#that counts as a quarterstaff right

[mothsandbees]

Anyways I think it's so funny when ppl say that their tav was doing some mundane shit when they got wormed. Like my main guy got alien beamed up or whatever when he was doing groceries.

[vemaro]

how the tables have turned

Summary: “Are we seriously delaying our day so she can pleasure herself? Have you all lost your damn—”

He’s suddenly being yanked back by his shirt. On instinct, he pulls out a dagger, ready to attack, but Jaheira, the perpetrator, takes out her own and holds it at the ready. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, Little Star,” she says cheekily.

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (female Tav)

Word count: ~1800

Notes: Here I am on my day off wanting to write fluff and I end up writing about the whole Haarlep ordeal. That situation is bizarre and uncomfy, but full of so much angst. As per usual, this is written with the context of my AU, so Astarion and Tav aren’t actually together (yet) and this takes place within the context of the game plot. The vampy boy just got back from the ditching the posse in a hissy fit and discovers some disturbing changes.

…

“Rendezvous back here at the Elfsong when we’re all through, got it?” The party converges on the door of their suite, Tav at the lead, but just as it opens, she freezes. A tingle runs down her spine and a flush comes over her cheeks. No no no. Not now. Not again. “Oh no,” she mumbles before shoving her way past her friends and running straight to her bedroom. The door shuts with a resounding thud and a loud silence follows.

Karlach grimaces. “Fucking Haarlep,” she says, spitting the fiend’s name.

Astarion, who was at the back of the group, looks between Tav’s door and the tiefling. “What … was that about?”

No one gives him an immediate answer, but something about their silence feels off. He’s the only one who appears lost. In other words, they know something and they don’t want to tell him. Most likely as payback from when he left their group. Even he has to admit it’s somewhat warranted, but he’s here now, damnit. Then again, it’s been less than 24 hours since he came back.

Gale, unofficial second in command, awkwardly steps into the center of things. “Tav requires a, er, moment of privacy.” He clears his throat. “We should allow her that by going out and doing as she asked of us. Supplies won’t collect themselves.”

Astarion stares at the door. “But is she alright?”

The wizard falls silent once more, pointedly looking down at his boots and clearly done talking. Okay … Astarion can’t tell if he’s more annoyed by the situation or concerned for the person locked in the room. Fine. If they’re not going to provide him any information, he might as well get it from the source.

His expression must’ve given away his intention because Wyll grabs his shoulder before he can move. “Don’t, Astarion. Leave her be.”

“Don’t touch me.” He shrugs off the warlock's hand and continues on his way. Just as he touches the door knob, a noise escapes the room. A moan. A moan? And he knows that moan. He’s made people do it before. This—this can’t be right. He must be delusional. But then there it is again, a sound of ecstasy passing through Tav’s lips. “What in the fucking Nine Hells is going on in there?” he demands out loud.

Gale's face is bright red and he’s white knuckling his quarterstaff. “I told you she needed a moment,” he mutters, eyes pleading. “Now please kindly step away from the door.”

Astarion does move away from the door and gets right in his face. “Are we seriously delaying our day so she can pleasure herself? Have you all lost your damn—”

He’s suddenly being yanked back by his shirt. On instinct, he pulls out a dagger, ready to attack, but Jaheira, the perpetrator, takes out her own and holds it at the ready. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, Little Star,” she says cheekily.

As frustrated as he is, Astarion is in no mood to fight. Although he has apologized for his dramatic departure, he’s not so naive to believe everyone has entirely forgiven him. He stashes his knife and holds up his hands. “I yield.”

She snaps at the others. “You all have a job to do, don’t you? Shoo.” They all file out slowly, a couple of them tossing a final glance in Tav's direction. Once it’s just the Harper and the vampire, the former gestures signals for him to follow. “Come.”

He grits his teeth, but obeys. Jaheira leads him downstairs into the tavern. It’s still mid morning, so there’s not much business yet, only a handful of people sprinkled across the space. The pair bypass the bar entirely and find an empty table in a secluded corner. She sits down first then nods towards the empty seat. “Sit.”

Astarion doesn’t fancy being told what to do yet again. “Tell me now; are you actually going to explain or should I just walk away?”

In lieu of properly answering, Jaheira lets out a world weary sigh and instead asks, “You are aware that we now possess the Orphic Hanmer, yes?”

He rolls his eyes. Perhaps he should leave. “Yes, I’m aware. How is that relevant to this conversation?”

“You recall where it was being held?”

His patience is wearing thin. “The House of Hope; that devil, Raphael’s, domain. I was told you lot took care of him.”

“Indeed. Raphael was defeated by our hand when we tried to escape with the hammer,” Jaheira says plainly. “However, prior to that battle, there was an incubus, Haarlep. He agreed to help us, but it came with a steep price.”

He reaches for his dagger again. “Is he up there right now?”

She shakes her head. “No, fortunately not.”

“Then what are we even talking about?”

Jaheira has never been one to mince her words, something Astarion respected her for. So it isn’t a good sign if she hesitates before speaking. The elder woman clasps her hands together and rests them on top of the table. Still, she pauses first. “Haarlep gave us a code to a safe and the hammer in exchange for having his way with Tav.”

Astarion feels his stomach drop into the sewers. “What?” He bangs his fists on the table. “Why the hells didn’t you kill him?”

“Honestly, we weren’t around to stop it from happening,” she confesses. “Tav split off from the group at some point and by the time we found her, a deal was struck and the deed was done.”

He points towards the stairs. “That still doesn’t explain whatever that is.”

Again, she hesitates, which is very unsettling. “He is a shapeshifter, much like that bloodthirsty Orin girl. Whenever he uses Tav’s form to seduce someone, she can feel everything with her own body.” The High Harper scowls. “It seems he’s been using it quite frequently.”

Astarion comes to a horrific realization. He covers his face in shame for her and finally drops into the open seat. “So right now, he’s fucking somebody else as her?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. This is too much. This is too familiar. Cazador is dead. Cazador is gone. Astarion stabbed him himself. This isn’t even about him, it’s about her. That stupid, selfless woman. He always warned Tav that her acts of heroism and martyrdom would eventually bite her in the ass one day, but he never thought it would be something like this. This is so much worse. What was she thinking? Jaheira allows him some time to gather his thoughts. When he does, he lets his hands fall away. “And … how often does this happen?”

“If I had to guess, every few days.” She sighs yet again. “You know how she can be though. It could be more. It hasn’t happened during a fight.” There’s an implied yet that hangs heavily in the air.

By now, a few guests have started to trickle in. Their private conversation won’t be so private for much longer. “How is she? Really.”

Jaheira stands. “Well, with an incubus violating her body, a mind flayer invading her mind, and a vampire spawn who wished her dead, how do you think, Little Star?” She doesn’t give him the opportunity to answer. She just walks away and out the front door, leaving him to stew in his thoughts and emotions. Which can be perfectly summed up as what the fucking hells.

It doesn't take too long for the druid to descend the stairs. At the bottom, she scans the room and her eyes connect with a familiar red pair of eyes. For a split second, she breaks into the sunny smile she’s known for, but one look at his expression sours hers. Tav heads for the door.

“Tav!” Astarion scrambles up from the chair and chases her outside. “Wait!”

She does not wait. “They told you.” It’s not even a question.

He catches up and puts himself directly in front of her. “I was going to find out eventually.”

Tav starts stabbing him with her finger in the chest. “Hey, you don’t get to judge me. You weren't there and it was the only way that no one would get hurt and—”

He lets her do it. “Out of everyone here, I have the least right to judge you.”

She laughs, but the sound lacks any humor. “Out of everyone here, you’d have the most right to judge me.”

Astarion frowns at the accusation. “Why would I judge you at all?”

“Because I had a choice, and you didn’t.”

Technically, technically, she’s not wrong, but that doesn’t make this any less fucked up. “I’m not judging you, Tav.” Gods below, is this what it was like for her when she was trying to get him to open up? “Your body is being used in such a dirty, nefarious way against your will, the toll on your mind and body is unfathomable. I’m the only person here who truly understands that.”

“I’m fine.”

Her nonchalance on the subject is pissing him off, but a small voice (that sounds awfully close to hers) reminds him this isn’t about him. “No, you’re not.”

Tav crosses her arms. “You went through this for two hundred years. I’m not going to compare my tendays of discomfort to your literal centuries of torture.”

“By the Gods, Tav, it’s not a bloody pissing contest for trauma!” He wants to grab the druid and shake some sense into her. If the issue at hand was literally anything else, he would. “Whether it’s been happening for a day, a week, a month, or a thousand years, it’s a shit predicament for anyone.”

He notices her fists clenching and unclenching. She’s digging her nails into her palms. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s fine. I’m fine.”

That’s a lie, plain and simple, but he won’t push the subject any further. From his own experience being on the other side of things, specifically during their discussions, it made him dig his heels in the dirt and shut down. Ironic how the tables have turned. “Alright,” he concedes. “But if you ever need to talk, I’m willing to lend an ear.”

Tav closes her eyes, takes a very deep breath, and lets it out very slowly and loudly. When she looks back at him, she seems slightly less frazzled. “Thanks, but I’m—”

“Fine?” he says with a smirk.

She snorts. “I am.”

“Of course you are.”

With an unimpressed eye roll, she pushes him away in jest. “I am, for the millionth time. Now drop it and let’s go. We’re already running behind.”

“Coming, dear.”

As they walk side by side, Astarion can’t help but wonder when he became the emotionally mature one in their friendship. The one attempting to crack open the shell of the other person. Ugh, he fucking hates it. Being the petty and bitter one is much easier. And yet he wants to try to be supportive and open. For her.

The things you do for love, right?

…

Thanks for reading!

[medra-gonbites]

More than your Magic

A one shot chapter for @bloodweaveweek 2024

Day 4 | Sussur Bloom

Word Count: 948

SFW - Violence, Blood

Saying they were currently stuck between a rock and a hard place would have been quite an understatement. Rather between a flesh-eating bird and the trunk of a strange and dangerously high tree.

As the group was exploring the underdark, a mad drow had frantically ran towards them and had attacked unprompted. He had let out a sharp shriek summoning abominable bird-like monsters: talons like razors, beaks like arrowheads, blood thirsty and crazed: Diatrymas.

The battle had been fierce. The drow was dead, as well as most of his vulture familiars, but Lae’zel was unconscious. Shadowheart was prone on the cold earth below, fallen from the branch of the glowing tree that had become their fighting ground as they were desperately backing away from the last remaining enemy.

Gale stumbled on the wood and almost plummeted off, like the cleric had a moment ago. In front of him, Astarion was keeping the foe at bay, slashing and stabbing with agility and speed.

That was usually how it went during battle. Lae’zel and Astarion would rush forward, and the spell casters stayed at the back to work their magic and deal some damage remotely. Usually, the vampire would use the shadows to his advantage as opposed to Lae’zel more frontal approach. But right now there was nowhere to hide and Lae’zel could not help anymore. Astarion had to be the blade for the both of them.

He was covered in blood and his brow was damp with sweat. Despite his fearsome and vehement attacks, he was slowly losing ground, backing away ever so slightly with every offensive strikes of the bird.

Gale focused intensely. Flickering his fingers in the air, he enunciated an incantation that rang deep and distorted through the weave. Fire frizzled from the tip of his fingers before disappearing in a puff of smoke. The wizard hissed and shook his hand, an uncomfortable tingle coursing through his veins.

He reiterated the operation, changing spells: Electricity jolted from his palm and a bolt started to take shape before it disintegrated pathetically with a sad crack. The tingling sensation intensified. Gale could feel it spread through his arms and chest, ponding at the center of the orb. He looked around and realized with horror where they were standing.

The glowing blue of the bark. The honey-sweet scent of the bloom. The ominous buzz he could hear in the atmosphere.

Of course! How did he not see it before?

This was a Sussur tree. What more it was fully in bloom; its blossoms, potent magic suppressors and the blight of any weave wielder. A plant that rendered him utterly useless. For who was he without his magic? Just another random human, flawed and imperfect.

Gale gritted his teeth. He despaired over the loss of this one asset; just like that, he was thrown back to months before, prostrated in his tower, cut off from the weave and from the world, ready to give up on everything and everyone. He was nothing without magic. He was nothing without Mystra. And that was yet another proof.

A choked cackle pulled him out of his downward spiral and, as he looked up from his worthless hands, his heart jumped in his chest.

Astarion was propped on his elbow, the creature hovering over him. One of the needle-pointed talons was jabbed in the spawn’s thigh, nailing him to the wood and preventing him from crawling away. The beast pushed down on him, its jaws mere inches away from the vampire face in an attempt to peck his head off. Its beak was held open by the dagger that was jammed in there.

Gale did not think twice at the sight of Astarion’s distress. Magic be damned, he ran towards the monstrosity, firmly clenching his quarterstaff. The metallic pole whistled through the air as it twirled and swung into the skull of the beast with a mat thud, followed by a wet crack.

The winged monster cried before falling limp, tumbling off the shiny branch. With a violent thump, the body split open, impaled on a pointy boulder below. The rachitic wings twitched for an instant before stopping still, a last gargle echoing through the evernight of the cavernous area.

Gale almost dropped his staff. His arm was strained by the impact of the blow and he had difficulty closing his fingers around the shaft. He had never striked something so hard in his life.

He offered Astarion’s his other hand and pulled him back on his feet. The elf grimaced, trying to put weight on his wounded leg; he immediately flinched and Gale retrieved him before he could fall back. He grabbed the spawn by the waist and seized his wrist to propped him up around his shoulder, serving him as a clutch.

“Why Gale,“ Astarion mewled, despite the sharp ache in his thigh, “I did not know you could be so… brutal.”

“Neither did I…” The wizard chuckled.

As they were walking away from the treacherous tree, Gale felt as if something within him was flowing again.

He was relieved, of course, but he also felt something else. He looked at his stiff hand, cramped and sore, his finger frozen in the shape of a weird claw. Magic flickered once more from the pad of his fingers, but it was the unfamiliar pain he was proud of. He turned to Astarion, a new kind of pride blooming in his chest. He knew he would protect this man with all his might. Magic or otherwise.

“I’ll always have your back.” Gale whispered in the pointy ear next to him.

Astarion planted a gentle kiss on the wizard’s lips.

“I never doubted that, my sweet.”

[underdark-dreams]

[ch1] - [ch2] - [ch3] - [ch4]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.5

Ramazith's Tower undergoes a change in management.

Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff, Oral Sex, NSFW | Word Count: 5.5k [Read on AO3]

Rolan had fought battles with Tav before. So why did he feel such a pit of anxiety in his stomach?

Perhaps fighting gave him too much credit. The goblin camp’s ambush on the Grove, the ghouls descending on Last Light Inn the very morning after she’d returned his siblings to him…they’d never really battled side-by-side before. He’d always found himself somewhat on the backfoot around her. 

Today would change that, and there was no more time for those past missteps. Lorroakan could put up a stiff fight when crossed; he was sure to be irate at being denied the Nightsong.

Dame Aylin, Rolan reminded himself. She was a person, after all, not another relic for an archwizard’s hoard.

The Weave required his total and complete concentration this morning. Anything less might put Tav in danger, and that was unthinkable.

As such Rolan spared no thought for the morning’s customers and their tedious inquiries. Most he directed straight back to Tolna, to her clear annoyance���he could practically feel her silent glare on his back. His body moved through the motions of helping the rest, not caring how rude or addled they might find him. His mind whirred away far above the mundane.

Well-worn incantations trailed through his mind like a mantra. Each one that he knew by heart suddenly seemed worth practicing another dozen times.

With his thoughts caught in a loop, the minutes crawled by at an agonizing pace. The sun took an eternity to climb above the low structures of the outer city. Just as Rolan began to wonder whether Tav might have put off the conversation with her allies, the unmistakable signal appeared just as she’d promised. 

A blinding, comet-like streak blazed across the sky. 

Rolan’s pulse leapt into his throat as he stared up through the vaulted windows of Sorcerous Sundries. The silvery trail of it shone supernaturally bright, even against the cloudless blue of midday. Its path pointed toward the Upper City.

There was a chorus of exclamations from the customers within the building, some delighted and many terrified. A few ran out the front doors for a better look. Out in the courtyard, the troupe performing their unimpressive magic show turned tail and ran mid-demonstration.

“What in—” 

A fleck of something molten singed his wrist—Rolan shook it away with a flinch. The dwarf hawking conjurement scrolls had disappeared into thin air on his right, leaving his lava elemental to shamble untethered toward the open front doors. Its trail of superheated liquid spread perilously close to the nearby bookshelves and alchemy chests. Rolan aimed a cantrip at the thing, just barely pushing it back into its containment runes.

Tav appeared the very next instant. Dressed for battle now, she led her companions in a dead sprint through the front atrium of Sorcerous Sundries. Her longsword swung already drawn in her hand.

“Now!” Her eyes pierced Rolan’s as she dashed for the stairs.

Rolan threw his work aside. He dipped to grab his quarterstaff from under the counter, then took off for the staircase to follow Tav and her companions.

Those few seconds passed like hours in his head. In a flash, the scene waiting for them above streaked through Rolan’s mind. He knew Lorroakan’s magic better than anyone—why the hells hadn’t he prepared her better for what to expect?

“Take out his Myrmidons first,” Rolan said in a rush as they took the stairs two at a time. “They’re Weave bound—grant him resistance—”

Rolan couldn't tell if she was listening. “Tav!” He heard his own voice shouting, and gripped the metal plates on her shoulder before she could step to the portal. “Don’t go near him until they’re dust, understand?” All the subconscious reasons why he’d avoided fighting next to her before were flooding back to him.

“Yes,” she said in clipped tones, but she spared him a fierce glance sideways. “We’ve taken worse.”

This isn’t about you, this is about me and my weakness and how I will go absolutely fucking mad if anything happens to you—

He wanted to shake the words into her, but there was no time. Instead, Rolan cast without thinking. 

Just before her other leg disappeared into the swirling void, his hand directed a strand of Weave out toward her, wrapping her in defensive magic. He felt the telltale sap of energy in his chest and knew his spell had landed.

Pitiful consolation—but it was what he could manage. Rolan breathed in and shouldered his way through the portal behind her.

Already breathless and disoriented, it took him a moment to come to his senses on the other side. Rolan blinked against the bright Upper City sunlight filling the Tower before catching sight of his master on the far side of the dais.

Dame Aylin had beaten them here. Tav and her companions rushed to flank her shining wings—Rolan followed, trying to note the positions of Lorroakan’s waiting Myrmidons while catching the tail end of the aasimar’s rebuke.

“—one good reason, magus, why I should not strike you down where you stand!”

Aylin spoke like the ancient and powerful being she was; her words hit Rolan’s ears with the weight of some kind of dreadful prophecy. They would strike fear into any sane mortal’s heart.

Naturally, Lorroakan showed no such inclination to humble himself. He preened, belittled, outright lied to Aylin’s face about the glowing runes traced into the floor behind him. The man’s audacity made Rolan’s blood run hot. In this moment, he felt painfully ashamed that he’d ever called himself his apprentice. 

Clearly, Aylin was not one to suffer such fools so easily. “A liar and a thief, desperate to stretch his miserable life with the Moonmaiden’s blood. Heretic—” Her feet left the ground as she rose into the air, righteously angry, her wingspan spreading behind her to cast a shadow on Lorroakan’s face.

Lorroakan’s eyes turned pale and cold as he watched her, and Rolan recognized the look as the one he saw before a blow was struck. 

“A shame,” Lorroakan sighed, shaking up the cuffs of his robe. His gaze fell on Rolan. “Boy, mind the runes—if she won’t go willingly, then the cage must be ready to contain her.”

Even now he was too self-important to note that it was Tav’s shoulder Rolan stood beside, not his former master’s. A laugh of absolute pity rose in Rolan’s throat.

“You ungrateful hellspawn—” Lorroakan’s eyes widened with rage at the sound. “Stand against me, and you will die with the rest!”

Lorroakan’s hands made the gesture of summoning. Behind him, Rolan heard the four corners of the room surge to life as the Myrmidons woke for their master. Tav’s companions drew steel and shouted a flurry of protective spells.

Rolan took his stance and reached out for the Weave.

—

“Not in range—!”

Too late to heed Wyll’s shout of warning, Lae’zel’s greatsword sliced down into the flaming Myrmidon on the lower stair. A hellish whip of fire lashed out in response. She turned just in time, catching the brunt of it against her pauldron, but a lick of flame sliced her cheek. 

Uttering a harsh Gith warcry, she vaulted bodily around the thing to refocus on the icy elemental swirling its way toward Aylin, leaving the other for the casters to handle. Gale launched a volley of magic missiles into the column of fire she left behind. Wyll’s Eldritch blast landed after like a small explosion, bursting the thing into dust.

Tav sliced in frustration at her own target. Every time her longsword cleaved the stormy Myrmidon in two, it seemed to reform nearly as powerful. 

She cursed herself for ever underestimating a wizard as vapid yet as cunning as Lorroakan. He’d be easy to take down on his own; the problem was getting at him. 

Lorroakan was protected up to the fucking gills, wrapped in elemental power from each of the Myrmidons he controlled. Rolan’s warning echoed in her head—their only course was to pick them off, one by one, until the wizard stood on his own.

Aylin was doing her damnedest, slicing and searing the two elementals nearest Lorroakan with the ferocity of survival. Rolan flanked her superbly, casting back anything that got close on her greatsword’s upswing.

This fight is just as personal for each of them, Tav realized.

Catching her momentarily distracted, the air Myrmidon conjured a gust of air that buffeted her backwards. She wobbled and clenched her legs beneath her, trying to keep her footing on the now spill-slick carpet. The awkward position forced her to thrust her heavy sword forward for balance.

The Myrmidon directed a surge of sparking energy at her. Whether or not it was aimed to, the bolt struck her longsword like a whip crack—lightning skipped and leaped from tip to hilt and rushed straight up to her neck.

Her sword arm spasmed involuntarily, agonizingly, from shoulder to fingertips. The numbing jolt was followed by searing heat that tunneled to her very nerves—the smell of burning flesh emanated from under her arm plates. She was screaming in pain before she recognized her own voice.

A sound she instantly wished she could call back. Rolan’s figure wheeled in panic toward her, turning his back on the archwizard.

No, her lips formed silently. Burning agony forced her wordless to her knees, though she wanted to yell in frustration at her own stupidity. Too many things were happening too fast; Lae’zel flew past with her greatsword held forward like a pike, battering the air Myrmidon away toward the railing with a precise rush. Aylin’s wings beat in righteous anger behind her as she shook her head with rage—the moonbeam circling her swelled with power, incinerating two more Myrmidons on her left and right.

But all Tav could see was the red wizard’s face twisted into a snarl behind Rolan’s shoulder, recognizing an opening and preparing to seize it. She forced air back into her lungs. “Rolan!”

She thanked every god listening that he somehow understood. Rolan turned back even as the incantation formed on Lorroakan’s lips—but the apprentice was quicker than his master.

Thunderous force erupted from Rolan’s extended palms. Shockwaves reverberated out like hot gusts of wind from a furnace, ruffling through her hair where she slumped, pushing rivulets of blood and sweat across her cheeks. The spell carved its path out toward Lorroakan in a crashing wave; his boot heels skidded against the floor like a ragdoll pulled back by a giant imaginary hand. 

Then Lorroakan hit the railing behind him with a sickening crack and toppled feet-over-skull, joined by the crackling Myrmidon nearby that was just barely caught in the blast of Rolan’s spell.

There was the echoing shriek of the archmage himself, shrill and disbelieving, followed by the clatter and crash of metal and stone many meters below them. No doubt the crush of Lorroakan’s body was muffled by whatever it had collided with—no living thing could have survived a fall of that force.

The rest of her companions had paused the battle to watch Lorroakan’s fall, even Aylin herself. But then Tav realized that, in fact, it was over. Their final two opponents had just toppled into the abyss below; the rest lay crushed to dust on the floor of the Tower. 

“Merlin’s beard,” Gale remarked in wonder. He was peering down over the edge of the dais where Lorroakan’s body had tumbled along with his conjure. “Who taught you how to do that?”

“I did,” was all the answer Rolan spared. His boots were already splashing through puddles and ash to where Tav lay slumped on her side.

He knelt beside her with barely contained panic on his face. “Where is it, your arm? I should have—” Rolan was casting around, clearly trying to conjure up some knowledge of healing magic.

The raw skin below her shoulder was throbbing and hot-wet with what she knew was blood; her tunic chafed like steel against sinew with the slightest movement. With effort, she unclenched her teeth enough to speak. “My p-pack—”

Rolan pushed away from her to where she’d dropped her belongings. Though turning her neck hurt far too much, she heard the clinking of bottles as he urgently rifled through it.

He knelt close beside her again, and his thumb uncorked the potion with one sharp nail. The taste was like honeyed wine as Rolan tipped it past her lips. She could feel the bloody skin of her arm sealing back together and unsticking from her tunic. Then a wave of calm swept the pain away with such force that her vision tunneled for a moment.

Her eyes cleared to land on Rolan’s face. All at once her chest was squeezed with guilt. He was the one whose whole world had just shifted on its axis in the space of a morning. He shouldn't have to nurse her just because her lapse in focus almost got her killed.

She pushed herself back to her feet without success. For a moment she feared that her muscles were permanently broken, but then she realized Rolan’s hand on her shoulder was holding her firmly to the carpet.

“Stay put,” he instructed sternly. “Give yourself a moment.”

“I'm fine,” she insisted. Her eyes traveled over him instead, checking for injuries. A cursory glance reassured her.

“Stop worrying about me—” Rolan was scowling at her in a way she found strangely comforting. “You’re the one who nearly lost an arm.”

She twisted said arm out from under her side, waving it experimentally to and fro until her shoulder plates jangled. “Still attached. See?”

“Only because—” Rolan cut himself off with an impatient huff. Before she knew it, his hands notched under her arms, and he hoisted her to her feet with surprising strength. He kept his grip there until she’d caught her balance.

Aylin swept toward the two of them, wings spread slightly behind her with the flush of victory. But the shine in her eyes was duller than Tav expected.

“Well fought,” she praised them nevertheless. “Both of you. I did not expect you to turn on your master so readily—” Aylin leveled her gaze down at Rolan. “But you proved yourself up to the challenge.”

Rolan dipped his horns to her slightly. “Lorroakan was never my equal in magic, let alone my superior. His plans for you only proved his utter foolishness. And his cruelty.”

“Then you are already wiser than he,” Aylin declared. “I am heartened to hear it. Perhaps you make a worthy consort for my steel-hearted friend after all.”

“Glad you approve,” Tav grimaced, praying none of the others had heard that. Beside her, Rolan coughed in a way that sounded strangely like a cover for laughter.

The subject seemed to amplify Aylin’s weariness, however—with a few parting words she flew the Tower to return to Isobel. Gale was at Tav’s shoulder in the next instant, and she could already read his face.

“I know, I know…Annals of Karsus,” she filled in with a sigh. Just once, she did wish for a moment to catch her breath. 

Gale at least looked apologetic. “More urgent than ever, I’m afraid.”

Rolan regarded the other wizard with sudden suspicion. “You’re researching Karsite magic?”

“To fight the Absolute,” Tav explained wearily. “Listen, I’ll tell you ev—”

“We may need Astarion’s help,” Gale interrupted in a single-minded rush, “unless there’s a path past the vault defenses.”

“Don't look at me.” Tav turned to look at her Tiefling. “Rolan’s the Master of Ramazith’s Tower now.”

Her own words sent a shiver down her back. Rolan seemed to feel something similar; he straightened his shoulders to his full height as they looked at each other.

“If it can help, take it,” Rolan decided. He unclipped a small rune hanging at his belt and tossed it into Gale’s hands. “Give that to Tolna, she’ll disarm the route for you.”

The shift in power seemed to ripple around the room like a tangible thing. Even Lae’zel, who had been standing on the sidelines in disinterest at the subject of magery, was drawn in. She cocked her head in her birdlike way.

“This is how the archwizards of Faerûn choose their successor? Whichever apprentice defeats their master in combat?” She jerked her chin. “Barbaric,” she added, decidedly approving of the practice. 

“That’s…” Gale raised a finger as if to counter, then took a rare pause. “We’ll discuss it on the way,” he finished.

In the same breath, the two of them headed for the portal and the vault below. Tav glanced to Wyll, who gave a nod of understanding and followed the others. She and Rolan were left standing alone in the middle of the Tower’s main floor.

The two of them glanced around in silence for a long moment. Under her boots, the fine carpets squished with a mixture of ice-melt, spilled sublimates, and shards of glass from shattered alchemy equipment. The stairs on all sides were dusted with piles of ash from destroyed summons. Early afternoon sunlight streamed in cheerily through the windows, as if unaware of the carnage that had just filled the place moments before.

“Nice place you have here,” she joked weakly. 

Rolan didn’t answer her. His face was tilted up toward the towering bookshelves rising to the ceiling. Abruptly, he walked up the stairs to one and plucked a random volume from the shelf. Then he let its spine slowly fall open in his hands. 

She followed after him with curiosity. There must be significance to the gesture, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

“I can read them,” he said down to the page, so low it was difficult to make out. “Every book in this tower…I can finally read them all.”

“You couldn’t before?” A unique form of torture for a mind like Rolan’s. Already, Tav was hit with another strong wave of satisfaction that Lorroakan was dead—a feeling she suspected would return many times over the next weeks and months.

“Cal’s going to love this,” he added with enthusiasm, replacing the book and tracing along the other titles. “This is the best library for leagues—not just books on spellcraft, memoirs and poetry too—”

“And Lia will love that the bastard’s dead.”

That made Rolan let out a laugh, his fang-like teeth glinting bright and sharp. He was handsomer than ever when he was happy like this. Without thinking, she leaned to plant a besotted kiss on his cheek. 

Rolan let out a satisfied hum and took her hand in response. She allowed herself to be gently pulled behind him as he headed for a delicate staircase spiraling upward against the north wall.

“Where are we going?”

“Not sure,” Rolan answered truthfully. “But there must be a bath up here somewhere. We’re both a mess.”

Even without glancing down at herself, she knew he was right. Blood and sweat and ash had soaked through the seams of her armor to coat unpleasantly over her skin.

They passed up several flights, up through floors Rolan remarked he’d never seen before. They included what must be an artificer’s workshop, filled with half-built metal constructs. Eventually they reached what was clearly the previous owner’s chambers. A massive four-poster bed stood against the far wall, rounded with arched windows overlooking the city. 

Tav felt a visceral urge to turn and leave the place immediately. But Rolan was surprisingly impassive, leading her with curiosity toward a small door in the corner. It swung forward with a touch, and they both blinked against the brightness as it latched behind them.

The room’s four walls were close-set but cavernously tall. Sunlight streamed in from the narrow windows many floors above, softly reflected by the pale polished marble of the walls. The space was nearly bright as day as a result. 

From some high point that her eyes refused to focus on, a sheet of water descended silent and smooth like the surface of a flat bubble. It seemed to flow straight into the marble tiles under her feet without a sound. Behind the shimmering surface an enormous soaking tub was built into the floor.

Intrigued, Tav shook off the gauntlet on her free hand and reached her bare fingers through. The water flowed quietly around them, closing back into a uniform sheet below as it disappeared into the floor. When she withdrew, it took her weary mind several seconds to reconcile the fact that her fingers were completely dry.

“Ramazith’s magic,” Rolan mused beside her. He was inspecting the flow of water above as though he could see the structure of the spell beyond it. Something beyond where her eyes could reach.

“You can tell one wizard's magic from another’s?”

“If you're familiar with their work. Ramazith’s research on conjuration is famous. When I was quite young, I dreamt of learning it from the man himself.” 

She watched Rolan’s face glass over slightly, and for a moment he looked very far away. Then his eyes flicked to hers. “He never wrote me back,” he explained simply. 

A memory that would do no good for him to dwell on now. She released Rolan’s hand instead, and began loosening the ties of her plate armor. 

They undressed beside each other without speaking. The only sounds were the echoes of metal falling against marble as she shed each section of armor to the floor. Rolan’s layers were much faster to make work of; when he was down to just his trousers, he turned her around to undo the tricky buckles behind her neck and shoulders. 

Eventually all of their clothes lay discarded in piles around them. She shook her hair down around her face, feeling strangely shy—not because of Rolan, but at standing covered in blood and grime in the most lavish and spotless bath she’d ever seen. She quickly passed under the quiet sheet of enchanted water, and Rolan followed.

When Tav’s dry feet met the bottom of the basin, steaming water poured up rapidly from the carved stone itself and pooled well above her knees. She sank down into it with a grateful sigh, letting the water’s surface graze her chin. It was heavenly.

“Did I mention I love you,” she groaned, eyes closed.

“I can always stand to hear it again.” Water rippled against her neck, and then she was being drawn back against Rolan’s ridged chest. She settled contentedly against him and folded his arms around her own. 

Soaking her worn muscles in a hot bath, feeling Rolan’s ribcage rise and fall steadily against her back—it was enough to feel utterly at peace for a moment. The steam rising around them was lightly scented with something fresh and herbal. 

Balsam, she realized, which would account for the speed at which her aches and pains were dissolving away. The thought brought back a memory that made her smile to herself.

“You told me once that I smelled like balsam.”

“It’s always reminded me of you,” Rolan agreed, his voice humming between her shoulder blades. “Why is that?” He added, curious.

“Cheap way to patch yourself up,” she said. “We needed a lot of patching up in those days.”

Rolan settled her more comfortably on his lap. “I remember the first day we met. You were absolutely plastered in goblin blood from head to foot.”

“And I remember the look on your face…you were absolutely appalled,” she laughed, leaning her head back against one of his shoulders.

“It was quite shocking.” Rolan’s hands traced her arms under the water. “But sexy, in a way.”

“Is that what does it for you?”

“Yes.” Not bothering to deny it, he leaned down to kiss the juncture of her neck.

“Interesting,” she mused. “Maybe I should get into fights more often.”

“Though I admit, I much prefer you like this.”

“Naked in your bath, you mean?”

“Precisely.”

She turned with a laugh, straddling his legs to sit facing him. It came as only a mild surprise to find the old bruises on his face had faded away from the medicinal steam. Rolan rested his hands on her hips under the water, gazing at her from under his lashes with those flame-gold eyes. 

She carded her wet fingers through his hair, tugging out its leather tie on the way. “You’re going to be absolutely insufferable about this, aren’t you.”

“About what?”

“All of it,” she answered, reaching past him for a bar of soap and lathering it between her hands. “Having your new tower all to yourself—” She massaged the lather into his scalp, dipping his head back slightly to better soak his hair. “Being Master Rolan now—”

Rolan closed his eyes with a deep inhale, letting her tug his head this way and that as she gently scrubbed at his wet hair. “Please don’t call me that around other people.”

“Why?” She asked, working her fingers up from his nape to back behind his horns. “You don’t like it?”

“I like it too much,” Rolan clarified, and though he kept his eyes shut, she thought his cheeks were flushed a deeper burgundy than usual.

“Ah.” She tugged his wet hair back a bit rougher than was necessary, dipping to nibble on the tip of one of his pointed ears. “So what you’re saying is, definitely call you Master Rolan when Cal and Lia come to see the Tower—”

With a splash that almost certainly soaked their clothes on the floor, Rolan flipped their bodies to land her up on the edge of the bathtub, back pressed against the cold marble of the wall.

“Insolent woman.” Rolan slung one of her calves up over his shoulder. Before she could catch her breath, his mouth descended hot between her legs.

With a gasp that echoed around the space, her head fell back against the wall. She clutched a fist into his wet hair, panting as the flat of his tongue smoothed up and parted her folds. “Fuck, Rolan—”

He only gripped her hips tighter in response to his name, sharp claws dimpling into her wet skin, tilting her up and open for his exploring tongue. When he plunged it between her folds and licked a curling shape upward inside of her, the tip of his nose brushing her clit, she groaned and shook against him and clenched her knees around his face to keep him there. He lapped at her eagerly in response, slinging her other leg up across his shoulder to join the first.

Seated against him for balance, she found her own very much thrown off. She clutched both his horns to steady herself, panting at the way his tongue swirled over her.

When the tip of his tongue hit her clit, she keened and arched her back into his mouth. “Right there—Gods—”

Rolan groaned involuntarily at the way she gripped his horns and ground herself against his face, seeking more of his hot and eager tongue against her peak. The sound only sent another shuddering wave of stimulation to her core. 

His fingers gripped her with bruising force now as she rocked herself against his mouth, tugging his horns with an insistence that only seemed to spur him on. One of his hands curled over her wet thigh to use thumb and forefinger to spread her open. As he did, his lips closed over her clit to roll her in circles with his tongue.

Tav’s legs clutched and spasmed around the dagger points of his ears. Her balance nearly slipped against the wet stone under her—Rolan firmly pressed her back against the wall, holding her steady as she twitched and came under his mouth.

Shaking and off-balance, she leaned completely into his grip as waves of release clenched through her belly. Hot tears of sudden relief rolled down her cheeks, and she scrubbed a hand across her face before he could see them. Her other hand held tightly onto the ridged curve of his horn.

When she finally floated back down to her body, Rolan had slipped her legs down back into the warm water. He kissed a gentle path across her stomach, where the muscles of her core still ached and fluttered from her climax. The loose ends of his hair tickled her inner thighs.

Limp and spineless, she let her body slide back under the water to coil sideways on Rolan’s lap. Her chin landed heavily over his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. A handful of warm water was poured over the crown of her head. In the back of her hazy mind, she realized he was quietly washing her hair for her in turn.

To her embarrassment, more tears streamed down her cheeks, rolling to patter against his shoulder. She hoped he couldn't tell the difference from the rippling bathwater. When a snuffle caught in her throat, she knew she’d given herself away.

“I'm so—tired—” She choked out, feeling very foolish for ruining such a rare lovely moment in a lovely place. But the tears still leaked out the corners of her eyes. 

“Then stay here and rest a while,” Rolan told her, his nails gently scrubbing her scalp. He sounded remarkably unbothered by her reaction.

“I can’t,” she groaned into his shoulder. “I have so much to do—the Vault—”

“Maybe I can help,” Rolan replied, resolutely dumping more trickles of water to rinse out the soap. “For one thing, why in hells do you need a book on Karsus?”

Tav squeezed her eyes shut; she felt a jumble of words boiling up in her chest. 

“Rolan…the Absolute is actually a giant, ancient, angry Elder Brain chained up deep under the city. And Gale thinks it’s wearing the Crown of Karsus, and that’s how Ketheric and Gortash and Orin are managing to control it, with these Netherese stones…only now Ketheric’s dead and we have his stone, so the containment’s breaking. And it’s going to go free and absolutely lay waste to the Sword Coast unless we get to it first.”

Rolan was very still against her as everything poured out. Then his fingers smoothed her wet hair back. “That doesn’t sound like a problem we can solve today,” he said decidedly. 

“But I have—”

“Tav.” Rolan’s arms drew her away firmly. Unable to escape his gaze now, she nevertheless hung her head, ashamed for him to see her red-faced and weeping like a child. “You’re making mistakes. You nearly got yourself killed just now. If I hadn’t put mage armor on you, you might’ve lost your sword hand.”

She stared up at him. “But that spell doesn’t work if you’re wearing plate,” she blurted out.

“That’s not the—” He shook his head impatiently, as if she was changing the subject on purpose. “The point is you can’t help anyone if you’re dead. And if you keep going like you have been, you might get yourself that way. Do you understand?”

He let her lean forward to rest her cheek against his shoulder. “You’re one to talk,” she mumbled, feeling rather defeated nonetheless.

Rolan wrapped an arm around her back. “It’s not easy to ask for help,” he agreed quietly. “But there’s no need for you to do this alone anymore. It’s reckless, for one thing. And you have allies.”

She kept her face tucked against his neck, feeling his pulse against her lips, and thought on it.

“Do you think I’m weak?”

“What?” She raised her head to look at him. “Rolan, you’re…you’re honestly one of the most determined people I’ve ever met.”

Rolan examined her expression for a moment. One of his hands worried little circles into her back underneath the water. “I haven’t felt that way,” he told her. “I’ve felt stupid and ashamed for weeks. After everything, when you came to the city—” His voice broke slightly, and he looked up at the ceiling to continue. 

“I didn’t want to see you. I didn’t want you to see me. After all the times you’ve helped me and my family, I couldn’t bear for you to see me at my worst all over again. It was painful,” he decided. His gaze tipped back to meet hers. “And now it’s better. You’re strong, and you’ve helped me. So let me help you, Tav. It doesn’t make you weak.”

She leaned in to kiss him. Hands through his hair, she pulled his mouth against hers, pressing their lips firmly together.

When they broke apart, she kept Rolan’s jaw held between her hands. A trickle of water ran from his hair down across his temple. 

“I’m absolutely in love with you,” she declared.

As she watched, Rolan’s damp and freckled face split into a charming grin, the sharp tip of one fang notching over his lip.

“I know.”

[marthawrites]

Congratulations on your follower milestone! I humbly approach with my begging bowl to request Aemond + voyeurism - please and thank you!

ABSOLUTELY, DADDY 💖 I hope you like it!

A Dragonkeeper's Secret

Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 2.2k+

About: After being disappointed by a fellow dragonkeeper, an event in the dragonpit makes you think: perhaps not all men are disappointing.

Includes: Porn with plot. Explicit sexual content featuring voyeurism, exhibitionism, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, clothed sex, public sex

Note: Hello lovely reader! Reader is a hoe and Aemond is a hoe in this. Fight me 🤗 As always, please enjoy!

-

Helaena, for as long as she could remember, preferred to have Aemond's company in the dragonpit over any dragonkeepers. It was no surprise to see the royal siblings enter unannounced, nor was it surprising to not see them depart for another couple of hours.

The two kept mostly to themselves – Aemond moreso – while Helaena entertained conversation and questions about Dreamfyre. The princess and her dragon had a bond unmatched by many in the Targaryen ancestry. During such a conversation with a dragonkeeper, Aemond touched his sister's elbow in a silent goodbye before wandering off on his own accord. 

Training with Ser Cole often had the young prince sore. Between the various exercises, routines, and spars, fatigue settled into his muscles. Truthfully, it wasn't entirely unpleasant and he enjoyed feeling his dexterity and strength grow. Walking felt good. The quiet of the dragonpit's cavernous hallways had his body and mind relaxing.

Minutes passed uneventfully and Aemond's thoughts began to wander to things of less importance. That's when hushed voices, a man's and a woman's, caught his attention. He squinted suspiciously and padded on silent feet in the direction of whatever was happening.

Giggles, shuffling, and panting breaths? What in the…

Perfectly hidden, he peaked around until he had a clear line of sight as to what was causing the commotion. 

Beneath torchlight, you and a male dragonkeeper were aglow in the act of undressing. You helped push aside his layers of clothing until they hung open and loose on his shoulders. He did the same to you too, and his much larger hands wasted no time in greedily squeezing and toying with your breasts. Your spine arched, pushing your mounds further into his attention, and your mouth parted with the sweetest sounds. The man's mouth closed around one of your peaked nipples; greedier than his hand.

A silent smirk pulled on the prince's lips. He could have your quarterstaff for this. He could have you revoked from your duties as a dragonkeeper for your blatant debauchery. 

Never, in all of Aemond's years wandering the dragonpit, had he ever seen something like this. He didn't know to be shocked, horrified, or embarrassed. He watched, partially stunned and wholly enchanted, as you and this other man became more heated. Surely it had to be a rushed affair. How long had you two been doing this in secret? How long did it take to find the courage to fuck right here, while in the middle of duties, where anyone might stumble and see? Whatever the case, Aemond couldn't look away.

Then, almost as quickly as it started, it seemed to end. Did you even fully couple? If so, it couldn't have lasted more than a couple strokes at best.

Your pretty brow furrowed as you whispered angrily at the man who so rudely disappointed you. You gave the center of his chest a push so you could knee him out from between your legs. Standing, you glared up at him before shaking your head with a short unamused laugh. 

The man's voice, hushed and curt, snapped back at you. It appeared his pride, ego, or something else, was wounded by whatever you said. Aemond couldn't quite tell, but he swore he saw an angry flush color the man's face and neck.

A strip of the full front of your naked body was exposed, and Aemond, still hidden, gawked appreciatively. You were lovely. It didn't last long, however, for you were quick to cover yourself. 

Whatever happened was an obvious disappointment.

It was as if you felt the prince's cold long stare from across the rocky corridor: hair prickled to life on the back of Aemond's neck and before he could move out of your line of sight, you saw him. 

A myriad of emotions ran through him at once and they all canceled each other out until he was merely standing there, frozen. 

Shit shit shit. 

Almost as quickly as you saw him (it was Aemond, right? No way it was someone else. He had distinct features unlike anyone else) he was gone. You blinked. That spot was so empty and quiet, now, you might have witnessed his ghost. 

You were frozen too. Yet, still, a thrill danced up and down your spine.

-

The following days were somewhat of a blur. Dragonkeeping, on a good day, could be dangerous, and when you mixed that with the inability to shake off the sensation of being watched, it created a thick air of tension. You'd seen Aemond and Helaena three more times. 

Each time you were around him excitement bubbled in your stomach. Lingering gazes, darkened eyes, and smooth quiet words of "good job", "Dreamfyre seems to like you too", and "the best dragonkeeper around", had your belly and heart fluttering. Accidental hand touches lead to, surely, purposeful touches, and when you brushed away some ash from his chin and shoulder, you were utterly amazed to see the pretty purple of his eye shrink to a void. 

When you saw him the next day he didn't grace you with praises. Instead he tutted, words sharp as the dagger around his waist, as he said, "the saddle strap would fail in that position. Are you daft, girl?" He yanked your wrist away from where you were fastening the saddle for princess Helaena's ride, eye bright with fury. Your bodies were close now, much closer than they had ever been before. He smelled like smoke and spearmint. Blood rose to your face.

"I would have seen it before leaving, Aemond. Leave the poor dragonkeeper alone. Mistakes happen," Helaena’s gentle voice came from where she prepared on the opposite side of Dreamfyre.

"This little acolyte needs to be reminded of the dangers of ill-positioned saddles. Come." The tiny smirk he wore could be sarcastic or threatening or a dozen things between. His hand pushed against the small of your back, guiding you away, his touch burning through your attire.

Once away from any listening ears you turned your head over your shoulder to eye the prince suspiciously. "Are you always such a creep? Stalking around corners, looking where you shouldn't, and leading innocent girls away?"

He laughed. "You are far from innocent," he said knowingly, pushing you into an alcove. "Are you too busy being wanton to know how to properly secure a princess' saddle?" Fingers curled around the back of your neck and he tugged your hair to make you look up at him. "All that neediness only to be disappointed by a fellow acolyte's incompetence."

A surprised gasp escaped your lungs. He looked down his nose at you, soft mouth curled into a cruel smile. The hard angles of his face made you want to punch him as much as they made your belly tighten with desire. "So you are always a creep."

"Mayhap if you weren't panting like a bitch in heat I wouldn't have heard you," he mocked as his grip tightened in the hair at the base of your skull.

An inward breath hissed between your teeth. Despite the dull ache, mischief danced behind your features. "You sound jealous, my prince. Did you like what you saw?"

"Hardly," he replied easily. "More like secondhand embarrassment. 'Tis would be a pity to have a broken cock."

Speaking of, you could feel his pressing between your bodies. Goosebumps trailed up and down your skin. Was this really happening? Your chest rose and fell with noticeable breaths, your pupils expanding with each passing moment. "In my experience men are quite disappointing." Taunts were coming slower to your tongue, now.

Aemond's grip eased. That same hand moved forward across your jaw until the tips of his fingers brushed along your lips. "Do you think he'd come if he heard your pretty little moans again?"

You'd had a secret crush on the young prince since the first time you saw him, and you couldn't believe this was happening. You looked up at him with a mixture of pleading and impish delight. "Let's find out."

In this particular alcove there were natural ledges along the walls, and Aemond wasted little time in urging you to sit atop one. His slim hips fit easily between your thighs. Your heartbeat lowered to your core; excitement buzzing your mind as if intoxicated from wine.

"Since your little show I've hardly been able to think of anything else. Are you always so brazen? It's like you knew I was there watching," he said, warm breath fanning the flyaway hairs by your ear. Teeth nipped your delicate lobe and you gasped as more goosebumps tickled across your skin. "The dragonkeeper who makes my cock ache."

"My prince…," you whined, arching your soft chest into his lean torso.

"Mmh… that's what I thought," he said. 

In a fumbling display of desperation, he opened the front of your acolyte garb as you worked open the front of his Targaryen blacks. He freed your breasts and sighed in satisfaction at the sight of them, the feel of them, thumbs grazing over your pebbled nipples. One wide hand splayed down the front of your belly until he met the waist of your bottoms. He unlaced them. "Lift your hips," he said, already beginning to tug the material down. 

"Need you, Prince Aemond," you whispered, reaching to work his belt open.

He didn't stop you, and while you opened his tunic he pulled your bottoms down your thighs. "Such a needy little thing…," he cooed darkly as he eyed your exposed cunt. Evidence of your arousal glistened on your folds and it sent his cock twitching. "Fucking soaked."

There was no hiding it. You were. A blush of half embarrassment burned your cheeks. "Are you gonna keep talking or do something about it?" You taunted with a smirk and bite of your lip.

In answer, he traced up your slit to work your slippery clit. When you gasped and tilted your head back, he took advantage of the gesture and nipped tiny bites all along the exposed curve of your neck. He continued working your bud until it was nice and swollen beneath his attention. "Filthy girl. Shuddering and moaning for all but a stranger. Let's see how many fingers you can take."

You kicked your legs until your bottoms were hanging off one ankle, the fabric partially pooling on the dirty ground as Aemond sunk a finger into you. One was so easy. He crooked it inside your walls even easier. You choked on a gasp, practically hiccuping at the sudden sensation. If that didn't feel good enough, he added a second and that's when your body instinctively clenched around him. Soft moans filled the air around you.

"Fuck… look at your cunt. Watch, girl, see how you take these? Think you can take a third?" He flexed his wrist, thumb circling your throbbing bud, and increased his pace and pressure. Lewd wet sounds accented your moans.

Pressure and pleasure alike built in your core and you were embarrassingly close to peak already. Where you were taunting before, now you could only babble half coherent whimpers. You watched his fingers disappear into you over and over, shiny with your arousal.

Perfect. Just how Aemond wanted you.

"Mm… think I'll save that stretch for my cock." He continued to drive those two digits in and out of you – curling and pressing along all your right spots – while using his free hand to open the front of his trousers. Fully freed, now, he could return his undivided attention to you. 

"Shit… you're so big," you managed to say between breaths, excited eyes wide as his length bobbed with the force of his finger fucking. The growl in his throat at your praise was the final kindle that sent the embers of your belly to a roaring blaze. Lovely white bliss overtook you. Your spine flexed, nipples hardened, and cunt spasmed around his fingers through your orgasm.

Aemond pulled out of you and you barely had time to miss him before he lined his swollen cockhead to your opening. He planted his feet firmly into the ground and thrusted forward, wholly spearing you in half. Curses trembled from both of your mouths as your body yielded to his. "Perfect little cunny," he groaned. He gripped harshly onto your hip, palming and squeezing one of your breasts in the other.

The view of his length sliding in and out of you, along with his rough touch, was enough to send a second orgasm tickling the base of your spine. "Gods! Aemond! I'm… I'm close again," you whined, desperate and pitiful.

That same cruel little grin from before filled his angular face. "Be a good girl and come all over this cock."

And you did.

He didn't relent. He fucked you through it until you were sure you saw stars. Everything else aside from him, and where your bodies joined, disappeared from your mind. Only him. 

Right before climax made him incapable of forming a coherent thought he pulled out of your depths. A powerful wave of throbs sent the entirety of his manhood twitching, and he released ropes of spend all over your belly and thighs. He panted. Sweat beaded along his brow.

"Next time…," he started, voice thick, as he gripped your jaw to turn your attention outside of the alcove. "Let's give him a closer view, hm?" He quirked a pale brow before turning his head over his shoulder, glaring triumphantly at the bystander who witnessed at least some of the tryst.

You couldn't find a single care to give as you smirked breathlessly at the fellow dragonkeeper who disappointed you so.

"Please, my prince."

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow and/or reblog and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! After writing this there's a high chance I'll revisit voyeurism and Aemond being a creep in the future 🤭

Masterlist

Taglist: to be added or removed please let me know!

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @targaryenbrainrot @ruby-dragon @silverwinged @chompchompluke

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @sahvlren @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @teamaemond @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @okfashionista

[akindofmagictoo]

DRAGONSONG: draft 2 update: 14/09

previous word count: 106,694

current word count: 107,466 (772 added)

notes: still chipping away :)

snippet:

“We should barricade the tower door,” said Sierra. She held an armful of quarterstaffs and spears, clearly taken from the dead knights around them. “It might buy us some time.” “That door opens inwards,” said Meg. “And no one designs a tower that lets your enemies lock you in.” “Well, what about where they got in in the first place?” said Caleb. His arm had been bandaged, and though he looked nervous, he seemed steady on his feet. “The back door, if you like.” Sierra shook her head. “That door’s splinters and sawdust. No point.” Isi swallowed. “Meg, take Caleb to the right tower. It should still be ours.” “And just hope no one else follows us through here?” said Meg. It was Caleb who said, “Yes.” His eyes were fixed directly on Isi. Hope will keep me fighting, whispered Isi’s own voice in her mind. “If it becomes a problem, then we can deal with it then,” Caleb continued. “But there is nothing we can do now.” “Hope isn’t gonna stop them.” Sierra dropped her collected wood with a clatter. Caleb shook his head. “If they decide to come, hope won’t stop them. But we don’t know that they’ll come. And no matter what they throw at us, if we give up hope, we will die.” A smile touched the corner of his mouth. “As a wise woman once said to me, hope will keep us fighting.” He was right. Isi knew he was right; she had said it to him first, after all. Earlier that day, it might have stirred something with in her. But here and now, with her hands slick with blood and her shoulders weighed down by death, she was too cold and numb to agree.

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[theconstellationprincess]

More Gale! And Astarion! This once is sadder, just as a heads up!

///

The days seemed increasingly longer the more time they spent traveling, though Gale knew that the sun rose and set within the same 24 hour parameter. His lungs burned as they continued their hike through the mountain pass, huffing breaths that seemed to have no effect on the pain. This was a downside to being the only human in the group, and also to having lived as a hermit for quite some time before their adventure, his stamina was low, lower than everyone else in their lovely little party. Astarion didn’t even need to breathe!

He felt tears well up in his eyes, the result of frustration and embarrassment, and struggled to blink them away. Sweat coated his forehead, despite the rather cool temperature, and he found himself drifting closer to regression. Gale shook his head, he couldn’t deal with that right now, not while everyone was already being burdened by him. He didn’t want to layer another inconvenience upon them, especially one they wouldn’t understand, what if they left him behind? The thought scared him more than he imagined it would, and he pushed his aching feet to walk just a little faster. He tended to travel near the back of the pack, but he was falling behind at this point, properly falling behind.

Between his lack of focus, and the tears he refused to admit existed clouding his vision, Gale did not notice the rock he was about to trip over, and as such tripped over it. He yelped as he went down, throwing out his hands to catch himself, wincing as he scraped up his palms. He took a moment to look himself over, but nothing seemed out of place, apart from the few pebbles and dirt stuck to his scratched hands. He stood up, brushing himself off with a wrinkled nose, and then looked ahead to see how far behind he was, except he couldn’t see them. Gale froze, staring at the empty path ahead of him with a rising sense of panic.

He started walking again, he was too exhausted to run but he walked as quickly as he could. He followed the path, noticing there was a hill ahead. They must have just disappeared behind it, he reasoned. But when he reached the top of the blasted thing, he still could not see them. He clutched his quarterstaff and wiped away tears and sweat, he was Gale of Waterdeep, he could handle being lost. He hoped they hadn’t found trouble, he was only down for a minute at most, how far could they have gotten?

///

The sun was beginning to set and Gale was panicking in earnest now. Had they traveled off path? Did they decide to start running? How had he not caught up to them yet, when it was just a straight road? Had they… had they noticed he was missing? Surely, they must have at this point! It’s not hard to count, or to notice the distinct lack of purple, or chatter, as they walked. Gale looked up at the dimming sky and looked around, noticing a divot in the rock face nearby. He sat down inside of it, pulling off his pack and curling up to conserve heat. He wanted Astarion, and Tara. Gale buried his face in his hands as he began to cry in earnest, for he had been left behind. Forgotten.

“Mr. Dekarios?” Gale looked up, relief obvious all over his face at the familiar words of his familiar.

“Tara!” Gale exclaimed, reaching out towards her. She came willingly, allowing herself to be pulled into his lap and stroked. “Oh thank Mystra you’re here,” He whispered softly, pressing a few kisses to her forehead.

Tara gave him a look but relented, allowing him to shower her in affection. “Where is the rest of your group, Mr. Dekarios? Why have you left your company?” Gale winced, Tara would be displeased with the other’s if she found out the true reason. Gale took a moment to come up with a reasonable lie, one that would get himself into trouble instead of the other’s.

“I wandered off, as I am prone to do, and found myself lost.” Gale admitted to her, the reservation and shame he imbued into his voice was real, simply misdirected. It was almost true, which was the best kind of lie to tell a tressym who knows you better than you know yourself. Tara nipped at his fingers, narrowing her eyes at him to express displeasure.

“Mr. Dekarios, you really ought to know better, but surely they must be looking for you. Cast a spell, make your location obvious.” Gale smiled at Tara, but it was weak and strained, faltering almost immediately. How to explain that, by this point, he rather doubted they were looking for him at all?

“What a wonderful idea, Tara.” He whispered, voice cracking slightly. He ushered her off of his lap and stood, summoning a flame into his hands and tossing it upwards. Hopefully, it would be enough to draw some positive attention, but not enough to draw any negative attention. “There we go,” Gale murmured, settling back down into his spot. Tara reclaimed her spot on his lap, purring into his chest as she nuzzled his robe. He continued petting her as they waited. And waited. And waited.

Gale must have fallen asleep at some point, because he woke up to kisses from a rough tongue. He wrinkled his nose as he opened his eyes, coming face to face with a worried Tara. “Your companions did not see your signal,” Tara told him sadly. “We must find them, instead of the other way around. Up you get!” And Gale followed her instructions, giving himself a once over and hoisting up his pack as they began to walk the path again.

They were both quite surprised when only a 20 minute walk later, they stumbled upon the camp. It was quiet, which made sense considering the early morning, but clearly occupied, and settled. Gale eyed the set up of tents, his usual spot next to Astarion was taken. He dropped his pack next to the burnt out fire and began to prepare breakfast, ignoring Tara’s probing questions until she got annoyed and stalked off. Gale inhaled and exhaled sharply, then slowly, trying his best to not cry over eggs and coffee.

Karlach was the first one to step out, and she grinned at him. “Morning wizard,” She said with a yawn. “How was your night?” And Gale. Gale should have been angry, or upset, or said anything about the fact that they had left him behind and not noticed! But, he couldn’t. Because who was he to be upset when clearly he was too weak to keep up?

“It was fine,” Gale lied through his teeth, “How did your night go?” And he sat and faked a smile as Karlach told him about catching Wyll dancing, about them laying next to each other and falling asleep under the stars, all with stars in her eyes and tail flicking happily.

This process continued for the rest of the companions, he fed them breakfast, they chatted like everything was normal. He noticed a distinct lack of Astarion and Shadowheart, though that was rectified when they appeared out of the bush, Tara in tow. Astarion rushed towards him, looking relieved. “Gale, are you okay?” Astarion said frantically, taking his face in his hands and scanning him for injuries. The others looked confused, which seemed to anger Astarion a fair bit. Shadowheart stood behind Astarion, looking at the others with a disapproving smile.

“I’m fine,” Gale responded, tilting his head. He looked towards Tara, who looked quite pleased with herself and rather displeased with his friends. “Why?” Astarion dropped his hands and glared at him, poking a finger into his chest repeatedly.

“You know why! You spent the night in the cold, with only Tara for company! Who knows what could have happened to you!” Astarion continued to rant about Gale’s stupidity, but Gale was more focussed on the remaining members of their party. Lae’zel was not paying attention, but Wyll and Karlach suddenly seemed to notice the fact that Gale’s tent was missing from their set up. They both straightened up, looking at him with wide eyes. “-And I can’t believe I even have to say this but you three!” Astarion turned sharply to face the 1 disinterested and 2 guilty looking onlookers, “How did you not notice that he was missing? Are you half-wits? Is there nothing between those ears stuck to those pretty little heads-”

“That’s enough, Astarion.” Gale interjected smoothly, smiling softly at his… not a thought for right now! “It’s my own fault for falling behind-” Tara hissed at him, oh right! Gale winced, he had forgotten about his lie. Clearly, that was the story Tara had told Astarion and Shadowheart as well, because their faces contorted. “Um, I mean wandering off?”

“Fell behind? You- I’m going to explode, imbeciles! All of you! Idiotic imbeciles who- That- Ugh!” Astarion glared at them, Lae’zel had wandered off herself now. Gale couldn’t blame her.

“My apologies,” Wyll began once Astarion had stopped making vaguely angry noises. “If we had known we would have searched for you, but me and Karlach were…” He winced as Astarions neck cracked with the speed he whipped his head to stare at Wyll.

“Apologies don’t have the word ‘but’ in them Wylliam.” Astarion hissed. Wyll began to protest that that was not his name but silence himself when Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Here’s an example of what you should say, ‘I’m sorry for being an assface and not noticing we had forgotten you existed, I will work towards your forgiveness.’” Wyll looked like a kicked puppy, as did Karlach, but they both recited the apology in sync, looking at Gale with crushed expressions.

“It’s really not a big deal,” Gale mumbled, face flushed with embarrassment at the attention. It wasn’t a big deal, really. His self-confidence, which had actually been growing slightly due to his role in the group, was completely crushed, but that wasn’t an issue. Gale forced a smile onto his face, but it fell once Shadowheart frowned at him.

“It is a ‘big deal’. We made a commitment to travel together, safety in numbers, and you were forsaken from this pact. Moreso, this has clearly hurt you emotionally, which is… not good.” Gale smiled a bit, Shadowheart and him were not particularly close, but he could appreciate the attempt.

There was an awkward silence, one Gale was unsure of how to fill. This whole situation was awkward for him, and for the other’s too he was sure. Eventually, Astarion grabbed his wrist and dragged him to his tent, setting him down on the pillows and blankets and sitting across from him. Gale waited patiently for Astarion to figure out what he wanted to say.

“I apologize. I’m sure you noticed that me and Shadowheart were sent ahead to scout the temple ahead of time,” Gale nodded, they had left before he had fallen behind, “But what happened to you was… unfair. Will you tell me the story please, the real one, not the lie you told Tara.” Gale winced at the mention of his familiar, he would certainly get an earful later, but nodded.

“I was fatigued,” Gale admitted, “I fell behind, further than usual, and I fell and-” Gale huffed, scrubbing at his face. Why was he so emotional over this? “When I looked back up there was no one in sight, so I kept walking, until it grew too dark to continue, so I settled for the night. You know the rest from Tara, I’m sure.” He felt a hand on his face tilting his head up (When had he looked down?). Astarion gently wiped away his tears with his thumb and pulled him into a hug, petting his head as he did so. Gale hugged back, tightly, struggling not to cry as he was held. It was only when he felt his thumb slip into his mouth that he realized why he had been so emotional. Clearly, his attempts at warding off regression the previous day had failed, and it had slipped his notice that he was, perhaps, feeling on the smaller side.

“You had me so worried,” Astarion said, and his voice sounded thick. “When me and Shadowheart were heading back to camp and I saw Tara alone and she said that you had gotten lost I couldn’t-” Astarion swallowed, “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m sorry,” Gale whispered, “Cuddle?” Astarion wiped his tears and nodded, grabbing one of his various blankets and pulling it over them. Gale noticed he had also grabbed the little blanket he’s had since the beginning, and brought it up close to his face, concealing most of himself in it. Gale pressed against him, trying to give him the warmth and comfort he had given to Gale.

They weren’t perfect, they probably would never be, but in that moment they were better, and that’s what matters.

[tantalizingtopi]

Entangled

Halsin x Dark Urge

Word Count: 1088

Disclaimer: all characters are owned by Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3.

Post events of Baldur’s Gate 3. Dark Urge has settled into a more peaceful way of life, but is still troubled by her past.

Just a quick little something with a different character pairing.

The wilds have become home to me over the last few months, particularly as we continue to work to revitalize the lands surrounding moonrise towers. The shadows have lifted but there is still much to do and sunrise to sunset is spent toiling away most days. I enjoy it, as it keeps me busy and doesn’t allow for the intrusive thoughts to take root during the waking hours. And if I’ve had an especially exhausting day, I can slip into a blissful dreamless state free from what haunts me.

But many nights I’m jolted awake in a panic, heart racing and blood pounding in my ears. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe and I gasp and cough, clutching at my throat. Sometimes I’m screaming and I don’t even realize it. My poor love never leaves my side during these moments, instead holding me and comforting me with his presence. I often wonder why he stays with me, doesn’t at least rest elsewhere, with so many other burdens on his shoulders. I hadn’t thought I’d ever be yet another thing he has to carry.

Even though my father does not have his hold on me any longer, my mind still continues to try and make due with the fragments from my past, connecting pieces together that may or may not fit. How long have I lived, how many times have I been slain, how many methods of torture did I inflict and endure? How many times did I awake, even in the short time with Kressa, twisted and broken beyond recognition? I feel so very near madness all the time, standing on the precipice and looking over into the abyss, feeling the rock cracking beneath my feet.

Right now, however, those feet carry me further from the settlement, farther into the wilds. I long to train, to practice the very things that keep me safe, keep me sane, the movements and incantations that are as much a part of me as my flesh. Lately, the only magic I’ve been able to use are healing spells and little tricks to entertain the many children who we look after. While my sinister compulsions no longer drive me, the desire to utilize my more destructive abilities has only grown in the light of domestication.

I find a small clearing and begin to put myself through the paces, my body responding instinctively to the imagined stimuli, my spells ricocheting off the stones and absorbing into the ground harmlessly and my blades twist, slicing through the air in a fever pitch reserved for droves of opponents. I train until beads of sweat roll down my spine, until my breath comes in hard bursts. I train with every weapon in my arsenal, from daggers to quarterstaffs, shortbows to hand crossbows. I fight as hard against the imagined foes as I did the Githyanki warriors.

My hands on my knees as I try to steady my breathing and slow my heartbeat, I sense something watching me, the familiar tingle of alertness running through my person. I stay still, trying to figure out where the creature is without raising suspicion, casting a furtive glance around but unable to notice anything that stands out. I pick up the staff on the ground in front of my feet and slowly rise. While the shadow curse has been lifted, some of the creatures still remain, although there haven't been any recent reports.

I feel the ground shift beneath me and before I can react, vines spring up and grip me, holding me in place. Panic threatens to bubble up inside me as I rub my fingers together to create a flame. I speak the incantation and push it to the vines, “Ignis!”

The vines char, but continue to make quick work of me, rushing up my legs and back, coiling tightly around me. I fight to keep my arms free but this is no regular entanglement and soon I’m immobilized completely. I thrash against the plant, stilling only when I hear the chuckle behind me. “I am pleased, my heart.”

My lover stands before me, smiling down at me even as his spell holds me fast. I glare back at him, but feel my own smile dancing across my lips, try as I might to keep myself in check. He palms my cheek, brushing his thumb over the cut in my eyebrow. “Your battle hard edges have begun to soften, I see.”

“That’s not a good thing, what if we are needed again?” I nearly whine my frustration at him.

“Then we will cut down a few lesser foes first, of course. And it is a good thing, only a few short months ago and you would have driven a blade through my heart before you could even see who I was walking up on you like this.”

The vines begin to loosen and I twist out of them, moving away from their grasp. “I fail to see the upside of me not having done that, and also why you were unhinged enough to see how I would react.”

“It means you feel comfortable and safe, and able to let your guard down. I hoped I would be a familiar enough presence that I could get close enough without you noticing me. You are growing and changing, continuing to defy your birthright and find your true self.”

“Well, I was True Soul so it only makes sense I would find my True Self.”

Halsin’s booming laugh is a balm on my irritation. Standing next to him I feel like he could shield me from anything wicked that may come our way. He is a comfort to me even just within eyesight. I begin to pick up the various weapons and other items I had brought with me, and he frowns. “I hope I did not interrupt your training.”

“No, I was done for today anyway. I need to go hunting and find something before the day ends, I promised Okta,” I say, beginning to take my leather armor off.

I feel his gaze on me, the hunger and need wafting off of him as I strip, but I keep my eyes down, knowing if I were to look at him there would be nothing for me to present to the elderly tiefling.

“You know, I can think of more than one way to use that spell,” Halsin’s voice takes on a husky edge and I can’t help myself. I catch his gaze and smile in nothing but my underclothes.

[aglaecan]

oooh, fighting style stuff? lemme just C+P this for Hawke from her old singlemuse:

fighting style meme for rogues:

fundamentals

Where did they receive their primary training? (For example in an organization, an army, apprenticeship, their parents etc)

She learned the bow from Leandra, who wasn’t very good at it but knew the fundamentals well. Most of Mar’s skills in that area are self-taught through extensive practice, coupled with naturally good hand-eye coordination. The dual daggers which she fights with primarily later on were a skill she first learned from a Chasind girl around her age whom she’d befriended in the Wilds, and honed slightly during her very brief stint in Cailan’s army. It was also in the Wilds that Mar began to learn the basics of poisons and herbcraft; and her stealth and trap-making skills sprang out of those she used for hunting and tracking.

Lock-picking was something she picked up sort of on the sly from a fellow in Lothering who had something of a checkered past. Hawke knew her parents wouldn’t approve but she found the man’s stories fascinating and badgered him into teaching her a few things in secret. 

At what age did your rogue start learning the skills associated with the class?

The bow, around ten. Lock-picking, about fourteen. Hunting and trapping, sixteen or so, and the same for basic poison-making. Daggers, about eighteen. It wasn’t till she was about 25 that she started learning potion-making outside of poisons, mostly from helping Anders in the clinic, and some from botanical books. 

How did the environment surrounding your rogue shape the progression of their skills?

Lothering was sort of the very edge of the so-called ‘civilized’ lands; just beyond it was the Southron Hills and the Korcari. Her skills lent themselves to those wilder places; she hunted both to put meat on the family’s table and to sell the hides for coin. It was her contribution to the family and so she learned it as quickly and as well as she could. The same thing applied later, when she became a mercenary with the Red Iron. Her skills were saleable things and the better she was, the more coin she brought in and the better her sister and mother ate that day. 

What kind of weapon does your rogue prefer fighting with? Why?

The daggers were at first just something sort of fun and different, but once she started really putting them more seriously to use she discovered that the up close and personal fighting style is far more suited to her personality than ranged work. She’d never killed another person with daggers until Kirkwall (darkspawn do not count) and it was disturbing to her at first – but she decided she’d rather be disturbed than to put that distance between her and her enemies and let herself forget what consequences her actions were really having.

Does your rogue have expertise with other types of weapons? Which ones?

Well, the bow, of course. If she needed to she could scoop up a bow and arrow and feather a target effectively enough. She could probably put up a creditable show with a quarterstaff too, though it would be a last-resort sort of situation; she only knows some moves from watching Malcolm train Bethany with their staves.

Can your rogue pick locks?

Yup! Along with an assortment of other disreputable but useful skills.

Does your rogue focus more on stealth or are they more concerned with dexterity?

A little of both, but probably more dexterity than otherwise. She’s decent at stealth work when she has to be, but she’s not a terribly patient person overall and would prefer to get things done quickly rather than stealthily in most cases. (The stealth mission at Chateau Haine nearly drove her out of her skin!) But she’s a natural acrobat, proficient with flips and twists and rolls and dives. She moves damn fast, can climb like a cat and leap higher than you’d think she should be able to – some of that is the assistance provided by just the right combination of enchanted items to give her natural skills a little boost.

Would your rogue be more effective as an Antivan Crow, a Bard, or a Ben-Hassrath agent?

Is “none of the above” an option? I mean, I’d say “bard” because they’re more like free agents than an organization per se… except that she cannot sing and actually despises politics and the Game. But then again, she’s also just really not what you might call a “joiner.” Any organization like one of these is something she’d have a lot of trouble fitting herself into. But of just these three options, I suppose Crow would come closest to fitting her personality, if we can judge anything by Zevran… but then again, Zevran ended up driven to attempted suicide-by-Warden and then turned around and tried to dismantle the whole thing from the inside out, so, uh. Yeah.

fighting style

What does your rogue do for a living? How does this reflect upon their fighting style?

She was a mercenary with the Red Iron, but even after leaving that company after her year was up, she’s basically a freelance mercenary still. I mean, she takes on jobs for coin, and while some of those jobs are things she feels drawn to do because they’re the right thing to do, some of them are more practical, “if you pay me I’ll do it” sorts of things. A lot of what she ends up doing tend to be rescue missions, recon missions, recovery of property, and the like; so her rogue skills definitely come in handy in disarming traps and taking people out quickly and quietly.

How would you describe your rogue’s basic fighting style? For example, are they a scrapper that prefers close range or are they an archer that prefers facilitating distance?

Close range close range close range! She’s a precision fighter and uses speed, accuracy, and various sorts of trickery to slow or distract her enemy, get in there fast, do the maximum possible damage, and get back out again with as little damage to herself as possible.

talents

What are the primary talents your rogue often uses?

Ah, backstab, twin fangs, assassinate, stealth, mark of death, decoy… also a lot of grenades and miasmic flasks and poisons.

Describe the way in which your rogue uses these talents during battle.

She’s definitely a flanker – so backstab is a big one, and dropping into stealth to cross a battle field before whipping out twin fangs or assassinate on a stronger enemy. She uses her grenades for AOE damage when enemies are clustered tight, and tosses a lot of miasmic flasks to stun enemies before swooping in with her blades.

If your rogue has a specialization, describe how these talents interact with that specialization.

She’s specialized as an Assassin and a Shadow, which synergize well for her fighting style. It’s a lot about using the right attacks in the right order against the right enemies; she’ll actually usually go straight for the most dangerous enemy on the field and wear them down with powerful strikes before dropping into stealth again before they can turn on her, then hitting them again from the other side. Decoys and misdirection and obscuring fog bombs are big ones here, keeping her chosen foes busy while her companions take out their backup.

What talents are the weakest or least developed in regards to your rogue? How do they compensate for that?

She’s not really big on evasion nor does she really have any sort of defensive abilities, having focused too much on offense. Her primary method for avoiding damage is to try to get them before they can get her, really. It doesn’t always work but she’s very quick and tends to get inside their range to make it harder for them to hit her. Miasmic flasks and poisons on her blades help to slow her enemies even more.

Does your rogue use any of their talents outside of battle? Which ones and how often do they use them?

She still hunts, especially before they move up to Hightown, so she’s still keeping her archery and trap-related skills honed. She also started to spend time in Anders’ clinic learning to use her herbalism skills to make healing potions instead of just poisons. And sometimes she throws knives in the tavern (like playing darts!) or plays tumbling tricks or juggles, just for the fun of it.

How would you describe your rogue’s fighting capabilities?

Quick, deadly, a little reckless, and far, far more dangerous than she looks. Her basic motto could be “the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

Describe what sort of items your rogue carries on them at all times. Could be weapons, poisons, caltrops, etc…

At minimum…. Twin dual-bladed daggers on her back and a variety of other knives strapped just about anywhere a knife can be strapped; vials of fell poison and crow poison; combustion grenades and tar bombs; lock picks; a coil of wire she could use as a garrote (not her favorite thing, but one more weapon always helps); flint and steel; a whetstone; health potions; an herb roll and some clean bandages; several enchanted rings and pendants; aaaand a waterskin.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2023 4 - Dodge

Summary : Post losing his arm, Kaaras is set to learn a new set of skills. Problem is, he's dodging more than just attacks. Maybe it's time he just own up to something he's known his entire life?

Or... maybe he'll just get his ass kicked.

---

Nothing like dodging a bolt of energy to make Kaaras wish the Dread Wolf had just fucking taken him.

He scrambled behind cover as a glittering ball exploded where he had been standing the moment before. Heart pounding in his throat, he didn’t even dare glancing above his shelter. That would make him a sitting duck.

“Kaaras, you’re supposed to be attacking, not running.”

Hissra’s voice carried over the crackle of energy. Had he looked up, he would’ve seen one of her rings glittering as she powered up. However, he heard it coming and had to scramble anyway as another ball of energy came gunning for him.

He forgot she was taller than him and had a sight advantage. It was only the third time she had done it in fifteen minutes, so he could be understood.

A sudden bolt of energy crackled at his feet, causing him to launch forward. He tried to brace himself, but in the moment Kaaras had forgotten something critical. It was hard to save himself with his left arm when he didn’t have it anymore – it ended above the elbow in a scarred stump that still pulsed with pain from time to time. It was a parting gift from one of his gods – not the one he wore in his skin, the one he wanted to kill – before they disappeared to the rest of the creators knew where.

So, long story short, he landed face first on the ground.

“Oww…”

Kaaras groaned as he tried to sit up, but once again he tried to balance with his left arm and wound up flat on his back. Up above, it was a clear blue day, which made his mood even worse as he lay there, blank faced and sporting a bloody nose from his fall.

A shadow stretched over him as Hissra approached. She hadn’t even broken a sweat, and her jewelry was still glowing as she waited for him to attack. Unfortunately for his teacher, he didn’t. He just lay there, wishing they would end for the day so he could go back to sulking.

“We can take a break if you wish.” The glow faded. “But I expect to see you attack when we pick things back up.”

She held out her hand to help him up. At least this time he remembered to reach out with his right hand, rather than the one he didn’t have anymore. He would count that a victory – he didn’t have many of those at the moment.

“I keep telling you, I can’t do magic on command.” Kaaras sighed, running a hand over his hair – it was sticking up from the static electricity, really making the cock comb stand out. “It just… happens when I’m upset.”

After all, he wasn’t a mage. Mages could do magic when they thought of it. The few times in his life he had managed to do anything had been when his emotions had been running so hard logical thought had failed.

So… yeah. Not a mage. Just an idiot with uncomfortable accidents.

“That’s why we’re training, so you can call on it.” Hissra sounded calm as always as she evaluated him. “Did your bracelet glow at all?”

Kaaras frowned as he glanced down at his right wrist. There, covered in dirt, was a silver bracelet topped with a dark purple gem. It was supposed to be his focus for magic, but mostly it was just a nice accessory. It was one of the last ones he had made before he had lost his dominant hand, so there was a wistful feeling as he looked into it.

It wasn’t glowing. It wasn’t even sparkling thanks to all the dirt.

“No.” He sighed. “We’ve tried quarterstaffs, I broke the short rod… this isn’t working either. I’m beginning to think all I can do is accidents after all.”

It would have been a logical conclusion, but Hissra was ignoring him when he brought that up. She was convinced he could do magic on command if he just tried hard enough and found a good focus. That was why they were in the yard as blood trickled from his nose and sweat dripped down the back of his neck.

No doubt – the Creators were enjoying this shit show.

“It just takes finding your focus.” Much to his chagrin, her ring was glowing again. “Now then, I think the break is over.”

Fuck.

Kaaras was soon running for his life once again, dodging bolts of energy by the barest fraction of an inch. He didn’t have the chance to look back, he just ran for his life, balance off thanks to the loss of his arm. Running didn’t feel right anymore without the counterweight – his gait was off.

Everything was off.

Anger bubbled in his stomach as he jumped to dodge another blow. Before he had lost his arm, that would’ve been easy. However, he was still getting used to the weight difference, so his timing was off. It caught him on the exposed heel and sent him skidding to a stop, pain pulsing through his leg.

And Hissra wasn’t done yet. Just like everyone else, she wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone so he could die in peace. She still wanted something out of him, something he had never been able to and probably would never be able to give.

She just wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The anger rolled off him in waves as he stopped running. Instead, he stood there, and faced Hissra head on. She was starting to power up again, no doubt for another bolt of energy. Just the sight of it made him grit his teeth.

Then he stuck out his hand and begged the universe to make her fuck off and leave him alone.

Probably because he was so focused on his thoughts, Kaaras didn’t notice that the gem on his bracelet glowed violet. His palm soon matched, and all he could do was watch as a bolt of purple energy launched from his hand towards the other qunari. It went wide – hit a rock instead – but it made Hissra stop attacking.

She smiled. “That didn’t look like an accident.”

Kaaras frowned as he glanced down at his tingling hand. His bracelet was still glowing, pulsing with power. Even he couldn’t deny the fact it had come from him. That had been magic – his magic – coming out in full force.

It…

It felt good.

He blinked back surprise as the anger left him. Unlike any other time he’d had an accident, this felt amazing. His body was screaming for him to do it again, to release more energy and attune to the bracelet. Even stranger, he could feel something bubbling inside of him, answering the call his mind was putting out.

Once, his uncle had told him he needed to find his magical core to keep from having repeat accidents. Maybe he had finally found it.

Kaaras clenched his hand – energy surrounded it, glowing a bright purple. Unlike times before, it didn’t hurt when it crackled against his skin. Instead, it reminded him of when the halla fawns licked his hand when he fed them.

“Is it supposed to tickle?”

Hissra nodded as she inspected his hand. “Some people describe it that way, yes. The important thing is that it doesn’t hurt.”

It didn’t. It was the first time it hadn’t.

Staring down, Kaaras concentrated on making it stop. The light flickered, and slowly it went out. All that remained was the glow in his bracelet, calling for him to do it again. Then that calmed down, leaving him with just the feeling.

“I can still feel it.” He placed a hand on his chest. “Right here. It wants me to do more.”

His teacher smiled briefly at that. “Magic enjoys being used.”

It did… but it was used by mages.

Kaaras frowned as he looked down at his remaining hand. Now that he had done it once, he knew he could do it again. He knew his body could handle it, even though he hadn’t tried it. It was like this knowledge had always been there – he just had to figure it out.

“I guess…” he took a deep breath. No chance to dodge out of this one – he had to face it head on. “That it makes sense it feels good. After all, I am a mage.”

The words felt off and awkward on his lips. After a lifetime of running from it, owning up to his own abilities didn’t sit right with him. It would probably take time and repetition until it was normal to him.

But it was true. He was a mage.

“Good to hear you say it.” Hissra patted him on the left shoulder. “Now, should we see if you can cast on the fly?”

Right… they were supposed to be training. Still, Kaaras found he couldn’t be too annoyed as he saw his bracelet begin to glow anew. Instead, he found he was curious to see what would happen if he did things a certain way. What if he twisted his wrist, or punched out? The options were countless in that moment as he shifted into a defensive pose.

It was time to begin to see what he could really do. And all it had taken was years of dodging what he had always known. Maybe next time he would just let things hit him dead on – it would save him some anxiety.

Now… time to see what would happen if he punched his energy out. He was starting to see why mages enjoyed testing their skills so much.

[maplesyrizzup]

I'd like everyone to put an npc for my D&D campaign that I'm very excited to introduce to my players.

Other DM’s are free to use this character for their campaign.

I made him to obviously poke fun at his first name, because woohoo his first name is so high and mighty, and so well known.

I think he's great, well he's not great, but I'm going to have so much funny playing this guy

Merlin Egeon

or as I like to call him Dollar Store version Merlin

Born to a very well-known and rich wizard family, Merlin instantly proved he had a knack for the family profession. And it's said he’s the greatest wizard to be, but that's just a rumor.

If you actually got to know him, you'd realize Merlin’s an annoying coward and he really isn't very Intelligent. He's all bark no bite. He heavily relies on his charm to get him out of sticky situations that he constantly gets himself into. He has a tendency to steal, especially from his family. He stole a Robe of Scintillating Colors, & Staff of Charming from them.

He has a 14 1/2 inch wooden wand(yeah, he's compensating for something)

Merlin’s mother has a secret. Merlin is part Shiradi Eladrin Celestial, that's right folks, she cheated. Now it's not entirely hard to believe when you put him next to his family, he has a few traits from his father, not to mention that Merlin is extremely tall.

His Celestial blood gives him Adv on Arcana(because I'm the DM, I can do what I want). And has two spells that don't count against his spell list; Magic Circle against Evil, and Lesser Globe on Invulnerability.

His father isn't proud of the son he birthed, and will soon ask the party to assassinate Merlin.

Lvl 7 School of Bladesinging Wizard. Lvl 3 College of Glamour

Str: 7. -2

Dex: 12. +1

Con: 14. +2

Cha: 17. +3

Int: 13. +1

Wis: 10. 0

Skills: Arcana. Performance. Persuasion. Deception.

HP: 69

AC: 13. Studded leather.

Languages: Common. Sylvan.

Movement: 40 ft(pretty sure I gave him +10 because of his fathers genes)

Proficiencies: +3

Armor: light armor

Weapons: daggers. Darts, slings, quarterstaffs, light crossbows. Rapier

Tools:the bagpipes

Feat: Lucky

He has a range of spells which include

Wizard list: misty step. Sending. Vitriolic Sphere. Snilloc’s Snowball Swarm. Shadow Blade. Fireball. Counterspell. Catnap.

Cantrips: Prestidigitation. Minor Illusion. Friends. Dancing Lights

Bard list: animal friendship. Calm emotions. Cure wounds. Dissonant Whispers. Tasha’s Hideous Laughter. Invisibility.

Cantrips: vicious Mockery. True strike.

[smallest-turtle]

(Not letting my addition make people miss OP's tags)

I think there is now a thought of like what is aether and what is dynamis in these jobs after endwalker but your point still stands, which is All of these abilities are coming from the same source.

Now I've got a whole post from a year ago or so, probably over a year since Endwalker wasn't out yet I believe, about how Deidre would function as a Trust NPC. She mixes and matches skills constantly. How well they work for or against her depends on whether she is defaulting as the right class, ie homebrew fray mechanics, but thinking about combat flexibility is a lot of fun.

Combat flexibility is also something that is very necessary for lots of people's characters, especially when writing an isolated warrior of light. Most trials you are fighting alone because you're the one with the echo.

Given that my wol is a white mage up until the aftermath of the vault, she had to make her class a little more combat oriented. She did that by adapting the quarterstaff drills she saw her dad use. Eventually, during the arr patch quests, there's a few days where Estinien is at Camp Dragonhead at the same time as her. Encouraged by Haurchefant, he trains her. Not to be a dragoon, he's much too offput by her age and the title she already has to see the eye's reaction to her as a boon, but he drills her in polearm technique. And then they kill some local threats. And Deidre realizes hey.... I could use air to jump like him and hm... If I use stone at the top of my staff I can make it a speartip and Estinien has to work very hard to keep a straight face when the two Heavensward realize the healer is using Dragoon tactics in the trial by combat that they thought would be an easy sweep. Haurchefant's cheering can count for both of them.

Love that once you start getting into the jobs in ffxiv, they can all kinda tie back into each other, ability wise.

Monks train their body so that it becomes a weapon. Tell me that wouldn’t give anyone an advantage if they switched jobs. Monks could move faster, hit harder. A warrior with a monks ability to augment their body? Deadly.

The dragoon jumps are probably aether based. Once a person learns how, they could totally bring that to another job. A monk that can jump like a dragoon? Terrifying.

Pick up white magic or any healer class, and anytime you use Second Wind, just throw a little healer magic in there and it’s twice as potent. A Samurai that just never goes down? I’d piss myself.

Black mages who take their familiarity with fire and pick up dragoon?? That Dragonfire Dive is going to absolutely obliterate if it’s pumped up by a little black magic.

Your honestly looking me in the face and telling me that if a Drk Wol called out to fray they Wouldn’t just show up with a gun if the wol was playing at machinist? Fray/Esteem would know how to use it, they are the Wol after all. Think about it. Gun Fray.

There’s probably more connections to make like this, but these are my main classes lol.

[nerdythebard]

#48: Vlad "Alucard" Tepes [Hellsing]

(Art Credit: SimArtWorks) ---

Now, this... THIS is going to be entertaining! Not only we're building a so-powerful-he's-broken anime character, we're also building the immortal king of all vampires. Unless you're Vatican Section XIII, it won't take you long to figure out that Alucard from Hellsing is none other than Dracula! From my dearest friend, my brother from different parents, the man who baited me into building the Doctor from Doctor Who... Enjoy!

Next Time: Embrace the Chaos... and become the Witch.

What do we need to do for this one? Besides a steady supply of blood, of course:

Bitches Love Cannons: Yes, be prepared to hear quotes from Hellsing: Ultimate Abridged at every possible moment. But we do need guns, and we need to use them well.

Can't Touch This: This is anime we're talking about, so we need to be super strong, super nimble, pretty much invulnerable, etc.

Let the Dogs Out: Shadows and hell-hounds and souls of the damned... these are only but a few things Alucard likes.

---

Since Alucard started his life as Vlad Tepes of Wallachia, naturally we're gonna go with Variant Hu– Nah, even I'm not that vanilla. Obviously, we're a Dhampir from Van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft. We get a +2 and a +1 bonus to two abilities of our choice (Constitution and Strength respectively), 35 feet of ground speed (and matching climbing speed), proficiency in two skills of our choice (Intimidation and History), 60 feet of Darkvision, the ability to speak and read Common and one other language of our choice, and the Vampiric Bite feature: our fangs count as natural melee weapons that deal [1d4 + our Constitution modifier] piercing damage. If we're missing half of our Hit Points and decide to attack with our fangs, we have an advantage on those bite attacks. When attacking a creature that isn't a construct or an undead, we can additionally empower our bite in one of two ways:

We regain Hit Points equal to the damage dealt by the bite.

We gain a bonus to the next ability check or attack roll we make; the bonus is equal to the damage dealt by the bite.

We can use that empowered bite a number of times equal to our proficiency bonus, and we regain all uses after a long rest.

Alucard is the trump card of the Hellsing Organisation, so we're in a pretty good position to make him a Faction Agent. However, instead of the provided background, ask your DM if you could take the Hollow One character option from Critical Role's Explorer's Guide to Wildemount. We gain the benefits of no ageing (and being immune to effects that would forcefully age us), we register as undead when under detection spells, and whenever we roll a Death Saving Throw and roll 16 or higher, we can regain 1 Hit Point. Additionally, we gain the Unsettling Presence feature: as an action, we can unsettle a creature within 15 feet of us, granting it a disadvantage at the next saving throw it makes within the next minute.

ABILITY SCORES

Constitution will be our primary ability; Alucard's whole shtick is that he can't be killed by a random shmuck. Dexterity will be next, our primary weapons are ranged, and that's the corresponding ability. Strength follows that. Sometimes weapons are not enough, and you just have to dish out some knuckle sandwiches.

Charisma will be next, we're pretty intimidating on a daily basis and even more so when we try. With the last two abilities, as it usually goes with anime characters, it's not the case of what we're bad at but what we need more; in this case it's Wisdom and dumping Intelligence.

CLASS

Level 1 - Sorcerer: We start right away with some Dark Powers. Sorcerers get d6 as their Hit Dice, [6 + our Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, no armour proficiencies, proficiencies with daggers, darts, slings, quarterstaffs, and light crossbows. We don't need armour for now, and before we can get our guns (if ever) we can get a crossbow as our primary weapon. Our saving throws are Constitution and Charisma, and we get to pick two class skills (Insight and Religion).

Sorcerers start with Spellcasting right away: Charisma is our casting ability, and we know only cantrips and regular spells. Sorcerers know a fixed number of spells: we start with four cantrips (Blade Ward, Gust, Message, and Sword Burst) and two 1st-level spells (Fog Cloud and Sleep).

Sorcerers also pick their subclass, their Sorcerous Origin at the first level. For Alucard, who is one with the shadows, we're gonna pick the Shadow Magic subclass. With Eyes of the Dark, our darkvision increases to 120 feet. Thanks to Strength of the Grave, we get another chance at life when knocked out. When damage reduces us to 0 Hit Points, we can make a DC [5 + damage taken] Constitution saving throw and drop to 1 Hit Point on a success. We cannot use this feature if damage is radiant type or when it's a critical hit.

Level 2 - Sorcerer: We gain Font of Magic, which lets us modify our spells by using Sorcery Points. We start with two Points, and we can convert them into spell slots and vice versa. We can also grab another 1st-level spell - Shield.

Level 3 - Sorcerer: At this level, our Eyes of the Dark feature gives us the ability to cast the Darkness spell by spending either a spell slot or 2 Sorcery Points. If we cast with the latter, we can see through the darkness.

We also gain Metamagic. By spending a certain amount of Sorcery Points, we can enhance our spells. We start by choosing two Metamagic effects:

Quickened Spell: Spending 1 Sorcery Point lets us reduce the casting time of a spell from action to bonus action.

Subtle Spell: Spending 1 Sorcery Point lets us cast a spell without somatic and verbal components; a good way to appear inconspicuous.

At this level, we also unlock 2nd-level spells. Let's grab Misty Step.

Level 4 - Sorcerer: Time for our first Ability Score Improvement. Let's put one point into Charisma and one into Constitution to get some more of that inability to die.

At this level, we can also get another cantrip (Friends) and another 2nd-level spell (Crown of Madness).

Level 5 - Warlock: Time to make a deal with some Dark Powers. Multiclassing into Warlock gives us proficiencies with light armour and simple weapons. Similarly to Sorcerers, Warlock get their casting powers right away. In this case, it's Pact Magic: Warlocks also use Charisma as their casting ability and know both cantrips and regular spells. The difference, however, is that Warlocks get a limited number of spells slots, and they cast their spell at the highest level possible. We start by getting two cantrips (Eldritch Blast and Toll the Dead) and two 1st-level spells (Arms of Hadar and Cause Fear).

We can also choose our second subclass, pledging our Otherworldly Patron. Keeping to the stuff from Van Richten's, we're gonna choose the Undead Patron to become The Real F*cking Vampire™. Besides getting some more spell options, we also gain Form of Dread. As a bonus action, we can partially transform for 1 minute into a new, terrifying shape. We can do it a number of times equal to our proficiency bonus per long rest. While in our Form of Dread, we gain the following benefits:

We gain [1d10 + our Warlock level] Temporary Hit Points

Once during our turn, when we hit a creature with an attack roll, we can force the target to make a Wisdom saving throw; if it fails, the target is frightened of us until the end of our next turn

We are immune to being frightened

Level 6 - Warlock: We gain access to Eldritch Invocations, special customisation options for Warlocks to make up for their poor casting capabilities. We get to pick two Invocations at the start:

Armour of Shadows lets us cast the Mage Armour spell at will without spending any spell slots or components.

Mask of Many Faces lets us cast the Disguise Self spell at will without spending any spell slots of components.

We also gain another 1st-level spell (Hex).

Level 7 - Sorcerer: We don't get anything new here (unless your DM allows the optional Magical Guidance feat), but we do unlock 3rd-level Sorcerer spells. Let's grab Summon Shadow Spirit to get some more demons from under our coat.

Level 8 - Sorcerer: We get another feature from our subclass. With Hound of Ill Omen, as a bonus action, we can summon a shadowy hound-like creature to fight for us by spending 3 Sorcery Points. The hound uses the dire wolf statistics with the following changes:

The hound's size is Medium (not Large) and is considered a monstrosity (not a beast)

It appears with Temporary Hit Points equal to half of our Sorcerer level

It can move through creatures and obstacles as if they were difficult terrain (takes 5 points of damage if it ends its turn inside a creature or an object)

At the start of its turn, the hound immediately knows the location of the target we sic it on (if the target is hiding, it is no longer hidden from the hound).

We also get another 3rd-level spell. Let's take it to the skies with Fly.

Level 9 - Sorcerer: We unlock 4th-level spells. This time, let's focus on some Area of Effect spells and grab Blight.

Level 10 - Sorcerer: Halfway through the build, and we get our second ASI. We're gonna go ahead and grab the Gunner feat from Tasha's Cauldron of Everything. Our Dexterity increases by 1, we gain proficiency with firearms (and we ignore the loading property), and whenever we shoot from the melee range, we don't have disadvantage on the attack.

For this level's spell, we're gonna jump back into 3rd-levels to grab Haste.

Level 11 - Sorcerer: We unlock 5th-level spells here. Let's grab Dominate Person to make sure some of our enemies do exactly what we want them to do.

Level 12 - Sorcerer: At this level, we get to pick one more Metamagic option to enhance our spells with. Distant Spell lets us spend 1 Sorcery Point when casting a spell with a range of at least 5 feet to double that range. If the spell has a 'touch' range, spending 1 Sorcery Point makes the range 30 feet.

We also get the final cantrip (Message) and another 5th-level spell (Enervation).

Level 13 - Sorcerer: We unlock 6th-level spells here, and we gain a new spell every other level henceforth. We're gonna grab Circle of Death.

Level 14 - Sorcerer: Time for another ASI and, since we really need to work on our durability, we're going to drab the Tough feat here. Our Maximum Hit Point increase by [our level x2] and at every level-up henceforth, we get to add 2 extra Hit Points.

Level 15 - Sorcerer: We unlock 7th-level spell here. We can play around with our enemies a little with Reverse Gravity.

Level 16 - Sorcerer: Another subclass upgrade. We can now Shadow Walk; whenever we stand in dim light or complete darkness, we can use our bonus action to teleport up to 120 feet in any direction, as long as we appear in another dimly lit or dark area.

Level 17 - Sorcerer: We unlock 8th-level spells here. Let's make it difficult to even approach us, let alone attack us, with Incendiary Cloud.

Level 18 - Sorcerer: Time for the final ASI of the build. We're gonna round up some of the odd numbers by raising our Charisma and Dexterity.

Level 19 - Sorcerer: At this level, we get the final Metamagic option: Twinned Spell lets us spend a number of Sorcery Points equal to the level of a spell we cast, to target one additional creature in the spell's range. We cannot target ourselves.

We also unlock the ultimate spell tier, the 9th-level spells. For us, it's gonna be the Blade of Disaster.

Level 20 - Sorcerer: Our capstone is Sorcerer 18, which gives us the final subclass upgrade. By spending 6 Sorcery Points, we can use our bonus action to assume the Umbral Form. We gain resistance to all forms of damage except force and radiant, and (much like our hound) we can move through people and object as if they're difficult terrain; we suffer 5 points of damage if we end our turn inside a person or an object. We remain in this form for up to 1 minute or until we're incapacitated, dead, or we end the effect ourselves.

---

And that's another version of Alucard. This time, it's daddy dearest from another universe. Let's see what we got:

First of all, it's a SorLock build, so it works together pretty well. We have a lot of damage options, both magical and conventional, we're sturdy and equipped with flexible spellcasting. Our dominant type of damage is necrotic and we're a... Hollow One... Undead Warlock... Shadow... Sorcerer... ARE WE LAUDNA FROM CRITICAL ROLE!?

With a free Mage Armour, our AC is 16 (21 with the Shield spell), we have a +3 to our Initiative, and the average Hit Points of 211.

Unfortunately, for the ultimate immortal king of all vampires, none of our abilities reach its capstone of 20, and we have the negative Intelligence modifier. We also don't have a lot of skills, and the build does need some resource management.

---

And that's the superior version of Dracula (fight me, Castlevania stans!). This was a fun little thing, but I'm afraid some of you will come after me with pitchforks and torches at this next one. It's definitely... strange.

-Nerdy out!

[c0s-lettuce]

promises, promises - anakin skywalker x reader, part one

reader has the title of queen, set in attack of the clones

a/n: this was requested three life times ago and i sincerely apologise for taking so long! i hope you enjoy!

word count: 2027

No one said politics would be pretty. The Separatist Movement grew daily, and peace was becoming harder to maintain.

And so you find yourself heading to Coruscant. The Galactic Senate is currently debating the Military Creation Act to create an army for the Jedi. Representatives are to travel to Coruscant to vote.

Senator Padmé is going too. She's already voiced her decision to oppose the Act. You respected her decision, and, of course, she said she would respect yours too.

You're disrupted from your thoughts when you hear beeping. There's an incoming message.

As the queen of Ruma, a neighbouring planet in the Naboo system, you worked a lot with Padmé. She is your role model, confidante and friend. And there's no one who you'd like more as an associate.

------

"The landing zone has been compromised," it said. It was a Coruscanti security officer. "We need you to redirect your route to the coordinates we've sent."

As your pilot acknowledges the message, you walk up towards the front of the ship.

"What happened?" you ask.

Your head of security, Max, addresses you, "There's been an incident. Senator Amidala's ship was shot up."

"Is she all right?" you question, feeling a sense of panic.

"Yes, but it took the life of her decoy. We're landing elsewhere to ensure your safety."

One of Padmé's handmaidens is dead? Just like that, an innocent life is gone. You had been warned of the danger that your presence posed, but you didn't expect this calibre of violence.

As your ship advances to a new location, you hope for the safety of the others.

The new landing area is around the back of the original building and is more hidden among the lower ground. If you had to guess from the crates, it's usually used for cargo.

As you exit your ship, you find it slightly insulting the number of guards you had around you.

"Is this really necessary?" you ask, being as subtle as you can.

Max remains stoic beside you, "Yes, you're in danger as long as you're out in the open. Anybody could be watching."

Sighing, you allow them to escort you into the building.

------

Night approaches, and you and Padmé get settled in your rooms in the Senate Apartment Complex. The events from earlier today certainly shook the two of you, despite neither of you getting hurt.

Upon arrival, Chancellor Palpatine suggested the two of you be placed under the protection of the Jedi. Despite Padmé believing the situation was not that serious, the decision went forward.

Later, the two Jedi arrived. Padmé had known them from many years ago. General Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed like a kind and respectable man. Anakin,  Obi-Wan's apprentice, as you learned, was different. He was young with a hint of rebellion in him. You noticed his behaviour towards Padmé was a lot more... ardent. After a short discussion, they agreed they would try to find Padmé's attacker.

You retreat to your room and try to relax. There's Jedi posted outside - not that you need them - and Padmé was just across the hall from you. Really there's nothing to worry about, or so you tell yourself.

Though that still won't stop you from keeping your quarterstaff nearby.

You lie in the semi-dark, facing away from the light from the city shining through your windows. You're lying still, but your body can't commit to sleep. You're too on edge.

Minutes pass, and you blame your mind for imagining things when a shadow passes by your window. However, you become concerned when you hear a soft thud. Suddenly, hyperaware of your surroundings, you're sure this is no trick. There's someone in your room.

You can almost feel their presence approaching the bed. Eyeing your staff resting just by your bed, you silently hype yourself up.

It's now or never. Fight or possibly get killed.

Rolling off the bed, you launch towards your staff. You grab onto it as your move to stand. Holding your weapon in a defensive position, you get a vague look at the attacker. They look like a woman. Though your staring contest ends as they lunge towards you to attack.

You're able to dodge, manoeuvring away and striking her back. Using your combat skills and the slight advantage of surprise, it doesn't take long to get the upper hand, pinning your assailant under your foot.

One simple rule in combat is to not get distracted by things around you. But you make that mistake as Anakin barges into your room, lightsaber ablaze.

You turn to look at him, "Anakin?"

Having taken your eyes off your attacker, she takes the opportunity to knock you off her. You trip over, giving her time to escape through the window.

Anakin rushes to your side, "How did you- are you alright?"

Before you can answer, you hear glass breaking from the other room. Anakin whips his head back, trying to spot the source, then turns back to you.

"Stay here," he says. He leaves your room quickly.

Max and a couple other guards enter promptly after him. They're quick to check if you're okay. But you weren't all that worried about yourself. After taking a second to collect yourself, you rush to check on Padmé. Entering her room, you find her being tended to by her people and her window completely smashed.

You decide then maybe there is something to worry about.

------

Just as soon as you arrive on Coruscant is how soon you're asked to leave again. Anakin is to escort you and Padmé - who is justifiably pissed off - back to Naboo. You were even instructed not to return to your home in Ruma with the reason being "safety in numbers".

It doesn't take you long to pack, as you barely unpacked. You leave your room, and an upset-looking Padmé joins you.

As you walk together to leave the building, you ask her, "What's wrong?"

She scoffs, giving you a vague response of, "Men."

Unsure of exactly what she is implying, you look behind you. Anakin is following a small distance away from the two of you. He watches Padmé with an unreadable expression.

You start to gather an understanding of what she means.

Looking back at her, you press further, "Oh, do tell."

Padmé finally looks at you, "Maybe later."

The three of you make it to the transport bus. You are all to travel as refugees to prevent the enemy from knowing you've left. Padmé is talking with her handmaiden, Dormé. And General Kenobi is discussing what you assume to be the current situation with Max and Padmé's captain of security, Typho.

Judging from her unimpressed face, you decide to leave it alone. Though you can't help but find this situation to be slightly humorous.

------

That left you and Anakin sitting together in silence. He (not to your surprise) has been staring at Padmé for most of the trip. You decide to use this opportunity to get to know him better.

"So," you begin, "You and Padmé, how long have you known each other?"

Anakin turns to look at you. He takes a second to respond, seemingly not having expected you to talk to him.

"I met her ten years ago," he says, "During the Trade Federation dispute. Although we haven't seen each other since then."

"Wow, that's a long time," you reply.

"It is," he clears his throat, sitting up a bit, "What about you? How long have you known her?"

"About twelve years now. We've worked together a lot throughout the years."

"I imagine you must know each other pretty well then," Anakin looks over at Padmé again.

"Yes, I do," you say.

Anakin doesn't say anything back. You imagine he's distracted by watching Padmé's every movement. So you attempt to keep the conversation going.

"Hey, uh," you lower your voice slightly, "Just some advice, if you're trying to woo her, maybe don't stare holes into the back of her head."

Anakin whips his head back to you. He looks surprised and a bit... embarrassed?

"How did you know I-"

You interrupt, "I know a lot of things, Ani," you purposefully use Padmé's nickname for him.

He smiles, blushing a bit, and takes another look at Padmé. Then he seems to remember what you told him and turns back to you.

"Alright, well, if you know so much about me, I want to know about you too," he says, still smiling.

"Okay then, what do you want to know?" you ask him.  

"How long have you been Queen of Ruma?"

"I'm still in my first term. But I used to be a minister in the Royal Advisory Council."

"Have you ever met Jedi before?"

"Yes, but I didn't spend much time with them."

"What's your opinion on R2-D2?"

At the sound of his name, the droid in question turns toward you and lets out a series of beeps.

"I think he's adorable," you say.

R2 beeps again and waddles in celebration, which further proves your point. You hear Anakin laugh. You decide then it's a sound you like hearing.

After a few seconds of silence, you look at him. He's already looking at you, the unreadable expression from before making a comeback.

Unsure of what else to say, you ask, "You got any more questions?"

He doesn't answer straight away. He seems to be deliberating, and he's about to say something before-

"We have arrived," Captain Typho announces.

As the bus lands, General Kenobi pulls Anakin aside. Max takes this opportunity to talk to you. And he's worried for you as always.

"You know I can take care of myself," you tell him.

"I know, I know, just... stay safe, okay?" he says.

"Okay, I will. I promise," you say.

"It's time to go," Anakin notifies you.

Sighing, you bid Max, "Good luck."

"You too, your highness," he gives a slight bow.

You offer him one last smile before picking up your luggage and leaving the bus. The three of you walk toward the Starfreighter.

"Suddenly, I'm afraid," Padmé speaks up.

"This is my first assignment on my own. I am too," Anakin says.

"We just have to hold out hope that things will be alright," you add.

"It will be," Anakin assures you, "Besides, don't worry. We've got R2 with us."

R2 chirps happily from behind you. You turn to smile at him. As you walk among the spaceport, you hope Anakin is right.

------

You watch as Anakin and Padmé sit together. They seemed to be engaging in a pleasant conversation.

The Starfreighter is less comfortable than you hoped for. You are all currently cooped up in the steerage hold. Due to a lack of tables, you opted to have some alone time during your meal.

You end up sitting off to the side surrounded by luggage and cargo. You still have your quarter staff by you side. It's the only thing offering comfort right now.

R2 rolls up next to you, holding out a piece of bread. You take it from him.

"Thanks, buddy," you say as he settles next to you.

You turn your attention back to the two. You can't quite figure out their relationship.

"Hey R2," you address the droid, "Do you know if something's going on between the two of them?"

R2 beeps a response. Using what you know of Binary, you decipher that he doesn't really know either.

You let out a huff, taking a bite of your dry bread. Whatever it is, you can't help but get a strange feeling from watching Padmé and Anakin together.

➸

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #198

Happy New Year! (If it is not new years, please disregard.) Today we're crossing into the 2020 servants; hopefully this build makes that clear.

Today we're building Katsushika Hokusai, the daughter/fatheroctopus painter duo, most famous for... waves? And also making a deal with Cthulhu. We're grabbing some levels in Creation Bard for the former, and Hexblade Warlock for the latter. Don't worry, it'll make sense as we go.

Check out their build breakdown below the cut, or their character sheet over here!

Next up:

Race and Background

Oui is a Human. Her dad's an octopus, which is weird, but we'll deal with that later. Also, we're making her a variant human for cool stuff. She gets +1 Wisdom and Charisma, as well as Animal Handling proficiency to get along with her parents and the Magic Initiate feat, which uses her Wisdom to cast druid spells. Since magical paintbrushes aren't an official weapon in D&D 5e, we'll call it a quarterstaff instead, which means you can use Shillelagh to make it fancy and magical for the duration. It also turns the damage die into a d8, deals magical damage, and uses your wisdom instead of strength to hit things and deal damage. You also get Frostbite to splash cold water on people, and Protection from Evil and Good. You can cast that last one once a day for free, and it'll protect you against aberrations (plus celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead) for ten minutes with concentration. They'll have disadvantage to hit you, and they cant' charm, frighten, or possess you, and any existing effects of that ilk you can shake off with advantage. No spoilers, but that'll come in handy soon enough.

You also get the Guild Artisan background, because you paint for money. That gives you Insight and Persuasion proficiency.

Ability Scores

Make your Charisma as high as possible. You paint good, and you have the mental fortitude to keep an elder god from yeeting your soul from your body. Good job. Second highest is Dexterity, painting lifesized waves in the air around you doesn't actually need all the backflips, you just like to show off. Your Wisdom is also pretty good, it's hard to paint things you can't see well, and again that whole "mental fortitude" thing. Your Constitution is pretty good, you handle all-nighters pretty well. That means your Strength isn't great, but we're dumping Intelligence. You're kind of a hick, after all. Plus, really? Swordbeauties?

Class Levels

Bard 1: You weren't born with the squid powers, so we'll grab those up a bit later. Right now you're just a plucky young artist with a dream. As a bard, you get proficiency with Dexterity and Charisma saves, as well as three skills of your choice. Performance and Nature will help you paint nature, and Arcana will help you find the squid guy in the first place. You get Bardic Inspiration, Charisma Modifier d6s per long rest, and you can give one to your allies to boost one attack, check, or save by however much they roll. Nothing like some tasteful nudes to get the spirits up. You also get Spells that you can cast using your Charisma. Friends makes it easier to pass charisma checks against a creature for a minute, but they'll know you magicked them afterwards. Thankfully, getting paid doesn't take that long. Minor Illusion helps you bring your paintings to life, but just a little bit. It'll create a still object or sound that lasts for up to a minute. Creatures can tell it's an illusion with an investigation check, or by touching it. You also get Animal Friendship- your dad can be hard to get along with. Color Spray weaponizes your paints to blind creatures in the area, and Illusory Script lets you write one thing, but really write another. I'm sure you can argue this should count for paintings as well. Oh, you also get Dissonant Whispers. You're a Foreigner, you can be a little creepy if ya wanna.

Bard 2: Second level bards become a Jack of All Trades, adding half their proficiency to skill checks they aren't proficient in. You're an anime character, it's an unwritten rule you should be good at everything. You also get a Song of Rest, adding a d6 to healing your party does over a short rest. On top of that, your bardic inspiration becomes Magical Inspiration, letting your allies add it to the damage or healing of a spell. Finally, grab the spell Silent Image for moving images, so now you can paint birds and/or waves and have them look just like the real thing. Now, third level of bard is where things start getting funky, so before we can do that, let's make a deal.

Warlock 1: Bouncing over to warlock lets you become a Hexblade, which sounds kind of weird, but there's a reason for that. You don't do weird mind stuff like the GOOlocks, and you don't really use Tentacles like the Fathomlocks. What you do need though, is a fancy magic brush, and a fancy magic octopus. There isn't a familiar-based subclass yet, so we had to go with the weapon-based one, and we'll pick up your dad later. Anyways, starting off as a Hexblade lets you invoke a Hexblade's Curse as a bonus action, dealing your proficiency in extra damage to the cursed creature, crit on 19s, and heal yourself when the cursed creature dies. The curse lasts 1 minute, and you can use this once per short rest. Hokusai also become a Hex Warrior, turning one non-two-handed weapon into a special weapon at the end of a long rest. Now your brush uses your Charisma to attack, nice. Unfortunately, this doesn't include magical damage, but you can stack this with Shillelagh if you really need to. You also get another set of spells with your Pact Magic. These slots recharge on short rests, and it means your multiclassing doesn't mix slots like most spellcasting classes would. You can still use one kind of slot to cast the other kind of spells though. Speaking of spells, grab Eldritch Blast for some paint splashes, and Mage Hand for a pseudo-octopus that'll grab things for you. Cause Fear lets you paint a really creepy thing one target can see, forcing a wisdom save and scaring them if they fail. Arms of Hadar will give you a little bit of tentacles, as a treat. They'll force a strength save on creatures near you, dealing necrotic damage and making them too gooey to take reactions.

Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations, mini-feats to help you cope with only having two spell slots. Grab Armor of Shadows for free Mage Armor on yourself at will. Your family is your armor, and I mean that literally. Stop wearing your dad, it's creepy. You also get a second one, but we're saving that for the next level. Don't not take one now though, I'm just saying it won't matter in the long run.

Bard 3: Now that your pact is sealed, we can get the real living paintings going. If you're thinking 'bout an inking feel free to shuffle levels around, I just want to hit Font of Inspiration quickly. As a Creation bard, Hokusai gets an Inkling of Potential, adding extra effects to her bardic inspiration. Ability checks let the user roll twice, attack rolls deal extra thunder damage, and saving throws add temporary HP to the user. She can also enact the Performance of Creation, creating a nonmagical item nearby. Currently it must cost less than 20 times your bard level, and it has to be medium or smaller. You can do this once per long rest, or by spending a 2nd level slot, but doing so destroys the first object if it still exists. Right now this only makes medium objects, but a 5' wave of water is nothing to sneeze at. You also get Expertise in two skills, doubling your proficiency them. Pick up Insight and Performance for the ultimate style-copying skills. Finally, you get second level spells. We can't focus too much on non-charisma abilities, but this'll give you a leg up on seeing the true nature of things. It gives you advantage on any one kind of ability check for up to a minute.

Bard 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Charisma. Now you have more inspiration, better spells, and a bigger brush. Charisma's good, you'll like charisma. You can also paint Dancing Lights and a Phantasmal Force now. The former lights up an area, the latter creates a phantasmal creature or object that only one creature can see for up to a minute. It can break the illusion with an Investigation check, but until then it treats the thing as completely real, rationalizing away inconsistencies. It also can take a bit of psychic damage if the illusion would cause harm within 5' of itself.

Bard 5: Fifth level bards become a Font of Inspiration like we talked about earlier, giving you inspiration recharges on short rests instead of long ones. Your inspiration also jumps to d8s. Finally, grab Major Image for more major illusions than minor image. It creates an object up to 20' on each side, and includes effects like sound, smell, and temperature, as long as they wouldn't deal damage. You can also move the illusion using your action. Same rules apply to breaking it though- investigation check or just touching it.

Warlock 3: Finally back in warlock, you get your pact boon, and the Pact of the Chain gives you Find Familiar as a ritual, and you can skip your own attack to attack with your familiar. Wildly enough, Octopus is already a rules as written option for Find Familiar. Awkward point; octopi can only be out of water for 30 minutes. Good luck with that! On top of that, Mirror Image lets you paint duplicates of yourself, making it harder to hit you. Boom, evade skill achieved. You get three extra copies, and every time you get hit, there's only a 25% chance of actually hitting the real one. If an illusion gets hit, it's destroyed, so the odds go up to 33%, then 50%. You also put in the Investment of the Chain Master, giving your dad a flying speed, the ability to attack as a bonus action, magical weapons, your DC for saves, and you can react to give the little bugger resistance to one instance of damage. Literally everyone else's dad is dead already, try not to add one more to the pile. Except for Romani's, but that's sad in its own way.

Warlock 4: Another ASI, max out your Charisma. It's good, you use it for literally everything. For spells, Mind Sliver deals psychic damage an makes the target's next save a bit harder to make. You also get a Crown of Madness, which gives you control over a creature's attack action. Just because you're less spooky than Abby doesn't mean you're not spooky.

Warlock 5: Fifth level warlocks get a new invocation and third level spell. Summon Shadowspawn lets you paint one of three kinds of shadowspawn, creepy little things that can scare people by screaming at them. They'll obey your commands, and it'll last up to an hour, until they hit 0 HP, or you drop concentration. Your last invocation is the Gift of the Depths, letting you breathe underwater and swim as fast as you can walk. Now it's slightly less awkward to carry your dad around, yay. You can also cast Water Breathing for free once per long rest.

Bard 6: Finally back in bard now, sixth level creation bards can put on an Animating Performance, turning a large or smaller item into a Dancing Item with its own stats and everything. You have to use your bonus action to command it in battle, but you can inspire people at the same time. I'm not sure how well animating water would work, but it's something to look into. You also learn how to Countercharm, spending your action to give creatures near you advantage on saves against being charmed or frightened. For something better, grab Intellect Fortress. For up to an hour, you'll resist psychic damage, and you get advantage on all Int, Wis, and Chr saves.

Bard 7: Seventh level bards get fourth level spells, like Hallucinatory Terrain! Now you can paint a landscape- literally! It's only 150' in range, but that's still plenty of space to mess with people. It doesn't really change anything, but forcing people to look at non-euclidean geometry is its own reward.

Bard 8: Another ASI. Bump up your Dex now so you're less likely to get hit, then grab Phantasmal Killer to paint a scary creature that will follow the target around and beat them up. It's a shame only one creature gets to see it.

Bard 9: Ninth level bards get a better song of rest, but more importantly you get fifth level spells. Legend Lore will help you see the true meaning of things more easily, and the more you already know about something the more you'll learn. That's why your Arcana and Nature skills are so high. Oh, wait, sorry, one sec...

Bard 10: And that's why your Arcana and Nature skills are so high... starting now, with another round of Expertise. Your inspiration also jumps to d10s, and you learn Magical Secrets, two spells from any spell list you can cast. On top of that, you get Prestidigitation to paint up small objects. For your secrets, Conjure Animals lets you paint up some real animals that'll attack enemies for you. Alternatively, you can Control Water to make those waves we've been trying to do with way less fuss than a Song of Creation or Animating Performance. It does come with the limit of using existing water, though you can also Part Water, cause a Whirlpool, or Redirect Flow with this one.

Bard 11: Eleventh level bards get a sixth level spell, and True Seeing will help you see All Things in Nature, letting you see through illusions, invisibility and the like.

Bard 12: One last ASI; bump up your Constitution for better concentration and more HP.

Bard 13: Your Song of Rest is a d10 now, and you get a seventh level spell. Prismatic Spray is the return of Color Spray, but it's taken steroids. Now it deals plenty of damage of a random type to each creature in its area, or it has a chance to shove them into another dimension or petrify them.

Bard 14: Your last goody from the college of creation is a Creative Crescendo, allowing you to paint up to your Charisma Modifier in items when you use a Performance of Creation. Only one can be a biggun, the rest have to be small or tiny. Also, your max size is Huge now, and a 15' cube of water will make a pretty big splash. You also get another round of Magical Secrets, grabbing you Conjure Elemental for a more symbolic approach to flooding people, and Wrath of Nature to paint a landscape that'll really fuck with someone. The grass turns land into difficult terrain, the trees will slash at enemies nearby, Roots and vines restrain enemies, and Rocks will throw themselves at enemies, knocking them prone on a failed strength save. It's not mind melting geometries, but it's still mess with people's heads.

Bard 15: Your ultimate level gives you a d12 inspiration die. You also get one last spell, of the eighth level. Feeblemind will handle all the mind melting the last level failed to live up to, forcing an intelligence save and dealing damage regardless. On a failed save, the creature's Intelligence and Charisma drop to 1, and it can't cast spells, use magic items, talk, or understand people. The only ways to fix this are with another Intelligence saving throw (every 30 days) or using Greater Restoration, Heal, or Wish.

Pros and Cons

Pros:

Like the regular Hokusai, this build has a great deal of flexibility, with pretty good AC, HP, and physical attack options to get up close and personal, as well as ways to buff allies and attack with spells at a distance.

Speaking of spells, they give you a lot of crowd control options. You can create extra allies with summoning spells and Animating Performance, blow them away with waves from Control Water or Performance of Creation, or keep them tied up with various illusions.

You're also really good at fighting other spellcasters. Spells like Protection from Evil and Good and Intellect Fortress will shore up most of your saves against fancier spells, and you can use Feeblemind to completely shut down anyone who isn't a wizard or artificer.

So piss off your patron and kick the ass of their flunkies, easy! Wait, there's still cons.

Cons:

Okay, so there are some problems with throwing waves all over the place: they're hard to control where exactly they end up. Also, your best wave requires real water, which won't always be available.

On a similar note, you specialize in summons and illusions, both of which tend to require Concentration saves. Yours aren't that great, and on top of that it means you can only have one up at a time. Unless you're cool with an elemental running around willy nilly, but that fits into Con #1.

Your Familiar can only stay on dry land for 30 minutes at a time. If you're going to play this in a landlocked campaign, switch the octopus and last invocation for something else, it'll be a pain otherwise.

Okay, she isn't perfect, just make sure you carry an aquarium with you, problem solved, right?

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 11: The Games

Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,322

Chapter Summary: The long-anticipated Summer Games have arrived.

A/N:  This is probably my favorite chapter in this story and I'm really excited to post it. I got some bad news yesterday and have kind of been in a weird headspace ever since, so this has really been giving me something positive to look forward to. Seeing your likes and comments really make my day every week :) 

I hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank you so much for reading!

TW: Violence, child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @moumouton4 

if you want to be tagged, feel free to just send me an ask/message! :)

Read it on Ao3!

The first day of the Games arrived in all its vicious glory. Feasts, festivities, toasts, the clinking of mugs and the cheering of names—it seemed the whole of Asgard was gathered about the arena, the usual level of pandemonium descending upon the crowd as each warrior was introduced.

Teki sat stiff as a board in her seat, hands properly clasped in her lap as she stared straight ahead, unblinking. The swelling by her temple hadn’t completely gone down, but her mother had been able to manipulate a loose hairstyle that mostly hid it from view. While that worked seemingly well, Teki was afraid to move the wrong way, lest her hair shift and reveal her injuries. Even clapping seemed dangerous.

The princes were soon called forward as well, raucous applause erupting across the masses as Thor, the three-time defending champion, leapt with a bow and a winning smile. Loki’s name was somewhat lost in the ensuing chaos.

Teki was careful to keep her face neutral. She didn’t know where Osvald was seated, but wherever he was chances were high that he had a good view of her atop the royal platform next to Frigga. She knew he’d be watching her for any kind of improper reaction. She was determined not to give him one.

Besides her, the Queen clapped halfheartedly for her sons. Teki was rather surprised at her lack of enthusiasm. Shouldn’t a mother be more unhampered in her support? But Frigga’s brow was creased with worry. Teki gazed at the boys choosing their weapons alongside the other fighters—swords, knives, axes. She wondered if she’d be able to clap if Brant was in the arena.

The first day was dedicated to contests and non-confrontational competitions—archery, footraces, axe-tossing. Supposedly, this was the less violent segment of the Games, although the words “less violent” and “the Games” didn’t really match up. Inevitably, a judge made a bad call, the affronted contestant sprang up in insulted frustration, and then suddenly everyone in the arena was shouting at the top of their lungs and throwing each other to the ground. These brawls were a staple of the Games, and more often than not Thor was one of the first to start them, so King Odin usually let them go on for a bit before silencing everyone with a clang of his spear.

Teki tried to watch with the diligence expected of future royalty, but the summer heat worsened her headache and stifled her attentiveness, sending little beads of sweat dripping down her face and irritating her bruised skin. At least the royal platform was shielded from the sun—she felt bad for the people huddled around the ring with no cover whatsoever. Still, it was far too hot to properly follow anything.

The only time the competition truly held her attention was during the knife throwing, although she was ashamed to admit why. Loki dominated the event like it was his life’s calling. His movements were almost feline, cutting through the air as if he were a blade himself, carrying a kind of fluidity that even the veteran participants lacked. Teki didn’t think he missed a single throw. When the judges crowned him winner, she couldn’t resist her tiny grin.

It made her think of the gold-hilted dagger wedged beneath her mattress along with her father’s journal. She found herself fantasizing about wearing it to the Games, sitting here in her seat with Loki’s blade at her waist. Lots of women did something like that—wearing their warrior’s weapon of choice to show solidarity with him during the tournament. She imagined how Loki would react, if he looked up at the podium and saw her wearing his dagger. She wondered if his face would light up the way it did when she came to watch him practice …

The trumpets blared, announcing the next event. Teki shook herself from the daydream. What was she thinking? She was betrothed to Prince Thor, destined to be his Queen. She couldn’t allow her thoughts to wander elsewhere. The next group trooped into the arena. Teki only sunk lower in her seat.

One-on-one duels began the following day. This was what everyone had been waiting for. The crowd was absolutely feral as the order was announced. Most of the people were foreign to Teki, but her ears perked up at a few familiar names: Loki would be fighting towards the beginning, against another novice combatant. Thor was going against a hulking man from Vanaheim. Fandral was paired against another one of Thor’s friends: the slender, controlled warrior who preferred a spiked mace to a sword and whom Teki had rarely seen lose.

Good, she thought as the two shook hands, I hope he kicks your butt.

Again, she found herself struggling to stay focused throughout the duels between people she didn’t recognize. The first one ended when one of the men yielded. The second went through until the loser was knocked to the dirt, unconscious and bleeding. The third went on so long that by the time a winner was called the crowd had almost completely lost interest.

But then it was Loki’s turn. Teki perked up when he arrived in the field with a slight bow, adjusting his golden breastplate as he did. He met her gaze when he turned to the platform, his impassible expression relaxing a moment when he saw her smiling.

His opponent bowed as well. He was a crazed looking thing, wisps of his wildfire hair curling past his neck like a lion’s mane. His name was Geirr, and while the master of ceremonies said he was the same age as Loki, Teki was certain he looked a bit older.

The two boys took their stances in the arena with their staffs. Teki swallowed. She wished Loki could use his daggers. The games were set up in a series of rounds, with the winners of each duel going on to fight each other in the next. They changed the weapons each time: round one was quarterstaff, round two was sword, round three was axe, and so on until the final round, where the last two warriors used their weapon of choice. While Teki knew well that Loki was more than capable with the weighted staffs, nothing could compare to his deadliness with his daggers.

At the sound of the trumpet, Geirr was quick to jump to the offensive.  He leapt forward with several well-aimed stabbing motions that Loki deftly avoided. He blocked another swing and attempted a hit of his own, grazing Geirr’s torso before the red-haired boy pushed him back.

It was a very even match. The two chased each other into every corner of the arena, each sharp clap of their staffs meeting echoing across the thrumming crowd like thunder. Teki found herself leaning forward in her seat. At moments, Loki seemed just on the edge of victory. He got the first hit, smacking his opponent against his ribcage and causing him to double over in pain. The crowd cheered, but then Geirr was on his feet again and rushing at the prince, and once more Loki was on the defensive.

Teki’s chest hurt from holding her breath. Come on. Loki was right on top of him, landing blows on his shoulder, his hip. Geirr was struggling to stay on his feet. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. So close. Come on—

Geirr feinted to the right. It was a sudden jerk that caught Teki off guard, and she inhaled so sharply it stung.

It seemed to catch Loki off guard too. When he moved to block, Geirr whipped the other end of the staff around from the left. It collided with the prince’s face with a sickening crack. Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling her gasp. Loki fell backwards. For a moment, the crowd was silent.

Loki didn’t move.

The master of ceremonies rushed into the arena, raising Geirr’s hand. “The winner! Geirr Alfrson!” The people erupted into cheers.

Teki barely heard them. Loki was still on the ground, flocked by individuals in the blue robes of the healing ward. Was that blood on his face? She stared at them with a knitted brow. Was he unconcious? How hard of a blow must it have been to knock him unconscious? The healers were caring him out of the fighting area on a pallet of some sort. He still hadn’t moved.

Frigga was already on her feet, rushing down the stairs to the medical tents set up just outside the crowd. For once, she didn’t think of Osvald. Teki hurried to follow her.

The Queen stopped at the entrance to the white tent, speaking in hushed tones with one of the healing women. Teki slipped past them, seemingly without notice.

Inside, Loki was awake, and Teki exhaled in relief. He was sitting up on a cot as another woman in blue held a blood-soaked cloth to his nose.

“How are you feeling now?” she was asking.

He shrugged. “Fine.”

“Any lightheadedness?”

“Not really.”

“Very well.” The woman stood, patting him gently on the knee. “It was a simple heal. You should be able to rejoin the festival without issue when you feel ready.” With that, she exited the tent, nodding slightly as she passed Teki on the way out.

Loki heaved a sigh, cradling his head in his hands. Teki approached him slowly, kneeling at his side.

“Hey,” she asked quietly. “Are you all right?”

He glanced up quickly. Once he saw that it was only her, he relaxed a bit.

“I’m fine.” He huffed bitterly. “I could’ve taken him. Easily. One quick illusion, and he never would’ve seen it coming.” She jumped when he smacked the mattress. “I thought maybe—for once in my life—”

 He was crying, Teki realized with a start. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, dangerously close to spilling over. She didn’t know what to say.

“You did wonderfully,” she murmured. “There’s no reason to be ashamed. He just got a lucky hit—”

“There shouldn’t have been a lucky hit!” There was something dark in his face, something Teki had never seen there before. It scared her. He scowled. “Thor wouldn’t have let him get a lucky hit.”

“But—you can do things Thor can only dream of,” Teki pointed out. Where was this coming from? “Like the liquid light, with Brant—”

Loki laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “That doesn’t matter! It’s just a trick, nothing but a trick. Tricks don’t win the day. Father wants real warriors, not childish pranks.”

“You are a real warrior!” she insisted. “You won the knife toss yesterday, and you still did really well today—”

“You don’t understand!” he cried. “It’s not enough! It’s never enough.”

He fell forward, covering his eyes with his hand. His body shook with barely restrained sobs. Teki’s heart was breaking. She reached out hesitantly, fingers brushing against his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch away, she moved closer. Loosely, giving him plenty of room to pull away if he wanted to, she eased the prince into an embrace.

At first, he stiffened, and Teki almost made to let him go, but then his arms encircled her torso, gripping her as if she were his only anchor to land. She held him tighter in return.

And with that, the dam broke. Loki sobbed into her shoulder openly, unabashedly, no longer attempting to keep up appearances. Teki didn’t say anything. She had never been very good at comforting people, never really knew how. All she could do was rub his back and let him cry.

She wasn’t sure how long it went on for. Eventually, Loki stopped, pulling away to wipe at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He kept his head down, seemingly ashamed to meet her gaze.

“Forgive me,” he murmured hoarsely.

She frowned. “For what?”

“It’s—” His voice caught in the back of his throat “Pathetic. Selfish, to complain. Forgive me.”

“No it’s not.” Teki reached out to push his chin up so he’d look at her. Still, he avoided her eyes. “How is it selfish?” Norns know how many times he’s put up with my tears.

“I just—” He shook his head. “Here I am, whining to you about my gripes with my father, when you—when you’re suffering through conditions I can’t even imagine.” His fingers brushed against her temple, just barely running across the swelling. Now it was her turn to face the floor in shame. He had noticed. Of course he had.

“It’s so selfish…” he repeated, his voice so soft it seemed to be coming from somewhere else.

“No,” she whispered. She turned back to him, hoping the determined sincerity came across in her expression. “You always can complain. Anytime. I’ll always listen. You’re not selfish.”

He stared at her, his eyes tired and swollen. His hand traced her profile, down from her temple to cup her cheek. She shivered.

“But I am,” he said finally, almost too quiet to hear. “Because I don’t want you to marry my brother. And the reason is entirely selfish.”

Teki’s heart stuttered to a halt. What? Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. What should she say to that? What could she say to that?

Just then, the tent flap pushed open. Loki stiffened, pulling away from her immediately. Twisting around, Teki found herself melting under the iron gaze of Odin AllFather. Frigga stood not far behind. She felt the color drain from her face.

For a moment, they just stared at her. Teki quickly scrambled to her feet, burning (she had been kneeling, how must that have looked?).

“Your Majesties,” she faltered, somehow managing to sink into a clumsy curtsey. “If—if you’ll excuse me.” And with that, without waiting for a response, she fled from the tent.