pairs of socks, your teeth still chatter. The end of summer is near, and you can feel it as each night grows colder and colder.

Simon is downstairs. The distinct sound of his pacing reverberates through the silence of the house. Driven by the need for warmth and company, you extricate yourself from the mountain of blankets, leaving the relative warmth of your bed behind, and descend the stairs.

Upon entering the kitchen, you find Simon perched on the wooden table. His attention is engrossed in his blade. The faint moonlight filtering through the closed blinds illuminates His silhouette.

"I'm cold," you say, causing his focus to shift to you.

He looks at you. His gaze is so intense that you feel as if he's trying to read your mind. For a moment, the silence settles in. You half expect him to order you to go back to bed. Instead, he slides off the table and intertwines his fingers with yours. After leading you to the living room, he sits down on the couch and pulls you into his embrace. Your body tumbles on top of him. You bite the inside of your cheek when you feel your face turn bright red.

Once you stop your fidgeting and get comfortable, he swathes both of you in a soft blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. You snuggle up to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. When the icy tip of your nose presses against his skin, he squirms a little, causing a low giggle to slip past your lips. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. His body is like a furnace, so it isn't long before you feel the warmth seeping into your bones, driving away the chill.

"Thank you," you mumble, the words barely escaping your mouth as you feel the sleep tugging at your consciousness. Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second.

Just before you close your eyes — Simon thinks you are already asleep — he presses his lips to your forehead. You try to suppress a smile, but the corners of your lips betray you, curving upward involuntarily.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69, @browtfyoudoing If you want to be added, let me know!

[wrenlore]

am i fabricating this or it looks like there is a hickey on sabine’s neck *cough* *cough* shin is a biter

[room-of-lies]

REVENGE!

its ok he's stimming

[gingerbreadmonsters]

glass jaw

or: bruised, the apple of my black eye.

graphic blood, violence, and injury warnings, cutesy gory found vampire family shenanigans. i went to the haunted theme park in the middle of the woods at midnight, and all i got was this candy apple of temptation. what's up with that? alexis being the world’s best big sister in just over 8600 words.

warnings for gratuitous blood, violence and gore, graphic descriptions of injury and intent to grievously harm, and, like, one teeny tiny moment of cannibalism. i strongly encourage you to mind the warnings, and to stop reading at ANY point if you feel uncomfortable. reader discretion is advised. minors dni, 18+ only. please consider yourself warned. 

longtime readers may be aware of my sinophone!solaires hc, so ENGLISH SPEAKING READERS - for the love of GOD please check this pronunciation guide i made for the mandarin you're about to see. i PROMISE it'll help!! 💕💕💕

There’s blood everywhere.

It’s a shame. The room was quite tidy when they started – ugh, don’t say it’s got onto the upholstery again. Vampiric blood is impossible to get out of silk, and it costs a fortune to get it professionally cleaned. At least the wooden panelling in here is dark enough to hide most of the spatter.

(Thankfully, baba’s off entertaining the little ankle biters at the moment – and something about a meeting with an old friend, later on? He didn’t say when he was coming back, but it can’t be soon. Hopefully they’ll be able to deal with most of the mess before he gets back. Damned old man never wants them to have any fun.)

How long has it been? Seconds? Hours? It’s difficult to tell. She’d only come in here to sit down, feet hurting from her patrol at Wonderworld, wanting to just lie across the sofa and scroll mindlessly on her phone for an hour or two. She'd almost succeeded, too – until the furious pacing from the other side of the house had got closer and closer.

Vincent had spotted her through the doorway, carelessly cracked open, and… well. He must have had a pretty horrible day.

He’d surprised her, hurling the glass of water in his hands at her head with a sudden hiss. She’d only barely caught it in her peripheral vision, jerking back against the sofa just in time to let it whistle past her face and shatter against the far wall.

No words necessary. Vincent had snarled at her, slamming the door shut behind him, and she’d known exactly what he wanted.

It’s a habit of theirs. A bad one, maybe, but knowing it doesn’t make it any easier to break.

Heavy bodies hitting the floor, skin and spit and bone, this time it might be different. Her shin slamming into his ribs, his elbow smashing into her jaw. Blood clots underneath elegantly manicured nails, and the splinters of what used to be a wisdom tooth are spat onto the side table. It’ll grow back.

Gravity. The inescapable pull. Space bends and folds at the mercy of an impossibly strong grip, worlds and stars and planets collide, and the precious children of William Solaire once again destroy each other.

You might think that it’s madness. That it’s like some crazed, bloodthirsty, animal state that descends upon them, that it’s like they’re totally different people. You’d be wrong. Both of them are perfectly, boringly sane when it happens. There’s no madness here, no delusion – just a brother and a sister who hate and hate and hate.

She’s entirely rational when she tries to sever his spinal column with her teeth, he’s not confused about why he’s trying to rip her arm from its socket. It's never an accident. Tearing each other apart comes naturally.

Cruel spikes of broken glass glitter in Vincent's hair, the smashed mirror above the mantelpiece reflecting the thousand shallow cuts that now litter his scalp, leaking bright, scarlet blood down the back of his neck. Her forearm aches from the impact, the force of a vampiric skull smashing through the glass and into the bricks behind having radiating up through her hand, where her fingers were twisted into Vincent's hair – mostly for grip, but also to keep him from biting them off completely.

It hadn't quite worked, but whatever. She glances down at the ragged chunk of her wrist that isn't there any more, shredded fibres hanging loose, and glares at Vincent as he finishes chewing his mouthful of skin and veins and raw, twitching muscle.

He grins, wide and pretty, fangs slick and gums stained with her blood. “New perfume?”

Bastard. Like he didn't steal it off her vanity this morning, like she couldn’t fucking smell it on him when he came downstairs for breakfast.

“Depends,” she replies, and lets the fistful of dark, meticulously-conditioned and carefully-styled hair still in her hand fall to the floor. “New haircut?”

Vincent's eyes narrow, black and predatory, and, as always, she feels her mouth start to water. He's imagining what it’ll feel like to kick her through the picture window and watch her impact the paved surface of the driveway below, and she's imagining what it'll be like to dig her fingernails inside his stomach and claw out all of the softness she can find.

It’s so easy to get lost in it, the cleansing rage. Nothing but fury, white-hot and shameful as it roars alive under her skin, until she's scraped raw inside and out. The same manic look paints itself across their faces, the same sadistic glee that only comes with doing something you know you shouldn’t.

Well, they're both just as bad as each other. Perhaps it runs in the family.

She lunges, teeth bared, grabbing his shirt to try and slam him back into the brickwork – but like lightning, he lurches to the side and uses her momentum to grab her waist and hurl her bodily into the wall. Wood splinters and flecks of glass go flying as they claw at each other, blood spatter dripping down the window panes and soaking into the finely-patterned carpet.

Her ears ring when Vincent seizes the back of her head and slams her face-first into the doorframe, but she gets her own back as her broken nose puts itself back together, watching the side of Vincent’s chest collapse when she clubs him hard in the side with a metal candelabra. Sweet revenge.

Gasping for breath, he dodges out of the way of her fist and grabs her arm, pulling her painfully into the front of the heavy, wooden console table. She manages to catch his ankle with her foot as she goes, though, hooking it out from under him and shoving him down to the floor. His other hand is still locked around her wrist, so he yanks on her arm to twist himself around, landing heavily on his back instead of his front.

Luckily, she manages to keep her balance, but he can see it coming now – instead of the satisfying crunch she was hoping for, he barely manages to jerk his head out of the way so the sole of her slipper impacts the carpet instead of his eye socket. It sends a spike of pain up her shin, but she ignores it in favour of shielding her head, so the impact of him kicking her backwards into the bookcases doesn't stun her too much.

It’s kind of hilarious, when you think about it. Other families don’t cause thousands of dollars of property damage trying to violently maim and murder each other when they get bored, do they?

In hindsight, it seems almost inevitable they’d turn out like this. For a long time after Vincent’s turning, they’d fought almost constantly, and nobody had ever been able to quite understand why.

It used to be unbearable, having them in the same room together. Bitter glares and cutting remarks, sniping and biting at each other from across the table. Ba always complained about how they gave him headaches – the static whine of furious, mutual hatred, the pressure of all that blinding intensity in one place, with nowhere else to go but him.

He never took sides, and it stung every time. In her head, she knows he was right to. There aren’t the words to describe how much worse that would have made it. But deep inside, she couldn’t help the sick, dizzy feeling of her Maker abandoning her, leaving her – a necessary, instinctive fear of being cast out from the safety of his world and the shelter of his presence.

She’s his blood, she’s his, she’s his. They’re a family.

You can’t say that either of the two of them is entirely innocent. Alexis knows that there are parts of her that Vincent’s right to hate, and there are parts of him that she’s right to hate, too. They’ve both done terrible, awful things, too many to name, to other people and each other alike. Anyone else would say that one is just as awful as the other, and that with the way they’re carrying on, neither of them is making it any better whatsoever.

A boring answer, in short.

Because it’s not actually about that, is it? There’s something else too, something too tender and complicated for them to ever really unravel, the sugary decay of undeath that turns their spit to venom and their hunger to thirst. Vincent’s all the things she left behind, and she’s all the things he never had, and it’s all bundled up with the howling wasteland of the world that neither of them should ever have left.

Everyone regrets their Turning, whether they say so or not. Some regret it more than others, it’s true, but nobody gets away unscathed. The only reason it’s ever been a problem is because the House of Solaire tend to take their regrets out on each other.

(She rakes her nails across Vincent’s pretty face, deep, intentional gouges that would surely scar if he couldn’t sew himself back together so fast. He drives his foot into her knee in return, forcing the joint to fold in on itself the wrong way, and the world goes white with agony for the split second before it begins to heal.)

Sometimes, people wonder how they fixed it. How they get along so much better now, like a real brother and sister should. They never actually ask, and nobody will ever tell, but she isn’t stupid enough not to know what they’re thinking.

It shouldn’t be real. They bicker and pinch and steal each other’s clothes – she takes his keys from the drawer and drives his car instead of hers because it’s nicer, and she deliberately won’t leave him any money for petrol. He plays his music far too loudly in the room next door when he knows she’s got work to do, and eats her snacks out of the fridge without remorse, even if they’re labelled. Annoying, yes, but hardly the curse-yelling, death-threatening carnage their house used to be.

In fact, you could almost say they’re too well-behaved. They stay up late together in the living room, surrounded by every phone and laptop and tablet they can find, refreshing and refreshing the stupid ticket lottery website for the concert Vincent wants to go to of the band that she hates. They wear as many layers as they can stand and bring those UV umbrellas that block out the sunlight, so they can go out in the daytime and queue up for that pop-up event downtown that she’s been dying to go to.

Even the endless, complicated trappings of polite vampiric society are standard fare for them now. Vincent doesn’t complain when he has to stand by her vanity for twenty minutes passing her hairpin after hairpin, and Alexis waits by the front door to do his tie for him, because she’s better at doing the complicated knots that go in and out of fashion. They dress up nicely for every society ball, kissing each other on the cheek and fetching each other drinks and dancing the volta just like everybody else.

She lends him whatever jewellery he wants out of her jewellery box because it’s prettier than his. He pesters their father into letting them go to Disneyland in the evening when it’s dark and they won’t get sunburnt, three days in a row when they should be working because it’s her birthday and she wants to take pictures in front of the castle and eat the special coloured candyfloss they always have at this time of year. They proofread each other’s work documents and curl up under the same blanket on the sofa and leave their shoes next to each other by the door every day.

Shiny, red, and utterly forbidden – a devil’s deal is a wonderful thing. The apple seed of temptation took root in her sour, bloated stomach, and a shallow grave blossomed into a beautiful family tree.

It makes baba so happy that they get along now, and that makes them happy too. They’re never going to tell anyone how they do it. Isn’t there some saying about magic and secrets?

(Her arm isn’t quite back in its socket yet, shoulder screaming in pain, but it won’t stop her trying to choke Vincent unconscious against the bookcase. He spits a warm mouthful of blood and venom into her face in thanks, and knees her hard in the stomach.)

Vampiric houses are famously secretive, especially the older ones. It pretty much comes with the territory – the diet alone tends to be rather off-putting for outsiders, to say nothing of the other… well, the other habits that vampirism bestows. Generally, vampires prefer to keep the company of their own kind, and the intrinsic bond between maker and progeny is a rather powerful reason to stay.

Clans have always been compared to families in that way, and the House of Solaire takes it very seriously indeed. More so than most, although it’s not an uncommon thing. Turnings tend to isolate a person from their human friends and family. It would be remiss of their new clan, surely, not to step in and fill that void however they can?

As different as some things are, there’s no escaping human nature. If William’s taught them anything about surviving in this world, about protecting their family, it’s that nothing is off-limits. Whatever is necessary, they do without question. Knowledge, money, sex, power. Blood is blood, always. How else would the Solaire name have prospered for so long? How else will it continue?

Perhaps it’s cliche, but it’s true. Old blood means old money, and it doesn’t get much older than vampiric blood. Her world is a world of private invitations, expensive dresses, and strategic gossip – whatever you could imagine about the secretive lives of a shadowy vampiric aristocracy, it’s probably true. Champagne was made to be whispered over, after all. Long lives mean plenty of time to develop some rather particular tastes, and an instinctive thirst for blood does lend itself well to a certain nonchalance about the insides of a human body.

She’d been surprised at first, an uncomfortable revulsion that she’d had to unlearn, but she’d got used to it eventually. Vincent had too, and although it took him a little longer, he’s almost as good at playing this game as she is. Say what you will about the House of Solaire, but they are very, very good at what they do.

Nothing breeds rumours like success, and William Solaire is truly blessed. A golden name, a golden fortune, and two golden children to match.

There were always going to be rumours, certainly. Of what they might be doing behind closed doors, their ambitions for the future of their house, the secrets that lie at the heart of it. Of fresh scars in strange places, the truth of their allegiance to their father, of brothers and sisters doing things that brothers and sisters shouldn’t be doing.

You couldn’t prove any of it, obviously, and nobody ever says the words out loud. But she hears them all the same, ringing in her ears as she kisses her father on the cheek at breakfast, filling up her mind as she steals Vincent’s jacket out of his room to go shopping, and she smiles wider than ever before – because if they really knew what was happening behind the gates of Wonderworld, they’d have much more to talk about than wondering what William could possibly be holding over their heads to make them finally behave.

(In all honesty, it’s somehow more and less than you’d think. That’s not the point she’s trying to make right now, but it’s worth saying, all the same.)

They’re never, ever going to let it slip. Nobody’s ever going to know about the way she forces her brother back down onto the floor, driving her elbow into his face, feeling cartilage crack and splinter as he falls backwards in a spray of blood. He tries to scramble away, one hand reflexively covering his face, but he’s too slow - her foot comes down hard on his shin, and the scream he lets out isn’t quite loud enough to cover the sound of bone shattering under her slipper.

Vincent tries to drag himself away, fingernails tearing at the carpet, and she plants her foot on his chest to keep him in place. The break in his nose is almost fixed, crimson blood splattered all over his face, but it seems like his attention has… shifted.

That can’t be right.

He’s not that stupid, surely. What else could he be thinking of, when she could so easily crush his heart in a split second? He’s focusing on something else, but it doesn’t seem to be her – is it behind her? Is there something she can’t see? Why isn’t he paying attention?

And then, for some unknowable reason, apropos of apparently nothing… he smiles.

“What?” she spits, pressing down harder and feeling his ribs creak under the ball of her foot. “What is it?”

Infuriatingly, he chokes on a laugh, thick blood bubbling in his throat as it heals, and gestures weakly up at the wall behind her. His eyes are fixed on something there too – no, not the wall, it’s the—

“You little – fucking hell!”

She barely manages to dodge the chandelier as it comes crashing down on her head, feeling the room spin as Vincent yanks on the ceiling chain hard with a burst of psychokinesis. He manages to throw himself in the opposite direction, hand shielding his eyes as the metal hits the floor and the room fills with the deafening sound of shattering crystal.

Both of them hiss as they’re pelted with broken crystal, slicing tiny, stinging ribbons into their skin that seal up almost as soon as they appear. Shit, that hurts.

“Zhidi!”

She glares at her stupid little brother, half-crouched behind the arm of the sofa. “You’re fucking fixing that.”

“Why?” he snickers, pretending to pout, and she’s so tempted to just drag him out into the hallway by the hair and sling him down the stairs before he can finish the thought. “You’re so much better at magic than me, lili…”

“Yeah,” she grumbles, crossing her arms in the face of his unapologetic grin, “which means you need the practice more.”

Vincent groans, downcast. “But he’ll be so mad if I do it wrong!”

He huffs when she just sticks her tongue out at him in return, tossing his head to get his hair out of his eyes. “Can’t you just do half, and I’ll copy?”

Narrowing her eyes, she shakes the debris from her slippers and picks her way over to the window. It takes some concentration, but she runs a hand over the splintered mess of the frame, watching as it sews itself back together. “This is my half.”

“But it’s so hard!” he whines, little brat that he is, and she hates how the obvious manipulation still tugs at her heartstrings. He’s sitting cross-legged in front of the sofa now, hands extended over the sparkling rubble of the chandelier. “You make it look so easy, jiejie…”

Alexis sighs, and begrudgingly reaches down to ruffle his hair. Tiny flakes of mirrored glass fall onto the carpet around him as she does it, slicing little papercuts into the tips of her fingers.

“You do all the light fixtures and the mirror, and I’ll do the rest.”

He looks up at her, suspicious. “Half the mirror.”

“Two thirds.”

“Three fifths.”

“Two thirds, and I don’t tell ba you dropped the chandelier.”

“Deal,” he graciously concedes, and they pinkie promise.

She rolls her eyes and pretends she can’t see him grin, knowing full well she’s being far too soft on him. “If he blames it on me, I swear I’ll key your goddamn Volante and make you watch.”

“What? No!” Vincent gasps, looking betrayed. “Don’t you know how much that cost?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says sweetly, “which is why you’re not going to fuck it up, are you?”

He mutters something unflattering in French under his breath, and she snaps her fingers accusingly in his direction. “What was that, didi?”

“Nothing.”

She smiles winningly, before waving her hand and dragging all the books up off the floor and back into the bookcase. “That’s what I thought.”

They clean up in silence for a little while, their earlier animosity dissolving unnoticed into dust. It’s slow going – neither of them are especially gifted with magic, or have very much of it at their disposal, so they have to keep stopping every few minutes or so to recover.

Before long, they’re both out of breath and exhausted, smashed crystal still crunching beneath their feet and coughing up white plumes of plaster dust.

“When’s he even coming back, anyway?” Vincent asks, peering at the tall jade vase he’s trying to coax back together. “Tonight?”

She nods over her shoulder, trying to stitch the long gash in the sofa cushion closed and failing miserably at getting the complicated pattern to match up again. “He didn’t say when, but it can’t b—”

“Fuck.”

Vincent cuts her off, staring down at his phone as it buzzes, before looking up at her with a grimace and turning the screen to face her.

I’ll be home in ten minutes. I’m sure nothing will be broken or out of place when I get back.

Of course he’s coming home earlier than they thought. Of course. Why wouldn’t he?

“What should we do?”

Christ, he’ll be furious once he sees what they’ve done to this room. If they really, really hurry, they might be able to get away with at least a little bit of it, right?

With a huff of exertion, magic builds beneath her palms, and all the fragments of mirrored glass scattered across the room start to shiver as she prepares to sew them all back together. The mantelpiece needs to be fixed, and there’s a whole section of the doorframe that’s almost totally gone, and she doesn’t even want to think about the horrible, gaping wounds in the wooden panelling that need to be repaired and relacquered…

“Come here,” she mutters to Vincent, beckoning him over to her and pressing her palms flat to his chest. He closes his eyes and nods, resting the tips of his fingers at her temples, and they slowly, carefully, start to reach out to each other.

Her threads brush clumsily against his, once then twice then three times, the connection weak and fluttering as they try to concentrate. She stretches as far as she can, searching for that familiar feeling, anticipating the sickening lurch in her stomach that she knows is surely going to come any second, the momentary freefall as her core latches on to his.

When it happens, it takes her by surprise – her knees buckle for just a moment, and she sways slightly from side to side. Vincent rests his forehead against hers to try and keep upright, and she feels his wordless reassurance through the fledgling bond.

How does he do it? Vincent’s only a few inches taller than her, even less so when she’s in heels, and yet he always seems to tower over her – the looming shadow in the corner of her eye, the impossible weight of his gaze on her through the crowd.

The perfect height for dancing, their father had said, laughing gently as they stumbled through a clumsy waltz around the living room. She’d stepped on Vincent’s toes almost as many times as he’d tripped over the hem of her long dress, a poor stand-in for the real one she’d be wearing at the summer ball in a few months’ time. Elbows up, xiaozhi. They will not be so forgiving in Marseille as I am, you know.

Magic pools beneath her skin as she siphons it greedily through the bond, flooding her core with Vincent’s stolen power, and she luxuriates in the sensation for a long, languid moment. Then, she grits her teeth, and focuses.

With the extra rush of his magic, it’s almost laughable how fast she manages to race through most of the remaining cleanup – the blood dripping down the windowpane vanishes, the claw marks in the carpet disappear, and even the mirror above the mantelpiece clicks neatly back together as if it were never broken. The slashes across the back of Vincent’s shirt close up, and all the little chunks of bloody cartilage stuck in her hair vanish without a trace.

Her brother staggers in her arms as she keeps pulling on their bond, and she manages to ease them both down onto the sofa without too much fuss, still trying to get as much of the chandelier fixed as she can. About half of the crystal is back in place, but the chain just won’t – she can’t quite—

“Enough!”

Vincent breaks away from her with a sharp, sudden breath, slumping backwards onto the newly-repaired cushions and clutching weakly at his skull. “Too much, lijie, too much…”

He gestures vaguely towards the door with one hand in what she thinks might be thirst, and she runs out into the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen as fast as she can to get some blood out of the fridge. There’s already a glass on the counter that he must have got out earlier, so she fills it up with the half-empty bottle of O positive.

Sharing their magic always does this, but once he gets enough blood in him, he should be fine in about twenty minutes or so. It’s a lot like bridging, that way. Their cores will be synchronised for a little while, and they’ll be more keenly aware of each other’s magic, but that doesn’t really mean much when their senses are already so sharp.

A vampire’s core isn’t magically rich enough to do a huge amount all at once, so sharing magic like this is generally their best bet for doing things quickly. It lets them make the most of their limited reserves – rather than working individually, one of them can keep feeding the other magic as they concentrate on the whole picture.

Her steps are quiet but urgent as she runs back upstairs with the blood, slippered feet sliding a little on the kitchen tile. How much longer have they got until ba gets back, again?

When she pushes the door open, Vincent hasn’t moved, still sprawled across the sofa with a hand pressed over his eyes. Gently, she folds the fingers of his other hand around the glass, and he mumbles out a slurred thanks as he gulps the whole thing down in almost one swallow.

She’s just about to try the chandelier again, threads uncomfortably sore and stretched, when there’s a sudden sound from downstairs. The faintest jangling of keys, the scrape of tiny metal pins in the cylinder as the lock turns, and all of a sudden—

“Hui jia le.”

Downstairs in the foyer, he doesn’t have to shout. He already knows they can hear him.

Vincent curses silently, staggering up off the sofa and disappearing off to his room as she flings whatever magic she can at the chandelier chain. If she can just get it to stay together until he goes out again, they can probably recover enough magic between them to be able to fix it properly, right?

“Lili?” Ba’s voice is soft yet confused, the quiet sounds of him taking his shoes off and hanging up his overcoat, wondering why they’re not saying anything. “Xiaozhi, where are you?”

The question is entirely redundant – they all know that he can feel exactly where in the house they are. Vincent isn’t saying anything, so should she keep quiet as well…?

No, it’ll be too suspicious if neither of them goes and sees him, so she throws one last worried glance at the chandelier and hurries out of the room. When she gets to the top of the stairs, he’s just putting his slippers on, and she does her best to keep her heart slow and her smile easy when he looks up and notices her.

“There you are,” murmurs baba, and holds out his arms for her.

Is it embarrassing, how quickly she scrambles down the stairs and throws herself at him? He laughs, strong hands catching her waist and lifting her clear off the floor in a brief, joyful circle. “Ah, I have missed you, chérie.”

“Missed you too,” she says into his shirt, curling happily into his chest as he wraps his arms around her, fondly kissing the top of her head. The Maker’s bond between them sings at their closeness, warm and comforting as it bubbles in her chest, and she feels him smile even though she can’t see it.

“Vincent is upstairs?”

“He, um…”

The words freeze on her tongue as she tries to figure out a half-truth that she’ll actually be able to say – she can’t lie outright, but she can say something that’s technically true, even if it’s not the whole story.

“Headache,” she mumbles noncommittally, and crosses her fingers that he won’t push it.

Ba hums quietly in acknowledgement, seemingly in acceptance. “I see. Was the patrol alright?”

He smooths his hand over her back in wide, slow circles, just the right amount of pressure. “No trouble, I hope.”

She shakes her head, and tries her best to relax. “Just some unempowered kids, looking for somewhere to have a bonfire. It was easy.”

There’d been about six or seven of them piled into some beaten-up old thing, driving down the abandoned road that leads to the gates of Wonderworld, clearly not sure where they were going. Even if she hadn’t spotted the dim headlights through the trees, or heard that god-awful music from the speakers inside, she probably could have smelt them coming – whatever they were drinking, it seemed less like moonshine and more like rubbing alcohol. If they go blind, it’s not her fault.

They’d stopped just before the gates, about to get out when she’d suddenly appeared by the driver’s-side window. He’d been surprised to see her, tapping at the glass until he rolled it down, and she’d taken the opportunity to have a little fun with it before she’d have to trance them.

Mm, you boys are out late, she’d drawled, leaning forwards and resting her arms along the edge of the window. Can I… help you, with anything?

She’s not stupid – she knows exactly what she looks like, and she knows exactly what to do with it. There’s always college students from the nearby towns sneaking into the woods at night, and they fall for it every single time.

Ah, it really had been cute. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the way all of their eyes suddenly couldn’t stay on her face, conspicuously flicking back up to her eyes whenever she moved.

Just, uh…

The one driving had really, really tried, shifting awkwardly in his seat as she tilted her head to look down at him. Just lookin’ around, ma’am, nothin’ serious…

Nothing serious? She’d smirked at that, careful not to let them see the sharp tips of her fangs as she reached out to gently brush a stray lock of blonde hair out of his face. Honey, you’ll break my heart, with talk like that.

His friend in the passenger seat still hadn’t stopped staring, slack-jawed, and she’d pushed herself up on her tiptoes to stretch her arm out towards him, pressing the tip of her fingernail under his chin to snap his mouth shut. Oh, it was like something out of a movie! She’d always wanted to do that in real life.

I can think of somewhere you’ll like.

Foolishly, they’d all been very liberal with their eye contact – trancing them had been as easy as anything.

As soon as I stop talking, you’re going to turn this car around and drive all the way back to the freeway, and you’re going to drive all the way to the next city before looking for somewhere to have your little party. You won’t remember this conversation at all, you won’t remember ever meeting anyone here, and you won’t remember anything about me.

She’d smiled nice and wide, scarlet eyes burning into each of them in turn, listening to their terrified hearts race at the monstrous sight of her. Isn’t that right, hm?

They’d nodded in unison, the driver’s hands already back to the wheel, and she’d blown them a kiss as they drove away and disappeared back into the trees. Ah, humans.

“Well, that’s good.”

Ba’s voice shakes her from the memory, slowly guiding her away from the door and towards the kitchen. “That reminds me – you should have heard the little ones tonight, my goodness…”

“Really?” She’s curious, not having met them before. “What did they say?”

Deft fingers pull the carafe of A positive out of the fridge door, and he blinks down at the bare countertop for a second before reaching up and taking a glass out of the cupboard.

“The Aguilars are… they are unchanged, shall we say.”

It makes sense. He’d been over at the Aguilar estate tonight to meet their new blood informally, before the Summit in a few months’ time when they’ll be properly introduced. The family is always very friendly, and she gets on very well with the aunties there.

Poor Vincent doesn’t like them as much as she does, but that’s mostly to do with that god-awful girl – a cousin from one of the branching bloodlines, she’s fairly sure – who’s had a crush on him ever since he was Turned, and who follows him around incessantly whenever they’re at the same parties. It’s hilarious to watch him try to shake her off, and the look of relief on his face when she finally steps in and makes up some lie about how he promised to dance with her is well worth the hour of complaining he’ll do later in the car on the way home.

The only thing is that it’s a big family. Much bigger than theirs, and it can be rather overwhelming when it gets loud. Obviously, ba doesn’t like to say anything about it, but she can feel his headaches building in the back of her own skull – his stronger senses mean he’s a lot more sensitive to the noise than she and Vincent are.

Still, they’re far more pleasant company than the House of Bennett. The only one who can make that family bearable to be around is cousin Porter, and that’s only because he likes to add a little of his own blood to the drinks so that they actually feel like they’re alcoholic.

She nods, leaning back against the sink. “Chatty, I take it.”

“Little… ah, what is it?” Sipping his glass of blood as he leans against the kitchen table, he gestures vaguely in the air with one hand. “Little pitchers that have big ears.”

It really shouldn’t be a surprise. Big houses mean more gossip, and freshly Turned vampires do love to put their shiny new senses to use.

She shrugs. “As long as they’re not spilling state secrets yet, it’ll be fine.”

“If the state tells its secrets to the House of Aguilar, we are already doomed, mon ange.”

They both laugh, washed in the pale light streaming through the windows, and baba closes his eyes as he reaches up to gently pull the fa zan from his hair.

He likes to tie it back when he goes out, partly to stop the wind from tangling it, and partly because it’s the way he says gentlemen used to be when he was young. Over the years, he’s amassed an almost staggering collection of little clips and ribbons and pins – a not insignificant number as gifts from her and Vincent – that he likes, but he generally just wears it down when he’s at home and there aren’t guests.

The moonlight turns the edges of his black hair to silver as he shakes his head with a relieved sigh, running his fingers through it quickly to smooth it out before flicking it back behind him. He likes to keep it long, at least several inches below his shoulder, and she’s always been so jealous of how he seems to make every hairstyle he tries seem so effortlessly elegant.

“Still,” he continues with a wicked smile, “you will see for yourself when we see them next. I think they will have many things to discuss with you, perhaps.”

He tips his head languidly to the side as he pushes his phone across the table, the screen lit up with a photo of Vincent from last summer. If she remembers correctly, it’s from when they were taking a break at the summer house down by the coast – he’s shirtless, knee deep in the water, turning back to the camera with a rakish grin, dark hair already wet from the splash fight they’d been having and fangs glittering in the moonlight from above.

In short, he looks painfully, achingly handsome. Scandalised, she smacks her father in the shoulder and gasps theatrically, like she can’t believe what he’s done.

“You didn’t!”

“I certainly did.”

“He’ll die!” she whisper-shouts, trying desperately not to laugh too hard. “He’s already having trouble outrunning marriage proposals from one of them, and you’re setting the new blood on him too?”

Ba just shakes his head, imperious, looking down his nose at her like he’s imparting some grave wisdom. “They asked to see a picture of my progenies.”

“So it had to be that picture?”

“I showed your picture as well.”

Resigned, she buries her face in her hands. “I dread to think.”

“Oh, you are so dramatic, chérie,” he laments, and he even has the gall to click his tongue in faux-disapproval when she narrows her eyes at him. “See? The picture is nice!”

It takes him a second to find it, but it’s just as bad as she feared – it’s from the same holiday as Vincent’s photo, probably taken later that night. She’s wearing that nice floaty sundress she bought in Singapore, barefoot in the sand as she blows a kiss to the camera, lips still stained with blood from whatever scarlet cocktail she’s holding in her other hand.

This was exactly his plan, in other words, and she’s going to fucking murder him in his sleep. If any of those upstart little ankle biters tries to chat her up, it won’t be pretty – the last one got a cake fork stabbed straight through his hand and several inches into the table beneath it, and the one before that still visibly trembles at the sound of her stilettos clicking softly against the floor.

“If I kill an Aguilar new blood at the summer ball, it’s your fault,” she mutters threateningly, hissing and baring her fangs at him when he reaches out to take her face in his hands and draw her closer. “I mean it!”

“Of course you do, xiao gong zhu,” he murmurs indulgently, and kisses her forehead. “You are telling me, so it must be true.”

Upstairs, the sound of floorboards creaking, fabric rustling. Vincent.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” ba adds nonchalantly, “about broken things.”

Shit. She blinks, innocent as anything as she beats back the guilty urge inside her that yearns to spill the truth. “What’s broken?”

“Lili.”

He raises an eyebrow, discreetly tapping the shell of his ear, and she strains to figure out what he’s hearing. “I am old, baobei. Not stupid.”

If she listens, really listens, she can just about make something out. Another noise, something much quieter – a sort of stiff, metallic creaking from upstairs, on the other side of the house to Vincent’s bedroom…

Her smile wavers as ba swans serenely past her, disappearing out into the hallway, deft fingers picking up his fa zan from the table as he goes past. “It is nothing, surely. Perhaps you will bring Vincent something for his head while I am changing?”

God fucking damn it – she might be able to fix the chandelier without him noticing, but what are the odds? He’s meeting that friend tonight, and if he’s going to change now then it probably won't be long until he goes out, but there’s no way of knowing if it’ll hold until then.

Scowling, she pours another glass of blood for Vincent, and one more for herself, before reluctantly trudging upstairs.

It's a fact of life, or at least a fact of vampirism: you can’t really have any secrets from your Maker, and that’s even without the whole truth-compulsion thing. No matter what you do, your Maker is always aware of what you’re feeling, when you’re feeling it.

The emotional bond never goes away, though the strength of its effects ebbs and flows. Sometimes it’s so faint as to be almost nonexistent, a tiny shiver down the spine – and sometimes it’s almost overwhelming in its intensity, foreign emotions bursting out of nowhere like fireworks, blindingly bright and terrifyingly loud.

For young vampires, it’s a lot to get used to. Some take years to become accustomed to the bond, while others are oddly comforted by it. New Makers are often surprised by the strength of as well – it goes both ways, but generally the Maker feels more of their progeny’s emotions than the other way around. Nobody's really sure why.

More complicated feelings don’t come through especially clearly, apparently a little bit difficult for the bond to transmit, or perhaps for the other body to decipher. But simpler, more basic emotions are very, very easy. You might even say they’re too easy, in fact. Things like fear, sadness, joy – and, well…

He must already know what they’ve been up to. That sort of anger, the instinctive viciousness that comes so easily to them. They all know from experience how quickly that can wash over the bond, twisting and curling as it spreads like dark ink through water. After a while, it stops being so intrusive – it’s just how it works, and it’s not as though they can stop it. It’s possible to tune it out, and before long it generally goes away.

But a Maker with two progenies, both of whom are busy winding each other up at the same time? Who never seem to know when to quit, chasing that addictive, acidic feedback loop of rage that only ever seems to push them higher?

Ba doesn’t mind what they get up to, per se, as long as they keep it discreet and clean up after themselves. But even so, it’s not difficult to see how it could be… distracting.

He definitely knows what they were doing, is the point. And he clearly knows that there’s something they broke that she hasn’t been able to fix yet. She just needs to make sure it’s all neat and tidy by the time he gets back later, and hopefully they can all pretend that it never happened.

“What.”

Vincent glares at her from under his duvet when she pushes the door open with her foot, crimson eyes staring out from the blackness as she gets closer and closer. The lights are off and the blackout curtains are closed, so it’s almost entirely dark, but she can make out the shape of the bed well enough.

“Blood.”

She holds out one of the glasses, not breaking eye contact until a single hand slithers out from under the duvet and takes it from her.

He doesn’t seem to have thought about how he’s going to drink it, lying flat on his stomach and sprawled sideways across the bed, and she snickers under her breath as he blinks stupidly at the glass. With a flourish, she takes the second straw out of her own glass and drops it into his, sticking her tongue out gleefully at him when he mumbles something unintelligible into the mattress beneath him.

She shrugs – it’s close enough. “You’re welcome.”

Perching herself on the edge of the bed, she watches in amusement as he drags himself forwards under the duvet so he can get the straw in his mouth without having to lift his head, occasionally poking the mound of blankets that claims to be her brother in the side to see if he can feel it or not.

(He can. She knows. It’s just funny.)

Because she’s very generous, she gets up to grab a few of the books off his desk, stacking them up by the side of the bed, level with where his face is. He complains when she takes the glass back out of his hand, but acquiesces as soon as she puts it back down on the books, army crawling towards the end of the straw that’s now level with the top of the mattress and haughtily sticking it in his mouth.

“Better?”

The Vincent-shaped duvet creature next to her slurps loudly at his glass of blood, and doesn’t say anything.

She’d use telepathy, but she needs to save all the magic she can get. Quickly, she pulls her phone out of her pocket, turning the brightness down all the way and typing a message in her notes app to show him.

He knows something’s broken, and the chandelier chain isn’t going to last long if I don’t go and fix it. Do you have enough magic to help yet?

“No,” Vincent grumbles, and coughs pointedly.

Great. How much longer?

He coughs again, baleful red eyes turning to look witheringly up at her from his blanket nest, and she doesn’t have to be able to see his hands to know the gesture he’s making at her.

Fine, she types, as sarcastically as it’s possible to be when you can’t say anything out loud, but if he hears, I’m blaming you. Distract him.

Obediently, he starts moving around again, making sure the sound of mattress springs and sheets rustling is loud enough for her to slip out of the door and towards the drawing room they ruined earlier. Luckily, it’s in the opposite direction to baba’s room, but she still holds her breath and tiptoes as quietly as she can in case he—

“Lili?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

She whips around, totally innocently, to see her father beckoning her down the stairs as several sets of cufflinks rattle in his palm. “Come and help me choose.”

Helpless to protest, she’s forced to follow him down into the foyer, umming and ahhing over which cufflinks she thinks will suit his outfit the best. In her head, though, she can’t stop worrying about that damned chandelier, the creaking sound from upstairs that she’s sure is getting louder, the increasing amount of magic she’ll need to fix it as it surely gets worse and worse…

“A good choice as always, mon ange.”

She startles slightly as baba nods approvingly, smoothly taking the silver pair she’d mindlessly chosen and putting them on, before leaving the rest in the dish on the low console table. “I won’t be back until the morning, so you will look after Vincent, won’t you?”

Hastily, she nods. “Yeah, I will, I will.”

“Alright.” He rests his hands gently on her upper arms as he kisses both her cheeks, before taking his car keys out of his pocket and heading out of the front door. “See you later, chérie. I love you very much.”

“Love you too!”

She waits the agonisingly long half-second it takes for the door to close behind him before racing back upstairs, and she hears Vincent, still clutching his half-empty glass, scrambling out of his room at the same time. They nearly crash face-first into each other in their haste, yanking the drawing room door open and tumbling through it as fast as they can.

“I thought your head still hurt?” she says quizzically to Vincent, watching his hands trembling faintly around his glass, but he just makes a face.

“The alternative’s worse,” he replies, and she nods. He’s right.

She reaches for her core, willing the magic to come – it’s slow and it’s weak, but she yanks on her threads as hard as she can to try and summon it to her fingertips. The chandelier sways ominously above them as she screws her eyes shut to concentrate, and she can feel Vincent’s aura flicker next to her as he does the same thing. Come on, come on…

She’s nearly there, power surging under her skin and ready to be channelled outwards, when there’s a sudden—

“Shit!”

The magic fizzles uselessly away as her eyes fly open to see Vincent, clutching his head in pain, cursing as the front of his shirt is drenched in blood. There’s shattered glass all over the floor from where he’s dropped his drink, and she chokes down the irritated vampiric growl that rises in her throat. “Fucking hell, xiaodi!”

“I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it!” he moans, slightly unsteady on his feet, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “Look, at least it’s not the—”

Something moves, just at the very edge of her vision.

Above her head, the room plunges into blackout as something snaps.

“Move–!!”

She barely manages to shove Vincent away from her before the heavy metal body of the chandelier comes crashing down on her head. It’s not heavy enough to knock her out, but the surprise is enough that all she can do is stand there as 15 kilos of brass and crystal and electrics falls directly on top of her and shatters.

He skitters backwards, recoiling from the spray of tiny crystal shards that covers the floor for the second time today, nearly tripping over the leg of the side table as he goes. A thousand stinging papercuts split their skin, sealing themselves up and leaving tiny droplets of crimson blood dripping down their arms and faces.

Without even noticing, she instinctively catches one of the twisted metal arms of the chandelier that must have been sheared off when it impacted her skull, raw edge snagged painfully in her hair as it slides neatly down into her arms.

They’re so fucked.

They both freeze guiltily as a floorboard creaks outside in the hallway, far too close to be a coincidence, and she winces as there’s a polite knock, knock, knock at the door.

“We—” She chokes, breathing in a hacking lungful of debris, voice cracking slightly from her dry throat. “We’re in so much trouble.”

Vincent stares wide-eyed at her through the sudden dark, blood dripping slowly from his chin and soaking into the carpet..

“Yeah,” he mumbles distantly, “probably.”

The drawing room door swings open, and both their heads snap towards the open doorway so fast it would give a human whiplash. There, silhouetted against the light, car keys still jangling in his palm and running an exasperated hand through his long hair—

“What,” hisses William Solaire, raising an irate eyebrow at his children, covered in glittering crystal dust and leaking blood into a very expensive carpet, “did I say about breaking things again?”

The clan always sticks together. Family comes first – nothing and nobody could make them betray each other, and they’d rather die than leave one of their own behind. It’s the central tenet of their existence, the core fact of their messy, gory lives.

Some things are just… true. The earth is round, the sky is blue, and there is no power known to men or gods that could turn the House of Solaire against itself.

Baba shifts his weight slightly, eyes narrowing accusingly.

And very, very slowly, Alexis and Vincent both point at each other.

link to the glass jaw pronunciation guide

main masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[kennysboxergf]

Babysitting

Ranking the Beta Squad + Sidemen based on how much I would need to be paid to babysit them as children

Kenny - €2.50/hour

THE NICEST

Just look at him he can do no harm

A very energetic child tho, running around and not going to sleep

But I think I could distract him easily by just putting on blues clues

Love love he’s adorable

Chunkz (+ bonus Darkest) - €9.50/hour

Look very nice a respectful 

Will be nice

But only when parents are around

As soon as they leave I’m getting flamed like a highschooler

And getting pranked every 20 minutes 

But they look like they’ll listen if I say something 

And they’re gonna be funny so it’s all good 

AJ Shabeel - €11.50/hour

look at him

He’s going to jump on me as soon as he gets the chance

A biter and a kicker

But he looks like he’s be sweet if he calmed down

He’s the kid the parents tell you not to give sugar to

Couch jumper

Sharky - free/hour

this baby is the best baby I’ve ever seen

V Well behaved

Stomps his foot ok the floor when he’s mad but that’s it

I would look after him for free

He doesn’t even look like a messy eater

Respectful I love him

Niko - €19/hour

you would have to payyy go get me go babysit this child

He seems so hyperactive

Would not could not sit still

Asks me for candy before dinner and ice-cream before bed

If I say no I get like a bucket of water poured on me when I walk into a room

Prank MASTER

Absolutely adorable but no thank you

Vik - €6.50/hour

very nice and respectful

Asks BARE questions tho

He would tell me about all of his school project and how me the awards he’s won for them

Would watch a documentary for fun

But he looks nice enough and I would love to pet his duck

Harry - €17.50/hour

chaotic if he wishes to be

But he also looks like he can like pick an activity and stick to it

But still he can bitee 

Ankle biter kid

And he will Not eat anything Green

Or mildly healthy

Even though his parents explicitly told me not to give him sugar he somehow finds it and annoys you all day

Sugar Crashes and finally sleeps

JJ - €8.50/hour

looks nice enough 

Might come at me with all his high and mighty private school attitude 

But I think he’s pretty chill

And he’ll eat whatver his mom left for him

Calm I would say, average

Ethan - €7.50/hour

again looks nice

He seems like a very outdoorsy kid and I am not an outdoorsy person so it would not mix

Probably just watches tv all day

Have a feeling he’ll refuse to put on his clothes

Ankle kicker

Would kick me in the shins and I would cry but then he’s apologise and sit on the couch playing so it’s ok

Will not sleep on time tho that is a STRUGGLE

Josh - €4.50/hour

this boy cannot get up to trouble

Probably sits with his back straight

His smile is adorable 

Corrects ME about facts or smthing

Would ask me to read him a book as a goodnight

Sleeps at a reasonable time without a reminder

<3

Simon - €7.50/hour

would give me the DIRTIEST of looks

All the time 

One of the kids that eavesdrop on ur conversations

Doesn’t strike me as a TV kids would wanna go play with kids in the park 

Biter, bites other kids, me if I piss him off

Overall nice tho, he would give me his “dish” made of playdough

Tobi - :)/hour

I accept one smile from his per hour as payment

Seems like the happiest child ever

But I think if he was in a mood he would be the worst kid every I wouldn’t not want to be near him

Walks around stomping with his arms crossed and wrecks his room apart I would say

So acc like €5.50/hour 

[equinox-86]

Noctis Character Profile

"Greetings. Kaminashi's top Vampire Hunter squad at your service. Please report any sightings to HQ immediately."

C a n y o u h o l d h e r h e a r t ?

Most of the info listed here is still a work in progress :P Some things might change. Note that Noctis is very cold in the beginning but gradually warms up to the vampires, which results in forming strong connections and friendships later on.

General

Kanji: アエクアリス・ノクティス

Romaji: Aekuarisu Nokutisu

English: Aequalis Noctis

Also known as:

Pyromaniac, Jirai-Onna, Alcoholic, Chichinashi, (and many others, by Ayato) Bitch-Chan (by Laito) Livestock, Lilith (by Ruki) M-Neko-Chan (formerly by Kou) S-Neko-Chan (currently by Kou after witnessing Noctis kicking Ruki and Yuma in the balls during MB's Prologue) Drunkard, Punk, Mesubuta (by Yuma) Lilith (by Azusa and Karlheinz) Woman, Vessel, Bloodbag (by Carla) Chew toy (Shin)

Her Nicknames for the DiaBoys:

Ayato: Ayarou (Ayato + Yarou) Laito: Netorare/Cuck Reiji: Megane/Four-eyes, Mom (jokingly), Old man Shuu: Old man Ruki: Ojou-Chan (jokingly) Kou: Gigolo Yuma: Gorilla (due to his strong physique), Meathead Carla: Old man (jokingly after getting along) Shin: Cyclops, Eyepatch-bastard, Ankle Biter, lap dog Most of these nicknames aren't in use anymore or used jokingly after More Blood and Dark Fate.

Personal Information

Age: 18 (Physically)

Status: Alive

Race: Demon/ "Lilith" ( She is from a demonic species higher ranking than a Founder.)

Gender: Female

Height: 5'3

Hair Color: Black (natural) and Fuchsia (dyed)

Eye Color: Blood Red

Occupation: High ranked Vampire Hunter, 3rd year Student at Ryoutei Academy

Relatives: Unknown

Hobbies: making cocktails

Favorite Food: Alcoholic Beverages

CV: Yoko Hikasa

A mysterious figure with an unusual name. Affiliated with the church lead by Seiji Komori, Noctis was sent to the Sakamaki Mansion under false pretenses as a "Sacrificial Bride" in order to ruin Cordelia's plan and gain the Sakamaki brothers as allies for the sake of the assassination of Karlheinz, as well as to stop future women to be sacrificed to vampires. Unable to bear the thought of dooming his adopted daughter Yui Komori, Seiji forged a plan to train and send a powerful demon whose memories he took, to doom the Vampires. If Noctis were to die as a result of the plan, he would feel no guilt, as she is not human. She believes she is human, as she spent her time living among them.

Personality

Noctis is a very calm and patient person, who could snap fast if someone acts unreasonable. She's very defiant to the vampires and doesn't tolerate their abusive behavior towards her, often engaging in physical fights with some of them. The mistreatment results in her getting dependent on alcohol and she is sometimes seen drunk during school hours in HDB. Despite appearing like an honor student at first glance, Noctis tends to engage in delinquent behavior. Despite of this, she is a responsible person that manages to complete her tasks decently, such as supervising Ayato and Laito to make sure they do not to cause trouble at school under Reiji's order. Noctis likes to throw sassy remarks at the vampires. She often gets in unnecessary trouble for running her mouth. She takes joy in teasing Ayato and Shin, who are quick to lose their temper, which she finds humorous. Noctis' has a resting face which makes her seem cold and serious, but it is easy to get a reaction out of her. She keeps her thoughts and feelings to herself and rarely shows compassion towards the vampires as to keep herself safe and not give them an opportunity to use her weak points against her. Rather than showing pity, she gives them advice from a rational perspective. She's very analytic and observant. Laito managed to break her cold barrier by constantly toying with her emotions for his own amusement, mainly enjoying the new expressions she makes by provoking her and putting her in situations that would cause her to show fear. His little games of psychological manipulation slowly resulted in Noctis showing more emotion and eventually warming up to the Vampires in More Blood.

Appearance

In most outfits, Noctis is seen wearing a heart choker on her neck and on her thigh to make biting more bothersome to the vampires. It serves as an extra protection measure.

She is always carrying a lighter with her.

Relationships

WIP

Trivia

With her drinking habits, Noctis developed spitting fire using alcohol and a lighter as a special skill.

Noctis hates cranberry juice as a result of drinking it too much to restore her iron levels.

When Reiji nags her too much, she jokingly starts calling him "Ossan" (おっさん) meaning "old man." Here, she refers to him or any other vampire as a grandpa due to how old they are.

Opposite to Yui, Noctis is a demon with a "human heart." Due to her memory loss, she was treated like a human by the church and learned their morals and values.

Noctis has a reflex that causes her to punch what causes her fear. For example, If someone were to jumpscare her, they would get punched by accident.

As a result of sharing a roof with 6 men, Noctis started to adapt manly speech mannerisms, such as using "ore" instead of "atashi" when referring to herself.

[naychuchu]

🐈‍⬛

tw: this is my first time actually posting anything i’ve written. i made these pretty late at night so i’m sorry if they’re bad i just wanted to write something. probably some spelling mistakes and stuff i didn’t feel like checking it throughly.

a/n: please be nice

personal

* i’ve mentioned this before but baji absolutely LOVES the yakuza game

* favorite one is yakuza 0 (definitely not because this is the only one i’ve watched so far🌚)

* john cena fanboy for absolutely no reason. has his theme as his ringtone

* number 1 baby metal fan. owns their merch and goes to every concert

* his favorite season is summer for obvious reasons but his favorite holiday is definitely christmas because he and mikey ride around with shin

* HATES horror movies. like nothing can convince this man to watch them. even the kiddie ones like goosebumps or scary stories to tell in the dark will have him act like the devil just touched his soul

* definitely the kind of guy to walk around with one lens in his glasses after a fight

* purposely named his bike cockroach knowing pah is afraid of them

* he used to hate his fangs when he was little because kids used to tease him and say he was a dog

* that was until he started saying he’d bite and give them rabies if they kept messing with him

* cannot grow facial hair to save his life

* judges people on how they interact with animals, specifically cats

* despite popular belief, i don’t think he would get any tattoos. he seems like a piercing guy and definitely cannot sit that long for a tattoo

* gave himself the alias edward because he used to watch twilight with his mom

* he even had a phase when he acted like a vampire but will vehemently deny and threaten anyone who dares to bring it up

* is lactose intolerant and just like many of us will eat dairy and instantly regret it as soon as it hits his stomach

* sometimes he feels insecure about the fact he was held back, all of his friends moving up while he’s left behind

* even though he has a reputation for committing arson and slightly unprovoked violence, keisuke is truly a model citizen☝🏽

* volunteers at shelters, helps the elderly, feeds the homeless, solves climate change. he truly is a saint and can do no wrong!

home life

* i like the idea that his mom was a teen mom and that his father was never really around and just stopped coming one day

* due to her job, his mom sometimes works really late or super early so over the years he’s learned to cook (the only good thing he can cook is yakisoba)

* on the nights he knows his mom will be back late he cooks her food and despite it not being the best she still loves it

* even though she works a lot the two of them are still very close and their favorite thing to do is read manga and watch mystery dramas whenever she’s off

* despite not knowing his dad(he only visited when he was a baby) he never felt insecure about it

* he’s a total mamas boy, and will fight anyone who says something about her

* when ryoko was younger, she wanted to have a lot of kids but after having keisuke she changed her mind. she felt it would be selfish to have so many kids when she works so much and after realizing how much of a handful he can be.

* despite that and having him at such a young age, keisuke was the best thing to ever happen to her and wouldn’t trade him or his wildness for the world.

relationship

* back on the yakuza point, whenever you’re sad he’ll grab a hair brush, turn up the radio and start singing 24-hour cinderella to you until his voice is gone

* when you guys get in a fight he’ll act like he’s in a 2000’s r&b mv and start singing bakamitai. chifuyu gets the hose to spray water above him, kazutora plays the music, and ryusei records the whole thing so baji can send it to you

* a biter, like what’s the point of him having those sharp ass teeth if he don’t try to take a chunk out of you

* whatever your favorite animal is, he’s gonna buy every single book about them so he can share little facts about it with you

* if you’re into a specific artist or group, he’ll listen to their whole discography and learn everything in the fandom

* becomes a horanghae enthusiast and will force you to be one as well

* just like he’s loyal to his friends and toman, he’s loyal to you

* like foreva togetha foreva LOCKED IN 🤞🏽

* a girl tries flirting with him and all of a sudden he’s hellen keller

* the type of boyfriend to say you’re too spoiled whoever you ask for something while doing said thing you requested

* will literally lift his ass off the seat while you’re sitting next to him and fart on you then blame it on you

* talm bout some ‘ew the hell did you eat’ like his diet doesn’t consist of yakisoba, monster energy drinks, and beef glizzies

* speaking of farts😸 keisuke will send pics of his shit to you asking if it looks normal

* will make fun of you if you’re lactose intolerant as if he don’t be upside down on the toilet fighting for his life

* is constantly in your personal space. like he’ll be standing behind you while you play like candy crush or best fiends mumbling about moves you can make. sometimes he’ll snatch your phone and play it himself

* what’s yours is his. mid chew on something he wants? he’s opening your mouth and popping it in his, no matter if it’s soggy

* absolutely loves giving and receiving hugs, being in your arms makes him feel safe and gives reassurance that despite all of his flaws you still love him

* stares at you with his mouth open, no matter what you’re doing or how you look his eyes are on you 24/7

* takes the absolute worst pictures of you on facetime and puts each one in his favorites until the end of time

* throws rocks at your window at like 4 in the morning knowing you both have school just so you can ride around with him until the sun comes up

* i feel like he’d totally like mellow down on the things he does. he doesn’t want to worry you while he’s away

* constantly checks up with you so you know he’s okay and not lying on the ground somewhere and dying 🌚

this is so scary bye 😭

[diabolikloversreactto]

Welcome back! Thanks so much for replying! I loved it!💕🩸 How would the mukamis or tsukunami’s react to the cannibalistic girl?

“Clean yourself off and get up.” Ruki looks the girl up and down with a sigh. “Ridiculous. I should punish you for that comment alone, Livestock. If you want to be caught and thrown in prison be my guest. If not get up and get yourself over here.”

“Ahh! What a firey MNeko-Chan! Such a little bombshell. Oh well it is a kill or be killed world after all…” Kou walks up to the girl and circles her while looking down at the carcass in front of her.

“That’s some work I would do. How could someone as small as yourself pull this off? Tch…the sow caught herself a sow.” Yuma brushed the amber hair out of his eyes and looked down at the corpse feeling slightly sorry for it. Then again though…only the strong survive in this world.

“Ne…do you think…that felt good for them?…It looks like…it would hurt…a lot…ahh I’m envious…” He bring his hands up to his mouth and bites his nails while thinking about how much agony that victim must have been in. (Yes azusa is a nail biter I will die on this hill.

“Another mess for us to clean up. If you’re going to be doing this you must learn how to not be so grotesque about it.” Carla simple looked at the girl covered in blood. “As for your comment…I hope you wouldn’t be stupid enough to pull anything.”

“Ahh so cruel! Look at all this bloodshed! I can’t say I disapprove of this little…habit. Next time just do it in the castle! I’ll even help!” Shin stares at the body excitedly while his head ran wild with thoughts of what happened in the moments leading up to him finding her.

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs - 50

Baldur's Gate 3, Astarion x Tav

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

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

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

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50

Read on AO3

Fresh Scars

Lythra sat in the bath, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins. She knew the water should feel too hot, but she couldn’t really feel it. She felt sluggish and numb, her mind disconnected from her body. She kept looking at her skin, expecting to see blood, but there were just scars. She wasn’t even really sure which were the new ones.

There were too many to know, now.

She stared at the lip of the bathtub for a long time, just focusing on the bar of soap that sat there, the really nice one Astarion had given her that she carefully wrapped back up in its paper after each time she used it.

Why did she have to wear Astarion’s face? Even when she knew it was Orin, it had just hurt so much more. She hated the idea of Astarion looking at her like that, but she also hated the idea of him seeing her like that. Kel’nar had said he’d come with Xaryn—had he been the one to untie her hands the last time? Him, and not Orin?

She’d been too far gone then to bother to hope it had really been him by then. She knew Halsin and Jaheira had been there too because her kel’nar had told her, but she couldn’t really remember them, remember anything except Xaryn picking her up and carrying her out. Even that was garbled in her mind, but she knew it was him.

It was probably better it was garbled. She didn’t want to remember any more of that temple than she had to. She didn’t want to think about it at all. She couldn’t help it, though.

She carefully reached over and grabbed her soap, just holding it for a moment before she lathered her washcloth so she could make sure not a speck of blood or filth remained. She was tired of smelling the iron tang of her own blood, sick of the way the stench of the temple seemed to linger in her nose.

The lavender helped. She liked how it smelt, liked the way it made her heart slow just a bit. The soap smelled stronger of it than Biter, or the dried flowers she’d kept in her apartment, or the lavender soap she’d sometimes treated herself to if she had spare enough coin for stupid things.

She didn’t know where Astarion was. Kel’nar had said he’d been waiting for her to wake up, but he hadn’t been there when she had. She supposed he’d given up. She didn’t blame him, it had to be terribly dull to watch someone sleep.

No one else had really been there either—she got the impression that everyone had more or less cleared out to give her and her kel’nar some space.

She was grateful for it. She didn’t exactly want anyone but her father to see her blubbering like a baby, not even Xaryn or Halsin.

She was really glad Astarion hadn’t been there to see.

He’d been worried about Cazador torturing her and she’d brushed it off, thought herself stronger than she was, clearly. She didn’t know how long Orin had held her captive, but she knew it hadn’t been that long. Maybe a day or two.

That was all the time it had taken to break her, to turn her into a sniveling little mess like when she’d been small. It hadn’t even had been as bad as her mother used to do, and she’d handled it worse than when she’d been a child.

She was pathetic.

No wonder he wanted to bring Karlach instead of her to deal with Cazador.

She didn’t know why it bothered her so much—it shouldn’t have. If she hadn’t been so childish and short-tempered she wouldn’t have made herself easy prey for Orin.

Stupid little piggy.

She swallowed hard at the memory of the words, her heart thumping hard against her ribs. It shouldn’t bother her—she’d been called worse plenty. Her mother had had a real talent for laying out her every flaw, which were many, turning them into their own sort of knives that lingered long after the metal ones had been cleared away.

She sunk under the water, as if she could drown the shameful fear bubbling up in her throat. Maybe she was a baby like Xaryn always said.

She let her face crumple for just a moment while it was hidden under the water. Her nerves felt frayed. She felt as if she could burst into tears any minute, without reason as if any second it could all be too much—

She was tired. It was so hard surviving, so hard keeping everything running, playing the part she needed to so maybe they’d all make it out of this nightmare.

Could she rest, then?

She pulled her head out of the water, focusing on washing her hair and finishing up, rather than her swirling thoughts. She’d realized abstractly that the water was cold now, that she must have been lost in her head for a while.

She pulled herself out of the water once she rinsed off all the suds and wrapped a towel around herself. She watched the water drain with absent attention before carefully picking up her soap and wrapping it up again. She was sure everyone else would think her ridiculous for for being so careful with it, but she’d had so few nice things—she knew to take care of them.

And it was especially precious, because it had been a gift.

She held it tight to her chest, tears pricking at her eyes. Why had she worn Astarion’s face? Why did she have to tell her such foul things in his voice?

She tucked it carefully back in her bag and pulled on clean clothes. She took a deep breath before pushing open the screen around the tub and slipping out, back towards her bed. She wasn’t surprised to see Kel’nar sitting on it, just waiting. It wasn’t until she got closer that she saw the brush sat next to him.

“I thought I’d braid your hair for you,” he said with a smile.

“You don’t have to,” she said.

“Don’t be silly. Come here,” he said, reaching his hand out to her. She took it and sat in front of him on the bed, closing her eyes as she secretly reveled in the feeling of her kel’nar brushing her hair like when she was small.

“It’s getting so long,” Kel’nar said as he brushed it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so long.”

“I don’t like to cut it,” she said quietly. “I had to cut it all off, when I got out of the Labyrinth. It was all matted and I couldn’t fix it.”

She’d hated having such short, shorn hair, though it had probably been safer on the road since it made her look more like a boy. Still, she’d trimmed it maybe twice in the time since that miserable haircut. She hated the idea of it being short again, even if she never did anything with it and it’d be far easier to manage if she’d only cut a foot or two off.

He paused his braiding long enough to lean forward and press a kiss to her cheek.

“It’s pretty long. It’s worth a little extra work.”

She turned to give him a small smile as he tied off one of her braids. She paused when she saw he’d found ribbons somewhere, the same sort as when she was little.

She was much too old for ribbons.

Still, she didn’t say a thing, letting her kel’nar fuss with the bows like he always has to make them even. It made her chest feel warm, soothed a little of the awful rawness of the terror of the temple of Bhaal, of being tied up and cut open again, tormented in such a familiar way.

He finished and she turned to face him. His eyes were soft, but worry clear behind them—when could she stop worrying him? He looked older than he should, knew it was because of her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face to the crook of it. She felt less numb and disconnected when he was there.

He’d always made her feel better after her mother had gotten through with her, if he was allowed, made it bearable, made her feel grounded again. She didn’t know how—it was probably just the fact that it was him.

“I love you,” she mumbled into his neck. He held her tight.

“I love you too,” he said, leaning his head against hers. “Do you want me to go get you something to eat? It’s after lunchtime and you've hardly eaten in the last few days.”

She shook her head. “I’m going to go find Xaryn. I'll get something then.”

“Are you sure you’re up to that right now?” he asked, leaning back to look at her face. She didn’t blame him—she’d cried herself to sleep again after they’d talked and then slept for almost fourteen hours straight, clinging to him as if she’d die if she let go.

She nodded, though in truth she didn’t really know. It wasn’t a question she ever asked herself—it had never mattered. She just had to get up and keep moving or she’d die.

“Lythra—”

“I’ll be okay. I just—I want to talk to him. I don’t want him to think I’m angry with him anymore. He saved me from Astarion’s sister and Orin, and I haven’t thanked him.”

Kel’nar made a face as he absently reached out to trace the fresh scars on her neck from Astarion’s sibling’s attack.

“It’s okay to take some more time, ssinssrigg. It was all a lot. He knows you’re grateful.”

“I don’t—I’ll be fine. I just want to talk to him.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding, though the concern behind his eyes remained. “Do you want me to go with you?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be okay.”

He furrowed his brow, but he nodded, jaw tight. She leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s okay, Kel’nar. I promise, I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“I know,” he said, though he was hardly convincing. She got up and went to her things where she’d carefully hidden the horrible knives Kel had been using to track her in a book she’d hollowed out after Astarion had assured her it was ‘duller than dirt’. She took one out and crossed back to her Kel’nar, offering it to him handle first.

“I know its awful, but you can find me anywhere with it. I want you to be able to find me anywhere.”

He looked like he was going to be sick, tears welling in his eyes, but he took the knife before pulling her into a bone crushing hug. She hugged him back, closing her eyes as she did.

“It’s okay, Kel’nar. It’s been a long time.”

“It’ll never be okay, what she did to you. Never.”

“No,” she said pensively. “But I want to be. Someday I want to be okay.”

“You will, ssinssrigg. I promise, you will.”

Xaryn looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Lythie standing in front of his table, skin clean of blood and hair still wet and braided back. Elendar must have done it—they were tied off with bows like he’d always done. The realization tugged at his heart.

He’d been hiding down in the tavern since he’d gotten back from his talk with Halsin, far enough out of the way that he wasn’t easily spotted, but close enough to be there if something happened, if Lythie or Elendar needed him.

She looked at him almost nervously.

“Hey—how are you feeling?” he said, heart in his throat. She still looked paler than usual, dark circles under her eyes, though there at least didn’t seem to be any glaring physical harm remaining except the new scars.

“I’m okay. I—it is was a lot, but I’m okay. Kel’nar helped,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

She wasn’t okay, he knew, wouldn’t be for a long while until she worked through what had been done to her, but she’d always been heartbreakingly good at bouncing back after horror. She’d had to be, in their House, had to be able to push it down and keep going—they’d all had to.

He hated seeing it here, though. He didn’t want her to keep pushing through as if nothing had happened, as if it hadn’t been deranged, what had been done to her. He supposed she had to try, though. She couldn’t exactly take the time she should to process it while trying to prevent a Netherbrain from enslaving the Sword Coast.

She stood there for another minute, neither of them speaking. Xaryn couldn’t seem to find the right words in the storm of everything he wanted to say and Lythie—she was so hard to read, when she wanted to be.

Which was most of the time.

“There’s a bakery that always has the best smelling sweets, but I’ve never had any spare coin before to try it,” she said still avoiding his gaze.

“I’m not—”

“Come on,” she said, grabbing his wrist. “I robbed Kel when I took care of the House guard. I want to waste his money on something dumb.”

He nearly huffed a laugh at that, though he couldn’t manage it through is worry.

Xaryn let her drag him out into the city, wondering what her real motive was. He’d expected her to go back to avoiding him like she had been since he’d embarrassed her, was part of the reason he’d been hiding downstairs—he didn’t want to add anymore to her stress.

She pulled him into a small, cheerful bakery that indeed did smell particularly divine, never once letting go of his wrist until they stepped inside, as if she thought he’d stop following if she let go.

He watched her as she looked at all the pastries, deciding what she wanted. He’d thought it would be a pretty fancy place, if she’d never had the coin to go, but it was just an ordinary bakery, the sweets only a few coppers each. He could see her trying hard to decide what she wanted, eyes lingering on the little cakes and pastries.

“Can we just get one of everything,” he asked and the shopkeeper nodded. Lythra turned to him with her eyes wide, looking at him like he was insane.

“What? You said you wanted to try this place and waste Kel’s money, I’m just being thorough,” he said. He doubted it all would cost more than three silver. Still, he could see Lythie convincing herself in her head that it was alright, eyes still wide.

In the end it had all only cost two silver and three copper pieces for a whole box full of sweets and two forks. Lythra had seemed half giddy, half horrified to spend that sort of money, but from the size of what he assumed to be Kel’s coin purse, judging by the gaudy mithril embroidery, she could buy the same box of sweets for a year and probably still have coin left.

He knew why she was so frugal, though.

They sat on a low wall overlooking the harbor, the box sat between them. He liked watching her try all of them, tried not to smile at the happy little wiggle she definitely didn’t realize she did when she really liked one of them. There was something endearingly childish about it, especially after all the horror of the temple. Of course, there was something childish about going out with his sister so they could make themselves sick on sweets, especially considering she’d stolen the money to buy them from Kel.

Perhaps it would do them both some good, some puerile time together. Gods knew neither one of them had and real time to be kids in House Mizzrym.

He smiled, watching her return to the same pink-frosted piece of cake, clearly the favorite of the lot. He’d have to tell Aduadar she liked raspberry cake with jam in the middle. The sweets they’d bought were very good, but no one baked sweets better than Elendar’s dad.

Lythie shifted uncomfortably next to him, still staring into the box, though she wasn’t really looking at the sweets anymore.

“Kel’nar said Halsin dragged you away to tell you off when I fell asleep,” she said finally. Xaryn stared out at the harbor, unsure of how to respond. He’d never been good with these sorts of talks, and it was worse because it was Lythie.

“He’s got lots of practice with the whole ‘don’t be reckless’ speech. I’ve gotten it a lot,” she said, putting her fork carefully into the box.

“Yeah, he told me,” he said, stomach twisting uncomfortably at the memory.

“You’re supposed to be smarter than me.”

He sighed. “Lythie—”

“I don’t want you to get hurt because you’re being stupid. I love you, Xaryn. I’m really glad you’re my brother and I get to actually know you now. I really, really don’t want to lose you. I know Halsin had a much better speech, I just—I want more chances to do stuff like this. I want to be able to, when this is all over, just be able to do stuff together. I don’t want to mourn you again. I missed you so much,” she said. Her voice was quiet by the end, eyes glued to the cobblestone. He didn’t realize she’d started to cry until she sniffled, unable to hold it in.

He moved the bakery box to his other side and pulled her into a hug, heart twisting in his chest. The last thing he wanted to do was make her cry, especially after everything she’d just suffered.

“It’s okay, Lythie, I promise. I’ll be more careful, okay?” he said, nausea rising in his throat as he hugged her closer. He felt her chest spasm with more tears.

“I just w-want everyone to be o-okay,” she stammered, voice muffled as she pressed her face to his shoulder. “I thought I was all alone for so long but now I have you and Kel’nar b-back and H-Halsin and I don’t want to lose my f-family again.”

“You have to be careful too. You’re far too reckless and Halsin told me—Halsin told be how you d-died,” he said, the last word catching in his throat. He hugged her tighter, unable to say any more.

He could still see her laughing in their crystal ball.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said, voice so quiet, hugging him back. “The Shadow Curse made it really hard, because of what Mother did to me.”

“You still need to be careful now. I don’t—I can’t lose you either. I can’t.”

“I’ll be careful. I am trying to, I just—I forget sometimes I don’t have to do it all alone anymore.”

Xaryn felt a few tears slip down his cheeks at that. He never wanted his sister to feel alone, never wanted her to know the kind of ravenous loneliness it left. It was all he’d known before Elendar was brought to the House, before Lythra was born.

“You’re not alone, Lythie. I’m here for you no matter what. I want to be. I—I don’t ever want to hurt your feelings, I wasn't thinking when I said any of it, I was just so angry at Kel. I’m sorry, for what I said in front of your friends—”

“I know,” she said quickly. “I was embarrassed. I don’t like people knowing what Mother did to me. I just—it makes me sound really pathetic. I don’t like people knowing what it was like in Menzoberranzan. I don’t even like thinking about it.”

“You’re not pathetic—Mother is pathetic for doing it to you because she was jealous. You were just a little kid, and you you were braver than you had any right to be.”

Lythra pulled back so she could wipe away the tears from her cheeks, but she stayed close, leaning into his side. He leaned back, trying to settle his emotions. He hated seeing her upset, hated seeing her hurt—all he wanted was her to finally be safe and happy. He'd do anything to make sure she was safe and happy.

He took a handful of steadying breaths, focusing on the fact that his sister was sat next to him, that she was safe after yesterday’s nightmare, that she wasn't angry with him anymore. 

“Xaryn?” she asked after a few minutes.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she said simply, reaching over to grab the sweet box again.

“For what?”

“For being good to me. Kel’nar told me some of the things you did that I didn’t know about when I was little. And—and for looking after Kel’nar. I can’t thank you enough for that. And for saving me. From Orin and Astarion’s sister. I didn’t get to thank you for that.”

He glanced at her, hating how easy it was for her to make him choke up after he’d just settled himself. He gave her a dirty look, though there wasn’t any heat behind it.

“You’re an idiot,” he told her, just like he always told Elendar when he’d thank him for things he’d have done anyway, things he didn’t have to bring up.

To his surprise Lythie huffed a tiny laugh at that, flipping the box back open so she could grab her fork and work on finishing the slice of raspberry cake. He grabbed his own fork and dug into a slice of red velvet cake that had been particularly good.

It was nice to do something normal with his sister. Even with the heaviness that lingered from their conversation, from what she’d been put through, it was nice to sit next to her and watch the waves as he worked his way towards a sugar coma. He knew she was pretending to be more okay than she was, but then again, so was he.

Neither one of them had ever really learned any better.

“I like this better than wine tasting,” she said after another long pause, her mouth full. 

“That’s because you like sugar. It’s why you like Ilharn’s monstrosities,” he shot back, though he couldn’t say he minded their bakery sampling. He’d bet there were a lot of things she hadn’t tried, scraping by on her own.

A lot of things they could try together, like this.

Normal things he could take her out to do as her brother, instead of only being able to train her for combat. Things that were fun, that were frivolous and had no stakes. 

“I like them because they don’t taste like lamp oil,” she replied and he shoved her playfully with his shoulder, just enough to move her an inch or so.

“You might have a hopeless palette,” he retorted.

“I don’t know, I’ll take cake over lamp oil any day,” she said, shoving back with her own shoulder before taking another bite, doing her happy little wiggle at the taste.

He smiled, just a little, letting himself think about what it would be like to take her back to Waterdeep, finally. She would love it, love Elendar’s parents and all the little shops, love the walking path in the Sea Ward, love the food—gods, there were so many places he could bring her. And there was music everywhere, Halsin had told him she liked playing instruments, wanted to learn the harp—he could get her into lessons there and she could focus on music and the school she’d missed and just being with family.

He’d finally be able to fulfill his promise from the first time he’d met her when she was only a few days old—he’d certainly make sure she saw him enough to get sick of him, once this was over and they could finally have the ordinary life they’d run away for.

He thought Lythie would like ordinary.

He certainly was looking forward to it. He would be perfectly content with a quiet life, his family finally together again.

Lythra glanced over at Astarion’s bed. It was empty, despite the fact that it was well after midnight. She hadn’t seen him since they’d fought, before Orin took her.

She couldn’t sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes she’d see Orin wearing Astarion’s face, her mother’s words spat out in his voice. She’d pretended until Kel’nar and everyone else had fallen asleep, before she got up.

She wanted to sleep. She was so tired, even though she’d mostly slept since she’d returned. She sighed and took the pillow from her bed and walked over to trade it with Astarion’s.

It smelled like him, like brandy and rosemary and bright citrus. she hugged it to her chest, just breathing in the scent.

It was the real Astarion. Her Astarion. 

She only wished he was really here. She just wanted to curl up in his arms and bask in the fact that it was really him, remind herself that he was real and she’d never have to see the fake version of him ever again. It was like when she’d wake from and awful nightmare and all she’d what to do was convince herself it wasn’t real, but somehow it was so much harder without him here, without her being able to hold him and show her brain that this was real, not the nightmare it had made up.

And she missed him.

She missed him in a trembling, pathetic sort of way, a way that left her feeling almost mortified. She was supposed to be able to take care of herself, had made such a big deal that she was competent and didn’t need to be babied and had a handle on it all by herself, and all she wanted to do was curl up next to him and let him tell her it would be okay.

She wanted to beg him to read to her so she could fall asleep knowing he was there, that she wasn’t alone. She wanted him to make his mean little jokes about how absurd she was being and sling her own back at him so it felt normal, so it wouldn’t feel so frightening anymore.

But he was trying very hard not to see her.

She wished she knew why.

She walked back over to her bed, pulling off the thick woolen blanket Halsin had given her in the Underdark. He hadn’t let her return it, though she hadn’t tried very had to convince him to. It was so warm, and she was so rarely warm.

She grabbed Biter after a moment of hesitation—perhaps it was childish, but it was a comfort, and one she’d always relied on in the wake of her mother’s many torture sessions, especially when her kel’nar hadn’t been allowed to see her.

She sighed, turning towards the main room of their shared chambers. Maybe she’d do better on the couch, or curled up on the floor.

The beds here were so wonderful and soft, but sometimes it was too much. Even when she’d been lucky enough to have a mattress, it had always been thin and hard, and she was far more used to sleeping on the ground, especially after the last few months. Maybe something more familiar would help.

Us stirred sleepily in its bed next to hers, groggily waving its tentacles.

Friend can’t sleep? it asked in her head. She just shook her head. Us seemed to think about that for a moment before scurrying off. I moment later she heard shuffling and great huffs of annoyance before Scratch and Lotha came padding over.

I will keep watch! Us said, sounding as delighted as always. I will make sure he doesn’t escape. Friend will sleep better with the furry ones. Us remembers from the old camp.

Thanks, Us, she said, strangely touched by its thoughtfulness. She knew not everyone was comfortable with it, but it really was a lovely companion, once you got over the brain tentacles.

Lotha head-butted her gently, cocking his head to the side before plopping down on the floor, limbs splaying every which direction. Lythra reached out to pet his head before rubbing Scratch’s ears. She sunk to the floor next to Lotha, curling up pressed to his side, woolen blanket tucked around her, her head nestled on her stolen pillow. Scratch lay down on her other side, pressing up against her before settling to go back to sleep.

She remembered how often they had slept all curled in a pile in the Underdark. She slept better with them there, was comforted by their company. Often it was the only time she’d felt like she really could sleep, down in that hellhole.

She found herself growing sleepy, eventually drifting off to the sound of Scratch and Lotha’s gentle snoring.

Halsin couldn’t quite trance, mind still racing. He couldn’t get the memory of Lythra, limp and covered in blood and bruises, tied to the stone alter of Bhaal out of his head, nor could he forget watching as Xaryn rushed through the fight with the Bhaalans, uncaring how much of his own blood was spilt.

Worse, though, somehow, was the memory of Xaryn scooping his sister into his arms, how small she’d looked, how Xaryn desperately tried to hold back his tears so he could reassure Lythra. She’d only been able to speak in ilythiiri when they’d first found her, reverting to her mother tongue under the weight of this new, horrible trauma. Xaryn had done his best to soothe her as he carried her out of the place, intent on returning her to her father as quickly as he could manage.

The whole nightmare had left him disquieted for more than just the horror of what Lythra had been forced to suffer.

She and Xaryn were more similar than he’d realized, and not in ways he’d have wished for them. They both turned mission-blind, both had a self-sacrificing streak that stemmed from a deep self-loathing, both blamed themselves for things they hadn’t had control over. When Lythra turned reckless, it was often brought on by the sight of someone being abused or imprisoned, her anger clouding her judgement as she just tried to see them freed as quickly as possible, like in the mindflayer colony below Moonrise Tower.

Xaryn worried him more. Xaryn almost wanted to get hurt, down in the temple of Bhaal, or at least didn’t care in the least if he did. He saw it as a fine price to pay to get to his sister faster, had tried to prevent him from even healing the injuries he’d sustained, even though his had been life-threatening, instead just telling him to save his healing for his sister.

He knew Xaryn felt guilty for the years Lythra had spent alone, but he was scared by the was that guilt had begun to manifest—they couldn’t be reckless, not with the Chosen of Bane breathing down their throat and a Netherbrain to defeat. He’d tried getting through to his grandson, but he doubted he’d done more than irritate him.

At least Elendar knew him well enough to sic his sister on him.

Halsin very much doubted Lythra knew how much sway she had over her brother, but Elendar did, which is why he’d told her he’d been reckless. He knew Elendar didn’t want Lythra to have more to worry about, but everybody but Xaryn knew how distraught she’d be if he was hurt, especially if it was ‘because of her.’

He hoped Elendar’s play would work. It certainly was clever and neither of them were self-aware enough to realize it for what it was—but perhaps both would cow to the other’s plea to be more careful.

He hoped they would. They were well on their way to driving him grey as it was.

He got up and stretched, deciding not to delude himself into thinking he’d be able to go back to his trance any time soon. He walked quietly into the main room of their Elfsong chambers, pausing when he saw a familiar sight, smiling softly.

Lythra was curled up on the floor between Scratch and Lotha, pillow propped against one of the owlbear’s legs as she lay curled into his side, her arm slung over Scratch, cuddling him close, though he could see her stuffed spider squished between them. She was wrapped up in the spare blanket he’d given her—months ago, now—though it had been pulled mostly off by one of them’s fidgeting in their sleep.

He crossed quietly to their side to adjust the blanket and pull it back up to her neck. Scratch looked up, tail beating against the floor happily. He pet his head for a moment before sitting back on his heels, just watching her sleep, his brow furrowed.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to wash his cloak, yet, hadn’t been able to touch it since they’d returned. There had been so much blood on it, after they’d taken it off her and wrapped her in spare clothes and soft blankets.

He’d seen the remnants of his daughter’s work on her skin, spent hours trying to break up as much of the internal scar tissue left behind as he could to make her more comfortable. She’d told him some of the things she’d done to her, Elendar and Xaryn had told him others, but it was different after seeing her tied to that slab.

Somehow it had made it all the more real, then, all the worse, because he knew just the tiniest bit what it had looked like when Lythra had been suffering under her mother.

Except, her mother had done far worse than Orin had, and she’d been so, so much smaller.

The thought made him want to throw up.

He still didn’t know how to reconcile the monster that his daughter was. It wasn’t surprising, considering how she would have been raised, considering the viciousness he remembered of her mother, but even for a high-born drow, she was cruel. She’d neglected her eldest child, which had turned out to be a blessing in disguise, she’d delighted in torturing her only daughter, her youngest child, not only in the moment, but in a way that would linger and kill her slowly and painfully.

Lythra and Xaryn were convinced she loved Kelennar, or at least favored him. They weren’t sure if she was capable of love.

Halsin wasn’t sure that had left his younger grandson any better off than indifference or cruelty, but he hadn’t suffered in the same way as the others.

But neither of the boys had suffered like Lythra.

Oak Father preserve him—how she’d suffered.

How had he helped create something so evil? Could he blame it all on her mother, the Matron? On being raised in that place? Could she have been better, if she’d had any sort of guidance?

If he’d known?

He watched his granddaughter sleep, face twitching as she dreamed. None of them had had the time to teach her to trance yet—something she should have known how to do a decade before, another thing her mother had stolen from her.

He wondered what she would do after all this, if they managed to pull it all off—however overwhelming the prospects, if anyone could figure out a way to do so, he knew Lythra could. She had that sort of tactical mind, more so than the rest of them—he was sure it was honed to its razor sharpness by all she’d had to do to survive, all the things she’d have to take into account and deal with, by constantly having to look for the next thing looking to kill her.

Elendar wanted to bring her back to Waterdeep—Xaryn too. They had more family there and it had been Elendar’s childhood home. He was always struck by how young her father actually was, hardly more than a century and a half. Grief and pain had aged him far beyond his years, just like it had Lythra.

Part of him wanted to follow, to selfishly take the time while his grandchildren were young to remain close, even if the idea of another city made his teeth ache. He didn’t want to miss out on seeing them grow and find themselves, wanted to be present. Part of him, though, couldn’t help but note the little urchin children that scurried around the city, trying to go unseen. Children who were dirty and underfed and scared and had no one to look after them like they should.

He couldn’t help but wonder each time he saw one if that was how Lythra had looked when she’d arrived alone in the city, if she’d suffered the same. How she might have turned out if a single person had looked at her and offered some kindness, a helping hand.

Lythra stirred, scrunching up her face before her eyes blinked open. She froze for a moment when she saw him next to her, though he saw her relax again when she recognized him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, little one. I just wanted to check on you,” he said softly, reaching out to brush some stray hair out of her face.

“S’okay,” she said, voice still slurred a bit from sleep. She pushed herself up so she was sitting, leaning against Lotha, despite his protest that she should go back to sleep. Scratch shifted so he could drop his head in her lap for pets, which she complied absently.

“You need sleep. You’re still healing.”

“You and kel’nar healed everything, I’m fine.”

“Magic doesn’t fix everything. You still need to be gentle with yourself.”

“I have been. I haven’t done anything since except drag Xaryn out yesterday.”

“I heard you two went out,” he said, smiling softly at her. He was glad they were talking again, knew that sort of time meant the world to her brother. She just nodded.

“What did you do?”

“Just talked—just talked about stuff. And we went to a bakery I never got to try. He ordered one of everything which was ridiculous, but it was kinda fun to try it all too. I’ve never eaten so much cake in my whole life,” she said, and he huffed a laugh, shifting back so he could sit across from her.

“Sounds like you guys had a good time,” he said. She made a face.

“Kinda. That part was fun, but we had to talk about a lot of stuff too. I’m not good at it, like you are, but Kel’nar said you were mad at him for being reckless when you came to rescue me and I just—I don’t know. I told him not to be dumb.”

“I wasn’t mad, I was scared. You both scare me—you both can be so rash in a fight. You don’t know what it’s like to chase after you, trying to keep you from bleeding out.”

“Xaryn told me off for that too. I’m trying. I haven’t been going off on my own to handle things, I'm trying to be smart.”

“I know you’re trying. I just need you to know I worry.”

“You always worry.”

He huffed a laugh at that.

“You do too,” he replied. She just shrugged. They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound Lotha’s soft snores.

“How are you holding up?” he asked finally. She shrugged again.

“I don’t know. Okay, I guess. It’s weird.”

“Why’s it weird?”

“Because—because it could’ve been a lot worse. I’ve dealt with a lot worse, but—I don’t know, it just feels harder this time, even though it shouldn’t.”

Halsin’s chest hurt at the dejected curve of her shoulders as she avoided his eyes, the shame that laced her words.

“Why shouldn’t it? What was done to you was horrible—”

“Mother’s done worse. I just feel like I could handle it better then.”

“I think you’re handling it extremely well, little one. I’m proud of how well you are.”

She made a face at that, though she flushed to the tips of her ears.

“Did Kel’nar tell you about the other part?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper. Halsin sighed. Elendar had filled him in on a few things when he’d returned from trying to make Xaryn see sense while Lythra had been asleep again, though he was pretty sure which she was talking about.

“About how she disguised herself as Astarion?” he asked as gently as he could manage. She nodded.

“He’s avoiding me now too. I don’t know why. I just—I know it wasn’t him. She tricked me the first couple times, but then I could tell. Maybe that’s why it’s all harder to shake, because she was pretending to be him. I just—I wish he’d stop hiding away. I miss him.”

“Maybe he’s taking some time to process it all,” Halsin said diplomatically. He’d seen him brooding in a darkened corner of the tavern more than once, an empty bottle or two sat at his elbow. He’d made it very clear he was not interested in talking when he’d tried.

“Maybe,” she said, picking at her cuticles. “We were supposed to have gone to kill Cazador by now. Maybe he’s mad everything got delayed because I was dumb enough to get kidnapped by Orin.”

“You’re not dumb, and I’m sure that’s not the case,” he said, giving her a sharp look. She just looked away.

“We have to figure out something to do about Kel, too,” she said, changing the subject. “We can’t exactly drag him around trussed up like a pig forever. I just don’t know what.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Not since I threatened to skin him.”

He must have made a face at that because Lythra rolled her eyes.

“It’s not the same as up here, Halsin. Violence is the only thing everyone down there understands, it’s normal,” she said pulling the blanket from her lap she she could pull her nightshirt up enough to show him a series of scars on her right thigh.

“Kel gave me these at family dinners. Sometimes he’d just pinch me until I bled instead of bothering to stab me with his fork. You can tell our assigned seats at the table because everything I gave Kel back is on his left leg,” she said, yanking her nightshirt back down. “He’s the only one who ever took after it all. He liked it, liked being cruel and backstabbing and everything else. I don’t think he believes me or Xaryn about what was happening and I don’t know that he’d really even care, besides the fact that it was hidden from him.”

“You won’t know if you don’t try and talk to him,” Halsin said, furrowing his brows.

“I’ve already been tortured this week, I don’t need to talk to Kel,” she said, making a face. He hated the flippant way she said it. He wish he knew how to navigate the situation with her younger brother, wish he had any idea how any of it could be solved.

It was another awful situation like that of his daughter—was Kelennar simply bad and immovable, or could he be reasoned with, understand the truth of what had been going on, what his siblings were suffering.

Did he even want to?

Halsin wanted to believe he could understand and redeem himself, that he could learn to be better. He was still young—if he’d gotten a hold of Myrymma at his age, could he have fixed her, guided her to the right path? Even after hearing all the awful things he’d done to Lythra in particular, he wanted to believe he could change.

Maybe he just didn’t want to consider what Xaryn had so vehemently proclaimed, that he and Lythra and Elendar were far better off if Kelennar was dead, that he wouldn’t ever do anything except hurt them and try and drag them back to the Underdark. He was still his grandson, even if he knew him the least and what he did know was of his cruelty.

The whole thing made him feel awful and tangled up. His first priority was Lythra and Xaryn and their father, but he couldn’t help the guilt that settled in his gut at the thought of their brother. He’d only had Myrymma guiding him, had hardly had a chance to think any different, to know there was any other way.

“I suppose it can wait, then,” he said, hating how tired Lythra looked as she leaned against Lotha. Not physically tired so much as soul tired.

He reached out to take her hand and give it a little squeeze. Her mouth twitched up into the smallest of smiles as she squeezed his hand back.

“I wonder how Thaniel and Ollie are doing,” she said absently. He smiled at that, smiled at her genuine fondness for the spirits, especially Ollie.

“I bet they’re having fun as the forest regrows and the land heals,” he replied. “There is much for them to do to usher in its renewal.”

“I’d like to visit them again, I think,” she said, eyes far away even as they stared at the floorboards. “It’d be nice to see everything without the rot too, see how it's supposed to be.”

“I’m sure we could arrange that. I have no doubt they’d be thrilled to see you again.”

She nodded, turning her attention to Scratch in her lap and running her hands through his fur. He just watched her love on her dog, noted the way he and Lotha provided such comfort to her, how much she adored them, adored all her strays, intellect devourer included.

He’d laughed when he’d seen the basket she’d turned into a bed for it, complete with a soft, pink polka-dotted cushion she'd found somewhere. She had such a way with creatures others considered monsters. He knew it was a wretched sort of empathy, woven in with her sweet, soft heart she tried so hard to hide away.

Perhaps not as much, as when they’d first met.

He only hoped that wouldn’t let it be broken. He worried about that soft heart of hers, worried about all the weight on it already, worried one crack would be enough for it to shatter.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Astarion looked up to see Lythra hovering uncertainly beside his bed as he perched on the edge of it to fix a hole in the shoulder of his shirt, her brow pinched with uncertainty as she wrung her hands. The blood was gone from her skin now and she smelled like lavender and delicious Night once more.

She wasn’t wrong. He’d managed it for the three and a half days it had been since they’d rescued her. He’d thought he’d made sure she’d gone out with her oaf of a grandfather and idiot brother before he’d slipped back inside.

“I’m not—“

“You are. I—I know we were supposed to deal with Cazador already, and I threw off the timing and you’ve been waiting. I’m sor—“

“No—don’t you dare—“

“Astarion—“

“Don’t you dare apologize for what she did to you. I’m not sore with you, darling. I just—I thought perhaps you’d want your space.”

“So you have been avoiding—“

“I saw what she did, love. Who’s—who’s face she wore.”

“Oh,” was all she said in response, her eyes dropping to the ground. “The tadpole?”

“Yeah,” was all he managed in response. Neither one of them said anything for a really long time. It was Lythra who broke the heavy silence.

“Do you want to take a walk?”

“Lyth—”

“I just—can we talk about it?” she asked, somehow dejectedly. Astarion stared at her—he didn’t understand why she looked so crestfallen, nor why she, of all people, wanted to talk through something, talk about her feelings.

Had the implications not been so horrible considering what she’d suffered, me might have joked that she’d been replaced with a changeling. Instead he just nodded.

“I suppose, if you’re sure you’re comfortable with that, darling,” he said, anxiety churning in his stomach. She nodded, though her shoulders curled in just slightly. He wanted to reach out and reassure her, wanted to pull her into a hug, knew that physical affection would make her feel better, but he couldn’t be the one to give it to her, not after what Orin had done to her.

He wanted to be the one to comfort her. He wanted to have been there when she woke, wanted to be there for her, even though he hadn’t the faintest idea how—when had he ever wanted to comfort someone else?

He followed her downstairs and out of the tavern, down a few familiar streets, to a deserted corner of a park. He doubted anyone used it often at all, considering its state of disrepair.

After that they just stood there, both unsure what to say. The silence was so thick it made him feel like he was drowning in it.

“I knew it wasn’t you,” she said finally. She made a face. “Or—I figured it out. I did think it was you at first, she wanted me to think you were there to save me, but then she’d just—”

She broke off, taking a deep breath, blinking back tears. Gods, he wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, but he couldn’t, Orin had taken that too—

“I knew it was her, doing it. Even if she was pretending to be you. I just wasn’t thinking anymore when you came. I wasn’t paying attention I just assumed it was her again. I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“Don’t apologize, darling. Gods—Lyth, don’t apologize. You didn’t do a thing wrong.”

She stared at him, lower lip trembling.

“I hate her,” she said, so quiet he could barely hear. “I hate her so much.”

“I know,” he said, hating how helpless he felt. She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the stone of the street. She was clearly in need of comfort and he couldn’t do a thing to help.

Why couldn’t he be what she needed? Even if he gave it his best shot, he knew he’d fall flat. He hardly knew how to be a person anymore, not after two hundred years of being a thing to fuck and torment. No matter how hard he tried, he’d fuck up—he’d fuck up and he’d hurt her again and he’d hate himself for it and she’d just brush it aside.

How much more of his own damage would he give her? How much would she bear quietly and endure, because that was what her bitch of a mother beat into her head?

“Star?” she asked, tearing him from his thoughts.

“Yes?” he replied, voice feeling raw in his throat.

“Can—can I give you a hug, please?” she asked, her voice terribly small.

He felt his eyes go slightly wide before he could school his face. He couldn’t fathom why she’d want him to touch her, why she’d want to be anywhere near him, even if she knew it hadn’t been him to do it—she’d still had to watch his likeness torture her, had to listen to Orin tear into her with his voice.

“Are—are you sure?” he asked uncertainly. She looked up, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Please?” she asked, voice breaking.

He stepped forward without thought, pulling her into his arms. She’d never pushed for any sort of physical affection before and it was so clear she needed it, even if he wasn’t sure he was the best person to give it to her, even though he wanted to, wanted to hold her and never, ever let go. She wrapped her arms around his waist so tight, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as she let out a sob.

“Oh darling,” he said, hugging her tighter. He dropped his head so he could press his cheek to the top of her head.

“Please don’t let go,” she sobbed, voice muffled as her pressed her face to his chest. “Please don’t.”

She was practically begging—he’d never heard he beg for a thing, not even at the insistence of a barbed whip.

“I won’t, Lyth. I won’t,” he said, throat tightening.

He should. If he loved her as much as he told himself he did, he should stay far away from her, refuse to hurt her anymore.

“I just—it’s really you,” she cried and his stomach twisted at that. Would she wonder now, every time she saw him? Would she have to convince herself each time that it wasn’t a shape-changer looking to kidnap and torture her? Would she be afraid now, every time she looked at him?

“It’s really me. I promise it’s me,” he said, voice hoarse to his own ears.

“She smelled like sh-shit,” she sobbed, grip tightening on his shirt. Astarion let out a choked bark of laughter despite himself.

“She wh-what?” he asked, his voice catching in his throat.

“She smelled l-like rot and h-hate and I should have known it wasn’t you, but I didn’t realize until she stabbed me and I c-couldn’t m-move,” she cried, her whole body shaking. “I hate her, I hate her!”

“I hate her too,” he said, the words not enough for the loathing that seethed in his chest.

Why had it been her? Out of everyone they were traveling with, why had Orin had to take her?

“Mother used to d-do so m-much worse. It w-was nothing c-compared and I b-broke so easily,” she sobbed, the words almost torn from her. “I’m so s-stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Lyth. You know you’re not.”

“I am. I-I should h-have done b-better, I shouldn’t have f-fallen for it.”

“She tricked me too,” he said, tracing circles across her back in an effort to soothe her, or maybe he was just reveling in her closeness while he had it, before he somehow found the courage to do what was best for her. “She disguised herself as you to mess with us, before she delivered her terms. Everyone fell for it, Lyth. Well—not your dad. He knew right away.”

She looked at him, taking shuddering breaths, tears pouring down her cheeks. He tried to gently thumb them away, but they were just quickly replaced. He took a deep breath trying to ignore the pit in his stomach.

It wouldn’t get any easier. He knew it wouldn’t, not when he was a selfish thing, when the longer she stood in front of him, the more flimsy reasons to cling to her popped into his head.

“I don’t understand how you can stand to be around me, after what she did,” he said, voice small. He didn’t understand why she was clinging to him, how she could bear to hear his voice.

She just stared at him for a moment before hugging him tighter, squeezing her eyes shut as she pressed her cheek to his chest.

“Lyth, I don’t want you tormenting yourself to try and make me feel better about it—”

“I—I’m not. I told you, she still smelt like h-her when she was pretending. Y-you always smell nice, l-like rosemary and brandy and citrus. It m-makes me feel better, b-because I know it’s y-you. Y-you make m-me feel better.”

He couldn’t help but scoff at that.

“Y-you do, Star,” she said, chest still spasming with misery, face still hidden from him.

“How could I? Gods, Lythra—”

“You make me feel s-safe,” she said quietly. He let out a humorless huff, pulling out of her embrace as he pressed his fingers to his temples.

Something was wrong with her, something was so deeply wrong with her and he was despicable, because he wanted to ignore it, wanted to rejoice in the fact that she felt safe with him, that she didn’t want to run from him, that she hadn’t yet cast him aside. He wanted to keep her by his side, keep her with him always, even if he knew the only reason she’d stay was because she’d been so stupendously broken.

She’d have to be, to want him.

“I shouldn’t, Lyth—I should be the last fucking person that makes you feel safe.”

“No you shouldn’t! You didn’t do anything, it was Orin, I knew it was Orin—”

“I’ve hurt you so many times. And you knew I would and you let me. Even without what that Bhaal bitch did—how can you stand to be around me after how cruel I was to you? I’ve hurt you so badly and you just brush it off and you shouldn’t. Why do you let me, Lyth? Why do you keep letting me?”

He glared at her, breathing hard, furious at her for always just taking abuse and furious at himself for how he’d hurt her, but more because he was pushing her away like he should if he really loved her and not a single part of him wanted to lose her, could bear to. She stared back at him, lower lip trembling.

It was a long time before she answered, longer than usual, but he could see, now, when she was trying to put together he thoughts, trying to find the words she wanted.

“You don’t hurt me like that anymore. N-not like in the beginning, not on p-purpose.”

That only made him angrier. He wasn’t even sure if he was angry at her or himself anymore, he was just angry.

“You shouldn’t have let me in the beginning! You let me and I don’t understand it! I don’t understand why you always seek out pain!” he yelled.

His heart clenched as he watched fresh tears dripped down her cheeks, tears he’d caused. She hated being yelled at, it scared her, and he knew that and he’d forgotten, let his anger override everything, his rioting emotions.

“I know I’m broken, Astarion,” she said, voice hardly more than a whisper. “You don’t have to tell me, I know.”

He hated the desolation on her face, hated that he was making her feel worse right after Orin had spent a day and a half torturing her while wearing his face, but he was so angry—at her, at himself, at the miserable feeling of caring for someone after two hundred years of shit, and knowing he was only hurting her, he’d only keep hurting her.

She stared at him, trying to brush away the tears on her cheeks before she spoke again, curling her shoulders inward as she wrapped her arms around herself as if she was trying to hold herself together.

“I know you were using me in the beginning—I knew you were. But I was alone and scared and the others scared me more. I understood you—of course I understood you. I scraped out a living by working for murderous, conniving drow. I could predict what you would do, I could make sure you got what you wanted and as long as I was useful and seemed dangerous enough you’d watch my back instead of stabbing it. And I felt bad for you after that night you tried to bite me in my sleep. I didn’t want to, but I saw how he starved you and you had to eat vermin and I knew what that was like, I knew what it felt like to be that hungry that you’d eat anything, no matter how disgusting. And I was lonely and I liked when you’d come over and talk with me. You were funny and mean and you were broken too. And you were sweet to me, sometimes. I know it shouldn’t have made up for anything but—gods, Astarion, no one had been sweet to me in so long. And I was so scared after I died on the beach and I’d never been in so much pain and I couldn’t move—

“And you stayed. You stayed and held me and read to me to distract me from the pain and I would have paid whatever price you wanted to be treated so gently for a couple of hours. To not be alone. But you didn’t want anything and it wasn’t a game anymore and I’d hardly wanted anything more than to believe you when you said you wanted something real. I wanted it so badly. Gods—I loved being with you when it was real. You were patient when I needed it and sweet and you made me feel safe. I didn’t have to have my walls up all the time with you, I didn’t have to pretend not the be a fuckup, because for some reason you stuck around even when you found out.

“Maybe if I wasn’t broken I wouldn’t have put up with your shit in the beginning and I wouldn’t have felt like it was the safest option. But I also wouldn’t have gotten to know you—the real you, not the you you had to be to survive. You’re wonderful—you’re so wonderful. You’re kind and so thoughtful and loyal, and I like the person I get to be around you. You make me feel safe enough to be that person—to figure out who she is, even. You make me feel special and seen. You just—you make it so easy to fall in love with you when it’s you and not the mask. Maybe—maybe I’m stupid. Maybe I’m naive and broken and deluding myself. I don’t know. I just—I love you and that’s enough for me. I know now if you hurt me, it’s not on purpose. I know that you make me happy, that just being close to you, even if we’re doing our own things, makes me happy. I just—I don’t know, Astarion. I don’t know what you w-want,” she said, voice breaking right at the very end as she looked away.

Astarion stared at her for a long moment, trying to process it all. When he finally managed to open his mouth, all he managed was “You love me?”

She looked up to glare at him, more tears running down her cheeks. “Of course I love you, you idiot. I’ve loved you for ages.”

He just stared, only realizing just how long when Lythra dropped her gaze to the ground, her face crumpling. He should say it back, he knew, part of him wanted to but the words wouldn't leave his throat. He loved her, he knew he loved her—why couldn't he just say it? Why couldn't he tell her?

She had to know—she had to know how he felt, even if he couldn't manage the words. They were just words, even if they made his chest feel warm and light when she'd said them to him.

“Oh—please—please don’t cry. Hells—please don’t cry, godsdamnit all,” he said, gathering her back into his arms. She hung on tighter this time, as if she thought he was going to try and push her away again.

How was he supposed to do the right thing by her after that, when she loved him, when not once in all the reasons she’d given for ever liking him at all had been about his looks or anything objectifying, when he knew that sort of thing didn’t even occur to her as an important reason, even though he knew she thought him beautiful? How was he supposed to let her go when he loved her wretchedly, when she was the one person he’d truly cared for in all of his memory?

“Please don’t push me away,” she said, voice muffled by how she pressed her face to his chest, though it didn't disguise the waver, the way it sounded so small, so unsure.

She might as well have stuck pins through his heart. 

“I should, Lyth. You deserve better.”

“I want you. I just want you.”

He mad a face, wishing, for once, that maybe he was a little less selfish.

He hugged her tighter, combing his fingers through her hair in the way he knew soothed her, her body somehow still melting into his the same as it always had, even after everything. He tugged her over to a nearby stone bench, pulling her into his lap as he held her close.

She tucked her face into the crook of his neck and he could feel her breath against his skin, feel her breaths deepen and even out, nose pressed to the side of his neck, as if the smell of his cologne really was enough to soothe her, enough to assure her it was him, to differentiate between him and the horror that had tortured her.

He hoped it might be.

Previous Next

AN: If you enjoy reading my stories, please consider dropping a like or a comment. I really love interacting with people and it really keeps me excited and motivated to keep posting.

[jesusbutbetterrr]

This whole bone is the shin dear and I'm pretty sure you're tall enough to reach my knees.

So you're definitely more than an ankle biter to me

❤️

oh so close! that's actually the tibia, my vida

it doesn't matter how tall i am, i'll still bite you regardless <3

[lowes-official]

you devious little shin-biter

[ask-hermit-tommy]

Thanks. If you see a tall blond guy enter you can kick his shins.

*Puts him in the couch and goes get him something from the pantry.*

♠️- *Tall blond guy entering by the window.*

How could you say that Aurum!

+ Ankle Biter mode activated, he darts across to the blonde guy and start attempting to kick his ankles.

+ It's weak as fuck.

[frostbite-yinny]

@the-life-dew-project Hi! Maybe I shouldn't be sending this from the org account but I doubt my boss will mind LOL! Do you have any Pokemon you recommend for a Nurse Joy in training at the shelter? I'm looking to adopt. The only Pokemon I've ever had is my Chingling but I think I'm finally ready for another Pokemon!

Oh! I know this isn't a very original answer but we have a medical trained chansey and audino which we were trying to find a Pokemon center to send them to! It will be basically the same thing and having an experienced pokemon would definitely be great help for you! Not medical trained but we also have a female indeedee that could also be a great choice for a nurse in training;

Bubble Pop the Chansey; She is a perfect fit for any house or Pokemon center. She is especially great with younger one's that makes her a sought-after companion. The only reason she is here and not out in the field is her previous owner has been arrested. Just make sure to give her an Everstone if you don't want her to evolve, she is generally very friendly and warms up to people quite fast. I'm surprised she hadn't evolve yet XD

Shin Biter the Audino; Yes, you can easily get her used to a new name but that's what we call this little piece of shit. She is a great Pokemon and did well in her practical exams. But the problem? She is a little shit and likes to but peoples shins. He could be great but definitely needs some obedience training.

Balthasar the indeedee; I know showing a male indeedee to you confused you, but I can assure you even without training he would be a great nurse. He is regal just like his name and his loyalty is top-notch. He is level-headed, and calm if not a bit strict. He likes his space and can be introverted at times. He prefers to always walk around, whoever is up there forbid you make him run if he doesn't need to, with his head up and arms crossed. Truly a great Pokemon.

A few other Pokemon that could be suitable; Cottonball the eevee, Haze the musharna, Lloyd the sylveon (a little warning, since he is a friendship evo that has been dumped here he is very depressive and will surely be hard to warm up)