#there are no labels there are no parameters it’s just how they feel and how they want to move forward.

[johnconstantinesdick]

Here’s the promised Seffie meta—I wrote this after chapter 9 of Improbable Fiction, expanding on her queerness, relationship to Colette, and how she foils Gil. All under the cut!

So, in Improbable Fiction, Seffie’s queerness has been purposefully left ambiguous, and I would so dearly love to talk about why—some of this I was aware of when I was writing, and some of it is me finally putting words to my gut feelings. The main reason is this: when it comes to Seffie’s feelings for Gil, it doesn’t matter if she’s bisexual or a repressed lesbian or some other flavor of queer. It’s not relevant, because whatever the case is, her feelings still matter. Whether she’s experiencing romantic attraction or compulsory attraction, at the end of the day she deserves to have her experiences and feelings validated. Seffie has so often been treated as a pawn as a matter of course in her family. She’s so often been dictated to or groomed for certain positions or she’s just had it assumed what she feels or means or thinks that it almost felt… like I would just be going against the themes of her arc to say “well she’s a lesbian so these feelings weren’t REALLY a crush” or “she’s bisexual and her feelings for Gil are more valid because she CAN be attracted to men” or whatever because it doesn’t MATTER. what Seffie needs is to be listened to! Not interpreted by me to the readers, just Seffie laid bare, all confusion and hurt and righteous fury.

And it’s also why, while the ending of chapter 9 is very much intended to show that Colette and Seffie are In Lesbians, I firmly believe they didn’t actually kiss or officially get together or anything. It’s not the right TIME. if Colette were to confess to Seffie at a time like this, it would just show that they can’t be together because Colette doesn’t understand or respect Seffie—which she DOES. Seffie is coming off the high of her first love, true or not, and the heartbreak afterwards.

Gil has spent this entire time dismissing Seffie’s feelings. Part of that is just that it’s in his nature to be a little dismissive of other peoples feelings and bulldoze over them and focus on himself, but part of it is also that he thinks first of Seffie as Colette’s Love Interest, and thus He Can’t Be The One She Ends Up With. If Gil considers Seffie seriously and actually fully acknowledges that she has feelings that deserve to be validated if not reciprocated, then he’s going to have to run headfirst into the terrifying fact that he… doesn’t like her. And like sure yeah he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings so that’s a factor but it’s mostly that he’d have to deal with the fact that he’s incapable of loving her and he… doesn’t know WHY yet. He doesn’t really have the words to explain that he can’t feel those feelings now that he’s started to realize that people are actually serious about that stuff—he’s finally reaching the part of life that every arospec person goes through where it feels like you’re still stuck at thirteen not understanding that people aren’t joking or exaggerating their romantic interest or dating lives. Gil is standing at the edge of a realization and it’s terrifying!

And the thing is! Seffie and Gil are foils! Seffie isn’t that oblivious to Colette’s feelings on accident, she’s subconsciously ignoring them because then she’ll have to deal with how that makes her feel! Gil is acting the same way towards Seffie! And it’s why, at the end of the chapter, Seffie CAN’T reciprocate right away! The end of the chapter scene is about her finally acknowledging Colette’s feelings and her own suppressed ones, finally reaching an internal breaking point for herself and letting go of Gil and the willful ignorance! They’re on even footing now, and Seffie can finally have the space to start figuring herself out and figuring out how she feels separate from family pressure. Paris is very much a coming of age college story—nothing is going how anyone expected, everyone is trying to figure out where they stand and what they feel, and absolutely no one is getting enough sleep or making good decisions. Seffie isn’t done with her internal journey, she’s just at the START! She’s finally facing everything terrifying and raw in her heart and she can do that because she trusts Colette to listen to her and catch her when she falls. Colette sees her and knows her—not because they’re predestined true love, but because Colette looks and tries. Seffie is finally looking up and realizing that she’s had someone on her side this whole time.

They understand where they stand with each other, now, even without voicing it. Seffie is able to take that internal step because of that trust she has in Colette. They value each other enough to not ruin their friendship in the attempt at romance, to be careful with each other in moments of vulnerability. And that’s terrifying, for Seffie especially. But that’s not going to stop them from trying, and exploring this new facet of their relationship.

[punkitt-is-here]

While I do love that I've made people feel better about their bodies, and I would never mind being fat, I think it's a bit bizarre when people say that I am. I have a very average build, I just have a bit of a tummy. I'm chubby more than anything. I don't really have to deal with the same experiences a fat person does. I wouldn't say I am because I'd rather not co-opt the label of a group of people when I don't think I fit the parameters myself. I also think it's very bizarre how people see someone with an average build and think they're fat? Like, are you not aware of what actual fat people look like?

[time-woods]

this is really embarrassing to even ask even if it’s anon BUT IM LIKE REALLY STRUGGLING TO FIGURE OUT IF IM AROACE OR IM JUST THINKING THE WRONG THING ,, I dont know how to explain it but I really wouldn’t want to have a sexual stuff or anything in that manner and even being in a relationship makes me super nervous. But at the same time I really would really like to enjoy a relationship with kissing and closeness with only some intimacy. I was just wondering if you have any take on if I’m a part the that spec or I’m just delusional.

After seeing that your art with Sīdus and Carmine was kinda your way of expressing the relationship with your partner made me question myself man. Sorry if this is too much to ask I’m very bad with this type of stuff.

nono dont worry ! ! im no expert on anything queer- i dont even have real labels when it comes to being on the aroace spectrum- (and honestly i dont care too- i just know what i prefer and make that known to my partners)) but i get exactly what you mean ! ! everyone has their own parameters for 'romantic' and 'platonic' relationships and honestly any forms of intimacy can fall into both ! in my opinion i think that makes you fall into the ace spectrum, but its genuinely all about what you want for yourself and your relationships. you draw the lines in those.

for example ! im aroace(spec)- sex repulsed and have a very blurred line between whats 'romantic or 'platonic' in relationships and honestly dont get it ! but i want to get married ! have a family ! but not in an inherently romantic sense, i want to spend my life with someone, but it doesnt have to be romantic, but that doesnt mean there isnt love there. its just different, i still want to be close to my partners, let them know that i love them, but just in my own ways. and theres certain things that i dont care for and i let them both know that. you can still feel a strong connection with someone and not have those 'expectation' from them. in my books we all love in our own ways, and its ok to not know what that means for you yet, its sorta the thing you gotta test the waters with and find out what works.

long message short: most likely if you closely relate how you express/ want intimacy with my comics and art- you may be on the aroace spectrum and also autistic. cause i put way too much of myself into my art and yall keep catching on so i might as well say it

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 31 - making amends (We made it!!)

Warnings: none I can think of

Word Count: 3k (gif not mine)

Summary: A decision is made about whether Natasha is all allowed to stay at Shield.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

A/N: a couple of things on this one. Firstly happy Halloween or happy boops for those that celebrate. Second y’all can thank @broken--bow for the completion of this years whumptober and the decrease in errors (all mistakes are ofc my own) - thank you my friend (those words never seem enough); third, vote blue like you’re life depends on it (us politics are insidious in how they effect other countries so please brave the polls however you can) and last, this fic ended up 53k words (in a month!) It’s been an enjoyable write and I hope an enjoyable read but so hard, if you’ve ever written then I’m sure you know how hard it can be to get the words out and making it work alongside prompts and a semi coherent story line can be tricky. So to everyone who’s followed it, my love to you all, esp to those that have encouraged with words (and hearts) , you will forever have my thanks. As always a break for now, until the next fic <3

.

Natasha looks around the office, the way it feels generic and familiar at the same time.

Maria, on her left, flicks through the old magazine, scoffing at something whilst Clint paces.

She gets that he’s nervous, but Maria’s nonchalance betrays nerves on her side as well.

Natasha just feels numb.

Tired.

If she doesn’t pass, it’s not their fault.

She hasn’t asked what happens to her, if she doesn’t.

She feels that if they don’t want her, there’s nothing she can do.

If they don’t pass her… what would Olivia do? Would she withhold the information?

Keep it from her?

It was the only parameter; albeit a big one.

Natasha forces a small breath, realising she’d been holding it for too long.

Schooling her body into stillness, she waits with them. Coulson enters, and the woman at the front desk looks up. He nods to her and sits next to Natasha.

She feels her face grow hot.

Embarrassed, she looks at the people who are on her side. It’s not many, but it’s more than she’s ever had.

People that have fought with her and for her.

She swallows the emotions.

She doesn’t have the luxury of hope now.

A man appears at the door, his face stern and without emotion.

“We’re ready,” he announces.

“Barton, you’re first.”

Maria looks up, putting the magazine away.

He follows the man into the room, taking one last look at Natasha as he offers her a rueful smile.

.

“Barton,” greets Fury.

Clint thought there would be more people; not just Fury and a man he had never met before.

This feels better to him.

More fair.

“My name, is Rupert,” the man states, his accent British.

Clint can’t help but give him a lazy grin.

It’s not returned.

He wonders if it was the wrong choice, he doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize this, he needs to make this okay.

Natasha’s file folder sits in front of him and Clint corrects himself.

“Sir,” he nods, adjusting his posture and leaning slightly forward.

He’d learn quickly in the military, of how to manipulate men in position.

Rupert nods to that, the ranking of respect seemingly going further than Clint thought.

He opens the folder.

Natasha’s young face stares at Clint, she can’t have been more than 8 or 9, her eyes dead but still very clearly her.

Clint rips his eyes away, choosing not to look down again; lest the grief of her be his down fall.

For intents and purposes, the therapy room is a good place for this.

A place Natasha is familiar with, but also not the cold view of the debrief room, where all of them had made her relive hard memories and brutal traumas.

Fury sits forward.

“Nine months ago, you brought Romanoff in. You said that she could make a difference, and help us take down the remnants of the Red Room. Since then, tell us what you think of her now. Was your initial assessment correct?”

Clint knew the questions were coming.

“Yessir.”

“Elaborate.”

Clint swallows, he’d practiced with Maria, having all his thoughts together, but now in the moment, his fear seems to override his brain.

“I.. Uh, I..”

They look at him expectantly and he hazards a glance at the picture.

“She’s worth it. You have, everything that she’s disclosed, all the information that she willing parted with, given up locations and players in a very wide game of chess, and done it at expense to herself.”

Clint takes a breath, now started the words seem easier.

“I don’t know what your experiences are around reliving trauma, but she’s done it because we asked her, she���s relived experiences so that a piece of the puzzle makes more sense for us, so that we can see how it fits into a larger picture. Natasha is an asset, she’s proved herself, look at shield - she’s the one that confirmed - with the intelligence sources that she had, that helped us root out the gangrenous scourge.”

Fury raises an eyebrow.

“I asked her afterwards, I said to her that she could leave, because Shield was not what we promised her. We kept her in the bowels of compound for months, she was poisoned and picked on and then watched me get beaten, and you know what she said?”

He pauses for effect, but he knows they’ll wait for him.

“Where would I go?”

“That’s what she said. ‘Where would I go?’ A black widow, with no place to go, I can’t imagine anyone more dangerous. We talk of people who can do good, of people that want to make the world better, but sometimes we might just need people that see the world a little differently; not just our americanised view. Natasha, left out in the cold, would find her own way, I have no doubt, but harnessing her goodness? Her own power and insight? I can’t imagine anything else more worth it.”

Fury stares at him for a moment, nodding and then in an untidy scrawl writes something that Clint can’t quite see.

“So your initial assessment was correct?” he clarifies.

“Yessir.”

Clint suppresses the urge to take a breath, instead, he bows his head and looks at his hands.

“There’s not much I’m sure about, but I am sure of her.”

He looks up to find the two men in front of him looking at him carefully.

Fury nods again.

“Okay. You may go.”

The words are slow, and Clint feels sure he wants to say something more.

“Oh Barton, if she were to stay, she’d be your partner. Does that change your mind?”

Clint smiles at the door but when he turns around his face is impassive.

“Not at all,” he replies, his voice unwavering.

.

Maria passes Clint, her name called next and takes one last look at Natasha.

The scar on her forehead still healing and Maria wonders if she did the right thing.

“Sir,” she greets Fury.

The other man, introduces himself, the advisor from the world security council looks intelligent.

She’s been wrong before though.

She offers him the same courtesy but turns her attention back to Fury.

“Tell us your current assessment of Shield,” Rupert starts.

It’s not the question she’d been expecting.

“It’s messy,” she starts, thinking on her feet.

Maria thinks quickly of the hierarchies she knows, what to liken it to and how just to explain that they have a long way to go before anyone in shield is completely trustworthy.

“There are currently 628 members of Shield. I think we all know how many were just weeded out and deposed. Each of those members know something of what happened and the rumor mill is wild with stories. I think there needs to be a better system and rankings. It seems ridiculous that we use military rankings and status of missions to determine who is trustworthy. Trust is earned. Both inside and outside of the home. You have a woman working in the library who can speak languages like breathing, new graduates that feel more trustworthy than some who have been here for years but use their power for clout over earning it, and you have an opportunity.”

She looks at Fury.

“Sir.”

Fury gives her a small smile, a sign that she hadn’t gone too far with her assessment.

“So what would you do?” Rupert asks, his voice casual.

“Change it,” Maria says seriously.

“Why not have a ranking system? Levels that give more information and something to work to. Then, clearance is easier. You know who, is in each level, what that rank entails, who can access what. It sounds simplistic but I can tell you how to implement it…”

Maria stops there, embarrassed at her enthusiasm, and the project she’d been working on for the last three weeks.

“I have a presentation.”

It’s the last things she says, the man, Rupert looks at her almost approvingly.

She hazards a look at Fury, expecting anger.

Instead, he cocks his head and stares her down.

She doesn’t quite understand what he’s thinking.

“You have a presentation,” he states, a note of mirth on his voice.

“Yessir.”

Fury leans forward.

“Fine. We can talk about that later. I think you and I need to have more of a conversation about your position too.”

“Sir?”

Maria must look worried as almost immediately Fury waves her off.

“Nothing to be worried about.”

Maria doesn’t feel sure.

“Tell me about your assessment of Natasha.”

Even though Maria knew it was coming, she still feels like she’s not ready to assess her.

“Are you sure you want my opinion?”

She’s stalling she knows.

“Yes,” Fury and Rupert reply in unison.

“She’s unpredictable, wild, traumatised and dangerous,” Maria starts.

She pauses.

“But, she’s an asset. She’s intelligent, resilient, somewhat naïve to American customs but has so much potential. She’s her own person and I think that can only be a good thing. We don’t need yes people, we want people who will assess us as much as we assess them. This is to say nothing on the intelligence she has provided us, the intelligence she has likely held back. Barton has done a good job at supporting her, making this as painless as possible for all involved. I..”

Maria hesitates.

She thinks of Natasha’s shaking hands, and worried eyes in the hospital. The human beyond the black widow. The woman that, despite all she had seen; all she had done, was still kind, still worth saving.

“Barton made the right decision in saving her.”

Fury stares at her.

Rupert looks at her closely.

She doesn’t waver.

“That’s your assessment?”

Maria nods.

“Yessir.”

“Okay.”

Fury shuffles papers.

“You’re dismissed. Ask Coulson to come in. Oh, and Maria?”

She looks up.

“We will meet tomorrow at 8am.”

He smiles, and Maria returns it.

“Yessir.”

.

Natasha watches Maria exit and Coulson enter the room.

She doesn’t say anything but offers a smile and Clint a nod before leaving.

“It’ll be okay,” Clint whispers.

She’d been in there half an hour, but Coulson, it seems like he’s only in there for half the time.

When he exits, he sits down next to Natasha.

“You’re going to be okay,” he assures, almost echoing Clint’s words.

To Natasha it feels like a soothing balm; from both of them.

The anxiety that she feels still simmering but someone else to fight for her, to take the time to reassure her? Natasha feels a strength that differs to anything she’s felt before.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Clint reaches over and squeezes her hand.

It’s short but she feels emotional, she’s never had men helping her, and here she was, sitting between two of them who have been the biggest supporters she’d ever known.

“When you’re ready,” Coulson tells her, “it’s your turn.”

.

Natasha sits in front of Fury, the other man seemingly inconsequential in the therapy room.

The green couches where Olivia had asked her what she wanted, all those months ago, still the same; but Natasha feels like everything had changed.

“I’ll get right to it,” Fury opens.

“The others have spoken highly of you, of your faults but also of your strengths. I want to hear from you. You are the one the gets to speak now, give your assessment of us, of shield and your experience here.”

He leaves the question open.

The statement throws Natasha. It’s not a direct question and she’s not sure what she should say.

People in power don’t want the truth.

“Its different,” she says truthfully.

“It’s not been easy being here and being ostracized about who I am and where I’ve come from; to be labeled a traitor and… I suppose I agree that who I am is not for everyone, I come from a place that I can be anyone, and often it’s chosen for me. It stands to reason that when I choose it, it won’t always be right.”

Natasha sighs.

“I haven’t done everything right. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for what harm I’ve done but I can say that I want to do better.”

She thinks it’s what he wants to hear, and she feels it’s true for her at least.

She watches as Fury narrows his eyes.

“Why here? Why America? You had your pick of secret services or agencies. You could work for getting in the world. Why?”

Natasha thinks of Olivia, of Clint and the way he found her, drugged and tortured.

She remembers wondering what else he was going to do to her, and when he met her with kindness, instead of pain, she felt it.

It burrowed inside and settled.

“There was no choice. I chose shield because you were best placed to protect me. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Fury smirks, his one eye glinting.

“And you just… want to do better.”

Natasha suppresses the urge to shift in the chair, to touch her fingers together or clench her fists.

Interrogation training had definitely beat that out of her.

“Yes.”

She feels her face grow hot under the scrutiny and even to her ears it sounds ridiculous.

Her heart rate quickens, and she can feel the tell tale signs of a panic attack.

Slow it down, she tells herself.

Like Olivia had coached her she searched for the emotion that was giving her disquiet.

Shame, embarrassment, anger. Something else she wasn’t sure of.

Making herself take an audible breath, she looks up at both the men.

“Yes. I want to do better, I don’t want to be someone pawn. My life, is my own. Barton once told me that it didn’t have to be like this, and he’s right, I don’t have to be ashamed of who I am, and what they made me. I can use it, I can be better than that; be better than them. You’re right when you say that I could have gone anywhere, done anything yet still came here and tolerated endless debriefs and torments, and you know what? At times I wished I hadn’t, but I stayed with it because you promised more, and I think that it’s what kept me going.”

She pauses.

“I am my choices and I chose this. For better or worse.”

Rupert looks up. Fury looks down.

“How do we know you won’t defect back?” The older man asks.

Natasha was prepared for that question at least.

“Trust goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

The man nods slowly.

It seems he wants to ask more, but they all sit in the silence as Fury writes one more thing.

He stands.

Natasha copies his movement, taking one more look around the room.

The first time she was in here, she had a panic attack that made her feel like she was dying.

Today, she’d been able to push it back and defend herself.

Growth, she thinks, as she exits without a word.

.

“What do you think?” Fury asks, not daring to hope.

“Well. I think she passes.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

“Probationary. With Barton.”

Rupert bristles.

“Why not Hill? Wouldn’t she be better?”

Fury shakes his head.

“No. I need Hill for something else.”

“Fine. Barton. But Phil has to be their handler. And you both have to report back to the council. She could be a loose cannon and I want oversight.”

Fury rolls his eye.

“Fine.”

He stands and walks to the door.

“It’s like you think we all aren’t working towards the same goal.”

Rupert gathers his jacket and briefcase.

“We all need oversight, Nick. Edith’s done a lamb, come for dinner and we can talk a bit more. I’ll send you my report before I send to congress. Maybe put Barton out of his misery, her too. I still think probationary for the next 3 months, with Belova awol it’ll probably give you enough time to figure out where she’s gone and persuade her to come back.”

Fury opens the door, allowing the other man to walk through it, first.

He adopts a neutral expression, and bids him a formal farewell, watching Natasha, Clint and Coulson stand and look towards them.

Rupert waves goodbye.

“Fine,” he mutters; looking at the apprehension that none of them can conceal, “come in.”

.

Epilogue

Natasha lays back on the shield issue bed, contemplating the day.

She was a shield agent.

On probation, sure, but still she had a badge that said so.

Every handler in the red room would roll in their grave.

She smiles, the ones she had killed anyway.

The other ones? She would just have to make time kill them as well so they had the opportunity.

Yawning, she contemplates the last year. How much her life had changed, how far she’d come without dying.

Dreykov would hate her.

He’d want her dead.

There was still so much work to do; to dismantle what was left of the red room.

If there were any girls left that could come in, or be rehabilitated… if they wanted to be.

Olivia.

Yelena.

She was sure the latter was dead, there was no was she could have survived the brutality of the red room.

But still.

There was a molecule of hope that burned inside Natasha, for all of the things she could do and could be.

The red in her ledger.

The things she had yet to experience and still wanted to to was another - as selfish as she thought it to be.

She takes the badge out again.

Touches the silver imprint, the leather around it.

Clint had looks pleased, so had Maria.

And Coulson, just looked like himself - maybe tellin that he was pleased with all that had eventuated.

She hadn’t quite understood his tells but if he were to be her handler, she’d have to learn that.

Natasha closes her eyes, feel the feelings, just like Olivia had said.

She thinks it’s pride.

[figs-and-cigs]

Poly things that annoy me even though I am poly.

- The idea of dating multiple people to get your "needs" met. Like my partners aren't little need fulfilling machines. I'm an adult, I try to meet my own needs. If my partner(s) can help with that, cool! But I'm with them because I like being with them - not for what they do for me!

- "Define the Relationship". I get it, it'll be nice to know how to introduce each other. Are we dating? Am I your girlfriend? FWB? Play partner? But like it's been 3 months buddy, and we've only been on 4 dates - you want to outline our whole relationship right NOW!? Can't we just enjoy each other and let shit evolve without creating all these parameters?

- Making requirements. There's a fine line between agreements within our relationships and demanding need fulfillments that look like rules. You want me to call you everyday? Cool. You can only feel secure in our relationship if I call you everyday? Hun, if you're going to panic because I had a busy day with my kids and other partners you might want to call your therapist.

- Unicorn Hunters who think they're ethical. Requiring your partner's partner to date you is icky. Period. And I don't care if the unicorn is naive enough to think it's normal. It's not.

- Jealousy being labeled a red flag and expecting the individual to figure it out on their own. Don't get me wrong, if I'm jealous - yes it's my issue to address - but like it's borderline abusive if my partner won't even discuss it or act like jealousy isn't a normal healthy experience even within poly!

- Making your relationship style you're entire personality. I know, I know, I ended up making my Tumblr blog all about my poly, but I do have relationships and hobbies that have nothing to do with poly. I swear!

- That one dude. You probably met him at a munch. He's all, "my girlfriends found out about each other. How do I make them be ok with this? And keep them from dating other dudes like me?" Fuck that guy.

- The cliques and cultish vibes. Seriously, how do I make my poly meet up group less weird?

[thatgirl4815]

These lines are so out of context, but I keep thinking about what Sand is referring to. Does Ray's flirting get to be too much? Does Sand pick up on the situation between Ray and Mew (possibly from Nick after he overheard Boston and Top's conversation in the car last ep) and start to question the state of his relationship with Ray? Does Sand start to suspect that Ray doesn't really view him as a friend, but as a distraction from his feelings for Mew?

I suspect Sand has had a lot of reflection time after last ep, enough time to truly question just how much damage Ray could do to him. Ray is the one constantly challenging the parameters of their relationship with his flirtatiousness. (I mean honestly, what is Sand supposed to think when he's told that their night together was "priceless”? Not to mention Ray's been making googoo eyes at him constantly.)

Could the "Don't do this to anyone" line in particular be a reference to something Ray does next episode to put their relationship into question? Will he ditch Sand again for Mew, this time without a good excuse? Will he make some blatantly romantic gesture that Sand just cannot reconcile with their “only friends” relationship? (I’m more inclined to think it’s the latter, but who knows.)

There’s been some debate about this, but while I think Sand has already caught feelings (FK basically confirmed as much in the Q&A yesterday), I believe Ray would be more affected by a sudden break with Sand than he’d like to admit. Call Sand a distraction, call him a friend, call him a superb sex buddy—regardless of any of these other labels, I think the show has set up a genuine friendship between them. Things just seem easier when they’re together. They talk casually, and they’ve alluded to having long conversations about their interests. All of this is completely separate from whatever sexual relationship they’ve established (a notable contrast from BostonNick’s relationship thus far).

…this turned from theorizing into analysis, but all of it is a symptom of my inability to bear another 5ish days until Ep4. We will endure this wait together.

[strawberryamanita]

Ever since I had it spelled-out to me that "straight" is a reference to the phrase "on the Straight and Narrow", I feel like I've personally begun to understand this conversation of "who gets to be included" and "who is xyz enough" more fully.

And frankly, I don't wanna take part in it.

Queerness in the contemporary age is defined by who you are and who you like; yet, in a weird, backwards way, it feels more inclusive to be defined by who you aren't -- who you can't be.

If you're not on the Straight and Narrow, you're queer. If you don't fit within these ridiculously rigid parameters, you don't belong. That's the long and short of it.

Listen, I know how important all the different identities and flags and MOGAI are in the queer community, and I'm not saying any of them should be rid of or diminished or any of that. But I think it might do us some good to use our flags the way flags are usually used: to display unity, not individuality. Sometimes thumbing through all these different labels can feel freeing, but other times they can help us box ourselves in.

Lemme just get down to brass tacks: the infighting never stops around here. It just moves on to the next target. We all get a turn to feel isolated and alienated and ostracized; I can't think of a single combination of demographics who hasn't been discussed as someone to be shunned.

Othered by the Others. What a lonely thing.

The LGBTQIA+ community is not a club that requires membership and initiation and hazing to be accepted into -- or, at least, it shouldn't be. I'm so physically sick of all the hair-splitting, y'all. I've stopped caring about who you are or aren't and who you like or don't like and which chromosomes make you what and whether kink is a factor that should be looked at and all of this talk talk talk talk talk. What defines queer? If you're not cishet. That's it. If you aren't one of them, you're one of us. Straightness is the perfect cogs that fit in the machine, and queerness is all those funky parts that get discarded and end up at a rummage sale where they can be given a new life, as something more than just a failed cog.

And to those who are about to ask, "What about the queer people who are actively malicious towards others?": again, it's not a club. You can have clubs and groups within the community, as you have a right to protect yourself, but queerness isn't a title you earn with morality. A flag usually flies over a group of similar individuals -- if you can see in your own nation, within your own race/ethnicity/heritage, that people are shitty, then you have the capacity to see that people that share your identity can be shitty too.

And trust me: there are some shitty queer people out there. And there are some cishet people I would sooner entrust with my queer vulnerability and safety.

I have no neat-and-tidy way to wrap this rant up. We're all a bunch of degenerate, fiendish sub-humans to our governments, and every time we successfully chase away a law that's meant to disenfranchise us even further, we turn around and see another one being written.

It's like SpongeBob and that stupid closet of alarm clocks that Squidward took the time out to wind.

Unity is the word. Link arms with your queer siblings this June. Any time we deem someone not queer enough -- not misfit enough, not shunned enough -- we're doing the oppressors' work for them.

Let this be a Happy Pride, for once.

[deramin2]

It's so weird being in my first queer relationship in my mid-30s. I feel kind of like a cat who's never had a stable supportive home that's been brought in by an experienced cat rescuer. I just don't entirely know what to make of the situation even though it's nice. I only had one truely awful boyfriend but I just never really had my own needs met without conflict before.

I've never been with anyone but allocishet men.

I've never experienced a relationship as a man.

I've never experienced a relationship as a man dating another man.

I've never dated a trans person.

I've never experienced an ace relationship.

I've never experienced dating a fellow disabled person.

I gave up on relationships like 6 years ago because I never seemed to fit in them. But I also used to hate romance movies until I started watching queer ones and realized it wasn't romance I hated, it was allocishet romantic norms. And when those are tossed out and challenged I like it quite a lot.

(I've been identifying as aroace but I'm revaluating if I actually don't experience romantic feelings or if the allocishet romantic expectations I was operating under are bullshit I don't identify with. I can and will identify in whatever way ultimately suits me. Definitely queer-romantic though. My labels were valid even if they change, and I could use different labels depending on the audience because I'm in a grey area.)

While I respect the angle that my relationships were queer because I was a queer person in them, my specific relationships were not really queer because either I didn't get to be queer in them (didn't know I was, didn't know how to express it, was treated as a character flaw or lack of maturity to work on), or tried to come out but the parts of me that were queer conflicted with the other person's needs (so we broke up in a healthy way and now are good respectful friends which does meet our needs). This is the first relationship where being queer is foundational and not inconvenient, so that's my demarcation.

Anyway, it's never too late to try approaching relationships differently. You don't have to keep doing what you're doing, whether that's floundering in straight relationships that don't fit or swearing off all relationships. You can muddy the waters between romantic and queerplatonic and make up your own niche habitat and no one can stop you. You can keep figuring it out. You can change every parameter and see if you get the same results.

[spoiled-bat13]

About the label "Goth"

I just find the whole label thing very counter to the counter-culture. Putting things in boxes when we are actively striving to escape the boxes we are placed in by society. Now I see "gatekeepers," persons who feel they are an authority on a label and who may use them. Demanding to know your taste in music, how much you know about any given band or genre, if you make or buy your clothes, through what source you were introduced to the aesthetic.

It's so exhausting.

To try and leave behind the rigid parameters of straightlace (for me Christian) life and expectation, to find a group of "individuals" and "free thinkers" to just find yourself being shoved into new boxes and new labels. To be called a "poser" if you don't listen to The Cure, but then be called a poser if you DO listen to The Cure bc they are "mainstream" etc. I just want to dress the way I like and listen to what I like and live how I like, with people who complement that, either by being similar or accommodating/non judgemental.

Tumblr requires Tags to help people find your posts. So I find myself using labels to lure people of similar interests to me. And so even with my rejection and loathing of labels, I, too, partake in them.

I consider myself fatally weird. Terminally off trend. Soft coldness. Warm hatred. Obtuse and of no use. I enjoy many things. But every day someone asks me if I'm "goth" and every day someone says I'm not "goth" based on some measure they pull out of their ass.

I am what I am. And what I am is tired.

[91vaults]

Self Diagnosis for Autism is totally valid

Diagnosis is ultimately an imperfect set of parameters we use to determine treatment. It's not a big gold stamp of approval that says "the way you experience the world and your struggles is valid and not a moral failing" but unfortunately society treats it like one and I totally understand people for whom an official diagnosis was the thing that brought it all together and gave them that understanding and validation they never got their whole lives (diagnosis as a barrier to support and treatment is another topic).

I was diagnosed as kid. I have a twin brother who has always been a bit of "quirky" guy, it never even occurred to me (or anyone else) until it suddenly did. Honestly I reckon a lot of people would be like "oh yeah...that checks out". I once asked him on the phone "You know, have you ever considered you might be on the spectrum?" his answer?

"I really don't care. It would mean absolutely nothing to me if I went and got a diagnosis"

But he often refers to himself as "a bit autistic". To him I don't think it's an identity thing, rather he explained it as a useful shorthand to describe himself, more so to other people, where he fears he comes off as perhaps a little emotionally distant or cold, and a bit awkward, among other quirks.

As for me, who does have the golden stamp of validity (which is hilarious given girls rarely ever got diagnosed back then) I don't really identify with it as an identity. I don't really tell people cause I don't see the need. I don't consider myself as part of the Autistic community (for a multitude of reasons) and I never have and don't refer to myself as Autistic. rather I say "I have ASD" because that clinical label and the distance it implies feels most true to my experience. Especially now when many people are reclaiming the label as an identity.

I know self diagnosis can be controversial and I have a lot of....thoughts about neurodivergent tik tok. But if someone feels it is true to their experience and they find comfort and community in it...If it's something they find helpful to understand themselves and in turn help other people understand them. Then why not? to use a clumsy analogy it's a bit like how physical and biological characteristics are relevant in some contexts when it comes to gender...but gender is so much more than that, its not just about chromosomes or whats in your pants its about how you experience and move through the world, how the world responds to you and how you understand yourself and relate to others. Medical definitions aren't everything.

[liquidstar]

its 5am so this isnt a very coherent thought and i might not be phrasing it perfectly... but you know how That breed of cishet guy will say shit like "those stupid lgbts keep inventing new genders ummm newsflash liberals theres only TWO gender. man and woman. checkmate." but like those same guys will turn around and literally make up entire new terms for different ways that men present their gender to sort them into gendered sub-classes. like. idk it feels like maybe your relationship with gender is actually not that different, and the rigid binary isnt doing you any favors either, but youre not willing to actually free yourself from it. so you work within its parameters to try to create your own sub-label instead. like yeah youre not calling yourself stargender or something youre just calling yourself an epsilon male. which is no more "real" than the former, but you try to fall back on pseudoscience and the barnum effect to justify it.

but at the end of the day youre doing the same thing! youre creating a unique personalized label for your specific way of expressing your gender identity, and the way you navigate it and through your personal gender presentation. and again its based on working within the patriarchal gender roles, so its incredibly reductive, misogynistic, and does a lot more harm than good. even to the people taking on those labels. its like theyre doing the same thing but in a twisted way, because of the way they cant stop being sexist and transphobic. but part of me really does think that even the people who cling the heaviest to the patriarchal ideals of gender actually also want to be free from it, because the second theres an acceptable method to do so... they'll jump onto it too. but because theyre so obsessed w those patriarchal ideals, they have to also make it into a hierarchy to place others into too. so again whatever they do manage is still reductive.

[snickerdoodlles]

Generative AI for Dummies

(kinda. sorta? we're talking about one type and hand-waving some specifics because this is a tumblr post but shh it's fine.)

So there’s a lot of misinformation going around on what generative AI is doing and how it works. I’d seen some of this in some fandom stuff, semi-jokingly snarked that I was going to make a post on how this stuff actually works, and then some people went “o shit, for real?”

So we’re doing this!

This post is meant to just be a very basic breakdown for anyone who has no background in AI or machine learning. I did my best to simplify things and give good analogies for the stuff that’s a little more complicated, but feel free to let me know if there’s anything that needs further clarification. Also a quick disclaimer: as this was specifically inspired by some misconceptions I’d seen in regards to fandom and fanfic, this post focuses on text-based generative AI.

This post is a little long. Since it sucks to read long stuff on tumblr, I’ve broken this post up into four sections to put in new reblogs under readmores to try to make it a little more manageable. Sections 1-3 are the ‘how it works’ breakdowns (and ~4.5k words total). The final 3 sections are mostly to address some specific misconceptions that I’ve seen going around and are roughly ~1k each.

Section Breakdown: 1. Explaining tokens 2. Large Language Models 3. LLM Interfaces 4. AO3 and Generative AI [here] 5. Fic and ChatGPT [here] 6. Some Closing Notes [here] [post tag]

First, to explain some terms in this:

“Generative AI” is a category of AI that refers to the type of machine learning that can produce strings of text, images, etc. Text-based generative AI is powered by large language models called LLM for short.

(*Generative AI for other media sometimes use a LLM modified for a specific media, some use different model types like diffusion models -- anyways, this is why I emphasized I’m talking about text-based generative AI in this post. Some of this post still applies to those, but I’m not covering what nor their specifics here.)

“Neural networks” (NN) are the artificial ‘brains’ of AI. For a simplified overview of NNs, they hold layers of neurons and each neuron has a numerical value associated with it called a bias. The connection channels between each neuron are called weights. Each neuron takes the sum of the input weights, adds its bias value, and passes this sum through an activation function to produce an output value, which is then passed on to the next layer of neurons as a new input for them, and that process repeats until it reaches the final layer and produces an output response.

“Parameters” is a…broad and slightly vague term. Parameters refer to both the biases and weights of a neural network. But they also encapsulate the relationships between them, not just the literal structure of a NN. I don’t know how to explain this further without explaining more about how NN’s are trained, but that’s not really important for our purposes? All you need to know here is that parameters determine the behavior of a model, and the size of a LLM is described by how many parameters it has.

There’s 3 different types of learning neural networks do: “unsupervised” which is when the NN learns from unlabeled data, “supervised” is when all the data has been labeled and categorized as input-output pairs (ie the data input has a specific output associated with it, and the goal is for the NN to pick up those specific patterns), and “semi-supervised” (or “weak supervision”) combines a small set of labeled data with a large set of unlabeled data.

For this post, an “interaction” with a LLM refers to when a LLM is given an input query/prompt and the LLM returns an output response. A new interaction begins when a LLM is given a new input query.

Tokens

Tokens are the ‘language’ of LLMs. How exactly tokens are created/broken down and classified during the tokenization process doesn’t really matter here. Very broadly, tokens represent words, but note that it’s not a 1-to-1 thing -- tokens can represent anything from a fraction of a word to an entire phrase, it depends on the context of how the token was created. Tokens also represent specific characters, punctuation, etc.

“Token limitation” refers to the maximum number of tokens a LLM can process in one interaction. I’ll explain more on this later, but note that this limitation includes the number of tokens in the input prompt and output response. How many tokens a LLM can process in one interaction depends on the model, but there’s two big things that determine this limit: computation processing requirements (1) and error propagation (2). Both of which sound kinda scary, but it’s pretty simple actually:

(1) This is the amount of tokens a LLM can produce/process versus the amount of computer power it takes to generate/process them. The relationship is a quadratic function and for those of you who don’t like math, think of it this way:

Let’s say it costs a penny to generate the first 500 tokens. But it then costs 2 pennies to generate the next 500 tokens. And 4 pennies to generate the next 500 tokens after that. I’m making up values for this, but you can see how it’s costing more money to create the same amount of successive tokens (or alternatively, that each succeeding penny buys you fewer and fewer tokens). Eventually the amount of money it costs to produce the next token is too costly -- so any interactions that go over the token limitation will result in a non-responsive LLM. The processing power available and its related cost also vary between models and what sort of hardware they have available.

(2) Each generated token also comes with an error value. This is a very small value per individual token, but it accumulates over the course of the response.

What that means is: the first token produced has an associated error value. This error value is factored into the generation of the second token (note that it’s still very small at this time and doesn’t affect the second token much). However, this error value for the first token then also carries over and combines with the second token’s error value, which affects the generation of the third token and again carries over to and merges with the third token’s error value, and so forth. This combined error value eventually grows too high and the LLM can’t accurately produce the next token.

I’m kinda breezing through this explanation because how the math for non-linear error propagation exactly works doesn’t really matter for our purposes. The main takeaway from this is that there is a point at which a LLM’s response gets too long and it begins to break down. (This breakdown can look like the LLM producing something that sounds really weird/odd/stale, or just straight up producing gibberish.)

Large Language Models (LLMs)

LLMs are computerized language models. They generate responses by assessing the given input prompt and then spitting out the first token. Then based on the prompt and that first token, it determines the next token. Based on the prompt and first token, second token, and their combination, it makes the third token. And so forth. They just write an output response one token at a time. Some examples of LLMs include the GPT series from OpenAI, LLaMA from Meta, and PaLM 2 from Google.

So, a few things about LLMs:

These things are really, really, really big. The bigger they are, the more they can do. The GPT series are some of the big boys amongst these (GPT-3 is 175 billion parameters; GPT-4 actually isn’t listed, but it’s at least 500 billion parameters, possibly 1 trillion). LLaMA is 65 billion parameters. There are several smaller ones in the range of like, 15-20 billion parameters and a small handful of even smaller ones (these are usually either older/early stage LLMs or LLMs trained for more personalized/individual project things, LLMs just start getting limited in application at that size). There are more LLMs of varying sizes (you can find the list on Wikipedia), but those give an example of the size distribution when it comes to these things.

However, the number of parameters is not the only thing that distinguishes the quality of a LLM. The size of its training data also matters. GPT-3 was trained on 300 billion tokens. LLaMA was trained on 1.4 trillion tokens. So even though LLaMA has less than half the number of parameters GPT-3 has, it’s still considered to be a superior model compared to GPT-3 due to the size of its training data.

So this brings me to LLM training, which has 4 stages to it. The first stage is pre-training and this is where almost all of the computational work happens (it’s like, 99% percent of the training process). It is the most expensive stage of training, usually a few million dollars, and requires the most power. This is the stage where the LLM is trained on a lot of raw internet data (low quality, large quantity data). This data isn’t sorted or labeled in any way, it’s just tokenized and divided up into batches (called epochs) to run through the LLM (note: this is unsupervised learning).

How exactly the pre-training works doesn’t really matter for this post? The key points to take away here are: it takes a lot of hardware, a lot of time, a lot of money, and a lot of data. So it’s pretty common for companies like OpenAI to train these LLMs and then license out their services to people to fine-tune them for their own AI applications (more on this in the next section). Also, LLMs don’t actually “know” anything in general, but at this stage in particular, they are really just trying to mimic human language (or rather what they were trained to recognize as human language).

To help illustrate what this base LLM ‘intelligence’ looks like, there’s a thought exercise called the octopus test. In this scenario, two people (A & B) live alone on deserted islands, but can communicate with each other via text messages using a trans-oceanic cable. A hyper-intelligent octopus listens in on their conversations and after it learns A & B’s conversation patterns, it decides observation isn’t enough and cuts the line so that it can talk to A itself by impersonating B. So the thought exercise is this: At what level of conversation does A realize they’re not actually talking to B?

In theory, if A and the octopus stay in casual conversation (ie “Hi, how are you?” “Doing good! Ate some coconuts and stared at some waves, how about you?” “Nothing so exciting, but I’m about to go find some nuts.” “Sounds nice, have a good day!” “You too, talk to you tomorrow!”), there’s no reason for A to ever suspect or realize that they’re not actually talking to B because the octopus can mimic conversation perfectly and there’s no further evidence to cause suspicion.

However, what if A asks B what the weather is like on B’s island because A’s trying to determine if they should forage food today or save it for tomorrow? The octopus has zero understanding of what weather is because its never experienced it before. The octopus can only make guesses on how B might respond because it has no understanding of the context. It’s not clear yet if A would notice that they’re no longer talking to B -- maybe the octopus guesses correctly and A has no reason to believe they aren’t talking to B. Or maybe the octopus guessed wrong, but its guess wasn’t so wrong that A doesn’t reason that maybe B just doesn’t understand meteorology. Or maybe the octopus’s guess was so wrong that there was no way for A not to realize they’re no longer talking to B.

Another proposed scenario is that A’s found some delicious coconuts on their island and decide they want to share some with B, so A decides to build a catapult to send some coconuts to B. But when A tries to share their plans with B and ask for B’s opinions, the octopus can’t respond. This is a knowledge-intensive task -- even if the octopus understood what a catapult was, it’s also missing knowledge of B’s island and suggestions on things like where to aim. The octopus can avoid A’s questions or respond with total nonsense, but in either scenario, A realizes that they are no longer talking to B because the octopus doesn’t understand enough to simulate B’s response.

There are other scenarios in this thought exercise, but those cover three bases for LLM ‘intelligence’ pretty well: they can mimic general writing patterns pretty well, they can kind of handle very basic knowledge tasks, and they are very bad at knowledge-intensive tasks.

Now, as a note, the octopus test is not intended to be a measure of how the octopus fools A or any measure of ‘intelligence’ in the octopus, but rather show what the “octopus” (the LLM) might be missing in its inputs to provide good responses. Which brings us to the final 1% of training, the fine-tuning stages;

LLM Interfaces

As mentioned previously, LLMs only mimic language and have some key issues that need to be addressed:

LLM base models don’t like to answer questions nor do it well.

LLMs have token limitations. There’s a limit to how much input they can take in vs how long of a response they can return.

LLMs have no memory. They cannot retain the context or history of a conversation on their own.

LLMs are very bad at knowledge-intensive tasks. They need extra context and input to manage these.

However, there’s a limit to how much you can train a LLM. The specifics behind this don’t really matter so uh… *handwaves* very generally, it’s a matter of diminishing returns. You can get close to the end goal but you can never actually reach it, and you hit a point where you’re putting in a lot of work for little to no change. There’s also some other issues that pop up with too much training, but we don’t need to get into those.

You can still further refine models from the pre-training stage to overcome these inherent issues in LLM base models -- Vicuna-13b is an example of this (I think? Pretty sure? Someone fact check me on this lol).

(Vicuna-13b, side-note, is an open source chatbot model that was fine-tuned from the LLaMA model using conversation data from ShareGPT. It was developed by LMSYS, a research group founded by students and professors from UC Berkeley, UCSD, and CMU. Because so much information about how models are trained and developed is closed-source, hidden, or otherwise obscured, they research LLMs and develop their models specifically to release that research for the benefit of public knowledge, learning, and understanding.)

Back to my point, you can still refine and fine-tune LLM base models directly. However, by about the time GPT-2 was released, people had realized that the base models really like to complete documents and that they’re already really good at this even without further fine-tuning. So long as they gave the model a prompt that was formatted as a ‘document’ with enough background information alongside the desired input question, the model would answer the question by ‘finishing’ the document. This opened up an entire new branch in LLM development where instead of trying to coach the LLMs into performing tasks that weren’t native to their capabilities, they focused on ways to deliver information to the models in a way that took advantage of what they were already good at.

This is where LLM interfaces come in.

LLM interfaces (which I sometimes just refer to as “AI” or “AI interface” below; I’ve also seen people refer to these as “assistants”) are developed and fine-tuned for specific applications to act as a bridge between a user and a LLM and transform any query from the user into a viable input prompt for the LLM. Examples of these would be OpenAI’s ChatGPT and Google’s Bard. One of the key benefits to developing an AI interface is their adaptability, as rather than needing to restart the fine-tuning process for a LLM with every base update, an AI interface fine-tuned for one LLM engine can be refitted to an updated version or even a new LLM engine with minimal to no additional work. Take ChatGPT as an example -- when GPT-4 was released, OpenAI didn’t have to train or develop a new chat bot model fine-tuned specifically from GPT-4. They just ‘plugged in’ the already fine-tuned ChatGPT interface to the new GPT model. Even now, ChatGPT can submit prompts to either the GPT-3.5 or GPT-4 LLM engines depending on the user’s payment plan, rather than being two separate chat bots.

As I mentioned previously, LLMs have some inherent problems such as token limitations, no memory, and the inability to handle knowledge-intensive tasks. However, an input prompt that includes conversation history, extra context relevant to the user’s query, and instructions on how to deliver the response will result in a good quality response from the base LLM model. This is what I mean when I say an interface transforms a user’s query into a viable prompt -- rather than the user having to come up with all this extra info and formatting it into a proper document for the LLM to complete, the AI interface handles those responsibilities.

How exactly these interfaces do that varies from application to application. It really depends on what type of task the developers are trying to fine-tune the application for. There’s also a host of APIs that can be incorporated into these interfaces to customize user experience (such as APIs that identify inappropriate content and kill a user’s query, to APIs that allow users to speak a command or upload image prompts, stuff like that). However, some tasks are pretty consistent across each application, so let’s talk about a few of those:

Token management

As I said earlier, each LLM has a token limit per interaction and this token limitation includes both the input query and the output response.

The input prompt an interface delivers to a LLM can include a lot of things: the user’s query (obviously), but also extra information relevant to the query, conversation history, instructions on how to deliver its response (such as the tone, style, or ‘persona’ of the response), etc. How much extra information the interface pulls to include in the input prompt depends on the desired length of an output response and what sort of information pulled for the input prompt is prioritized by the application varies depending on what task it was developed for. (For example, a chatbot application would likely allocate more tokens to conversation history and output response length as compared to a program like Sudowrite* which probably prioritizes additional (context) content from the document over previous suggestions and the lengths of the output responses are much more restrained.)

(*Sudowrite is…kind of weird in how they list their program information. I’m 97% sure it’s a writer assistant interface that keys into the GPT series, but uhh…I might be wrong? Please don’t hold it against me if I am lol.)

Anyways, how the interface allocates tokens is generally determined by trial-and-error depending on what sort of end application the developer is aiming for and the token limit(s) their LLM engine(s) have.

tl;dr -- all LLMs have interaction token limits, the AI manages them so the user doesn’t have to.

Simulating short-term memory

LLMs have no memory. As far as they figure, every new query is a brand new start. So if you want to build on previous prompts and responses, you have to deliver the previous conversation to the LLM along with your new prompt.

AI interfaces do this for you by managing what’s called a ‘context window’. A context window is the amount of previous conversation history it saves and passes on to the LLM with a new query. How long a context window is and how it’s managed varies from application to application. Different token limits between different LLMs is the biggest restriction for how many tokens an AI can allocate to the context window. The most basic way of managing a context window is discarding context over the token limit on a first in, first out basis. However, some applications also have ways of stripping out extraneous parts of the context window to condense the conversation history, which lets them simulate a longer context window even if the amount of allocated tokens hasn’t changed.

Augmented context retrieval

Remember how I said earlier that LLMs are really bad at knowledge-intensive tasks? Augmented context retrieval is how people “inject knowledge” into LLMs.

Very basically, the user submits a query to the AI. The AI identifies keywords in that query, then runs those keywords through a secondary knowledge corpus and pulls up additional information relevant to those keywords, then delivers that information along with the user’s query as an input prompt to the LLM. The LLM can then process this extra info with the prompt and deliver a more useful/reliable response.

Also, very importantly: “knowledge-intensive” does not refer to higher level or complex thinking. Knowledge-intensive refers to something that requires a lot of background knowledge or context. Here’s an analogy for how LLMs handle knowledge-intensive tasks:

A friend tells you about a book you haven’t read, then you try to write a synopsis of it based on just what your friend told you about that book (see: every high school literature class). You’re most likely going to struggle to write that summary based solely on what your friend told you, because you don’t actually know what the book is about.

This is an example of a knowledge intensive task: to write a good summary on a book, you need to have actually read the book. In this analogy, augmented context retrieval would be the equivalent of you reading a few book reports and the wikipedia page for the book before writing the summary -- you still don’t know the book, but you have some good sources to reference to help you write a summary for it anyways.

This is also why it’s important to fact check a LLM’s responses, no matter how much the developers have fine-tuned their accuracy.

(*Sidenote, while AI does save previous conversation responses and use those to fine-tune models or sometimes even deliver as a part of a future input query, that’s not…really augmented context retrieval? The secondary knowledge corpus used for augmented context retrieval is…not exactly static, you can update and add to the knowledge corpus, but it’s a relatively fixed set of curated and verified data. The retrieval process for saved past responses isn’t dissimilar to augmented context retrieval, but it’s typically stored and handled separately.)

So, those are a few tasks LLM interfaces can manage to improve LLM responses and user experience. There’s other things they can manage or incorporate into their framework, this is by no means an exhaustive or even thorough list of what they can do. But moving on, let’s talk about ways to fine-tune AI. The exact hows aren't super necessary for our purposes, so very briefly;

Supervised fine-tuning

As a quick reminder, supervised learning means that the training data is labeled. In the case for this stage, the AI is given data with inputs that have specific outputs. The goal here is to coach the AI into delivering responses in specific ways to a specific degree of quality. When the AI starts recognizing the patterns in the training data, it can apply those patterns to future user inputs (AI is really good at pattern recognition, so this is taking advantage of that skill to apply it to native tasks AI is not as good at handling).

As a note, some models stop their training here (for example, Vicuna-13b stopped its training here). However there’s another two steps people can take to refine AI even further (as a note, they are listed separately but they go hand-in-hand);

Reward modeling

To improve the quality of LLM responses, people develop reward models to encourage the AIs to seek higher quality responses and avoid low quality responses during reinforcement learning. This explanation makes the AI sound like it’s a dog being trained with treats -- it’s not like that, don’t fall into AI anthropomorphism. Rating values just are applied to LLM responses and the AI is coded to try to get a high score for future responses.

For a very basic overview of reward modeling: given a specific set of data, the LLM generates a bunch of responses that are then given quality ratings by humans. The AI rates all of those responses on its own as well. Then using the human labeled data as the ‘ground truth’, the developers have the AI compare its ratings to the humans’ ratings using a loss function and adjust its parameters accordingly. Given enough data and training, the AI can begin to identify patterns and rate future responses from the LLM on its own (this process is basically the same way neural networks are trained in the pre-training stage).

On its own, reward modeling is not very useful. However, it becomes very useful for the next stage;

Reinforcement learning

So, the AI now has a reward model. That model is now fixed and will no longer change. Now the AI runs a bunch of prompts and generates a bunch of responses that it then rates based on its new reward model. Pathways that led to higher rated responses are given higher weights, pathways that led to lower rated responses are minimized. Again, I’m kind of breezing through the explanation for this because the exact how doesn’t really matter, but this is another way AI is coached to deliver certain types of responses.

You might’ve heard of the term reinforcement learning from human feedback (or RLHF for short) in regards to reward modeling and reinforcement learning because this is how ChatGPT developed its reward model. Users rated the AI’s responses and (after going through a group of moderators to check for outliers, trolls, and relevancy), these ratings were saved as the ‘ground truth’ data for the AI to adjust its own response ratings to. Part of why this made the news is because this method of developing reward model data worked way better than people expected it to. One of the key benefits was that even beyond checking for knowledge accuracy, this also helped fine-tune how that knowledge is delivered (ie two responses can contain the same information, but one could still be rated over another based on its wording).

As a quick side note, this stage can also be very prone to human bias. For example, the researchers rating ChatGPT’s responses favored lengthier explanations, so ChatGPT is now biased to delivering lengthier responses to queries. Just something to keep in mind.

So, something that’s really important to understand from these fine-tuning stages and for AI in general is how much of the AI’s capabilities are human regulated and monitored. AI is not continuously learning. The models are pre-trained to mimic human language patterns based on a set chunk of data and that learning stops after the pre-training stage is completed and the model is released. Any data incorporated during the fine-tuning stages for AI is humans guiding and coaching it to deliver preferred responses. A finished reward model is just as static as a LLM and its human biases echo through the reinforced learning stage.

People tend to assume that if something is human-like, it must be due to deeper human reasoning. But this AI anthropomorphism is…really bad. Consequences range from the term “AI hallucination” (which is defined as “when the AI says something false but thinks it is true,” except that is an absolute bullshit concept because AI doesn’t know what truth is), all the way to the (usually highly underpaid) human labor maintaining the “human-like” aspects of AI getting ignored and swept under the rug of anthropomorphization. I’m trying not to get into my personal opinions here so I’ll leave this at that, but if there’s any one thing I want people to take away from this monster of a post, it’s that AI’s “human” behavior is not only simulated but very much maintained by humans.

Anyways, to close this section out: The more you fine-tune an AI, the more narrow and specific it becomes in its application. It can still be very versatile in its use, but they are still developed for very specific tasks, and you need to keep that in mind if/when you choose to use it (I’ll return to this point in the final section).

[quinloki]

For the kink game how about cuckolding/frottage/chastity devices with Kid, Killer, and a free space if you feel like it❤️and specifically with the first one I’d imagine Kid/Killer being each others other person but you could also write with someone else if you want

I almost, almost deleted this - because I was under the mistaken impression that cuckolding was entirely a derogatory term. I had not heard it in any context outside of someone using it to put someone else down.

Fortunately for both of us, I did a little digging and a little questioning and found that's not the case for this phrase at all.

It is, at it's core, sharing one's partner. This can come with a humiliation bent - i.e. "He can't do you right like I can." whilst the usual partner looks on. It can also have a win-back or competition vibe to it as well.

Not to rabbit hole too much (I love words and word origins), but it's an OLD ASS WORD that was basically a label a man received when another man slept with his wife (or his wife bounced and slept with other men).

Obviously, in a healthy kink setting there's no cheating/adultery involved, and there's not always a humiliation/competition bend to it either.

So anyway, now that I've sorted all that out for my own education (and yours now too if you didn't already know xD) let's get into it.

We'll toss Donquixote Doflamingo into this as the offered free space, cause I have ideas.

Eustass Kid:

Cuckolding - FUCK Yes - He enjoys the change in perspective. Whether you're riding the other person, or being ridden by them, he'll sit back with that cocksure grin and patiently wait his turn. Knowing that he already knows your body so well, there's going to be no contest (assuming a contest of sorts is part of the agreement). No matter the parameters, you're just beautiful to him in the midst of pleasure - but nothing tops him topping you and pulling all the sounds you can make from you.

Kid/Killer Cuckolding one another wouldn't work in my PERSONAL head canon, but only because if they're having that kind of thing, then what's actually going on is a poly situation. I can 100% see a Kid/Killer/(Reader/OC/etc) relationship happening very easily.

Frottage - Yes - He's not against it, but he's not going to be too energetic about it. Well, that's not the right way to put it, he's going to be into it, cause Kid doesn't half-ass anything, and certainly nothing in bed. But it's not going to be the cake. Icing, maybe, a little appetizer prior to the main meal, a way of teasing the hell out of you in public when no one's looking.

Kid's not big on PDAs, but he is 100% here for walking the line of maybe getting caught as he teases you in public. If you give what you get expect it to escalate >.>

Chasity Devices - Oh god you don't even know - No one who knows Kid would call him a patient man, but when it comes to teasing and denying he has a hell of a Long Game. He can be nearly cruel in denying you and using Chasity devices. Hearing you as a begging, shivering, drooling mess, wanting nothing more than release - that only he can provide - it's almost as good as hearing you lose your mind to back to back orgasms.

He loves to wring you dry, but letting you marinate in need is good too, and you can be sure that the Chasity pieces won't be the only devices you have to deal with.

Killer:

Cuckolding - Sure - He doesn't mind sharing - whether it's a vetted hookup, or a relationship structure, he's okay with it. Well, more than okay with it, he's perfectly fine with it, but he's not a big fan of sitting back and watching or waiting. Despite his vast patience in other things, he doesn't really vibe it in this situation.

If anyone's going to make you sing in pleasure, it's going to be him, and any kind of competition vibe just makes it a little less in his mind. He'll indulge you though, if it's your kink, so long as you don't go "surprising" him with it.

Frottage - FUCK Yes - Killer's a toucher. He likes to touch you. Hugs, hand-holding, idly playing with your hair, kissing your cheek, unless you're uncomfortable with PDAs, in which case he'll hold back. But he's very hands on and very comfortable with it. This tactile desire bumps the whole concept of frottage up the meter for him. Behind closed doors, or out in public, he enjoys being in contact with you and your body. He usually leads with his hands, but he can easily rub his whole self against you.

The details are as flexible as he is, and considering his acrobatic style of fighting he is very flexible. He'll have you a flushed and flustered mess if he has leave to do it in public. No one will catch him in the act, so all the curious looks and questions will be directed at you.

Chasity Devices - Yes - Killer likes to play the long game. Not as much as Kid does, but there's still pleasure to be had in it. Usually his preference is more hands on, and not using any devices, but he can easily and happily include them.

If he's bringing Chasity Devices into it, then he's bringing other devices into it. It's a pleasure he picked up from Kid - there's just something extra about watching you squirm while he adjusts the vibrator's settings with the small remote in his pocket while you're out running errands. The added level of control makes up for the hands on feeling he usually prefers.

Doflamingo:

Cuckolding - Oh god you don't even know - There is no universe in which Doflamingo doubts he satisfies you. But he loves the idea of you either choosing someone or him choosing for you, and watching while you enjoy yourself. That itself is hot enough, being able to watch you from a different perspective, but the true goal for him is railing you better. Whether the other person sticks around or not, he doesn't care - he's not proving his point to anyone else but you (and whoever can hear you screaming your pleasures into the air.)

Frottage - Yes - I think as close as he gets to this is when he gets, we'll say, bored cuddling. His body and hands will start to rub against you, teasing and caressing all the little places that get your attention. This kink is, at most, a means of segue for Doffy. He'll certainly utilize it to tease you when others around - out in public or just around the family, but he's not going to be satisfied stopping there.

If he brings you to orgasm from it, his view on it will likely shift, at least a little. But once he knows he can, he's going to have it as his goal going forward.

Chasity Devices - Sure - Doflamingo's only plays the long game, or even teases the idea of it, if you're being punished. He's a busy man, and he wants to enjoy every moment he gets with you, so he doesn't waste any of it with the idea of Chasity. He might get you some devices to use and wear when he's not around, denying you from pleasuring yourself while he's away on business, but he's only going to do that if you've earned such frustration.

Kinky One Piece head canons

[keitaiware]

📁 Section 3, “OTOing your UTAU voicebank.”

After setting, and aliasing your UTAU voicebank, it is time to fine tune their samples! To do this we will be going through a process called, "otoing." Oto, "音," means sound. So for this process we will be setting parameters at which the sound will be rendered in the program.

Why? In this step you will be labeling your samples so that the program knows where the consonant starts and how to loop the vowels. 

To oto your UTAU voicebank, we will need to understand what each parameter does. For this tutorial, I will be demonstrating how to oto in UTAU-Synth’s GenEditor as it is what I have been using for the last 6 years! *(As of writing this document.)

If you are on MacOS Silicon, I recommend referring to my followup vLabeler tutorial. This is because UTAU-Synth is quite unstable on MacOS Silicon, and most users use it just for the frequency generation. If your hardware is not experiencing any issues, then feel free to proceed.

UTAU-Synth GenEdit

Let’s talk about the 5 parameters you will be utilizing for your OTO. Offset, fixed, blank, pre-utterance, and overlap.

In the GenEdit, you will see a visual of each parameter highlighting the sample.

Offset - The first blue highlight on the left of the sample.

Overlap - The green line before the red line.

Pre-utterance - The red line after the green line.

Fixed - The red highlight at the beginning of the note.

Blank - The second blue highlight at the end of the note.

Now that you can recognize them, let’s go over what each of these functions do!

Section A. "Offset and Blank . . ."

The negative spaces in the sample, by placing these two functions in they perform the same feature at the beginning and end of the note. By setting the offset and blank, you will silence anything in the set area. Also can be refereed to as noise exclusion.

Section B. "Pre-utterance . . ."

By setting the pre-utterance, you mark where the consonant ends in a sample. How do you tell where the consonant ends? By observing the waveform sample, the consonant is normally more condensed and shorter than the vowel, by observing the waveform you can normally guess where it is by contrasting the shape.

Section C. "Overlap . . ."

The green line before the pre-utterance is the overlap. The overlap marks the area that will be overlapped with the previous syllable.

Section D. "Fixed . . ."

Is the pink highlighted area, that will tell UTAU what area not to stretch. Possibly the best place for this would be a little after the consonant. 

After completing this step, we will now move onto generating frequencies in UTAU-Synth.

[cyberdragoninfinity]

I'm gonna apologise in advance for how dark this is, but looking at your recent Placidodumping from the tag force games... i feel like he's geniunely suicidal, and even if not exactly suicidal then he has no concept of self-worth.

Like, he's way too happy to die. Being willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of the future is dark enough. But the fact that he's saying he will be able to rest? That he's expecting you to be happy to die too? Yeah, that's the darkest part.

Placido's literally come from hell, but he's not even trying to save himself. He's not just acceptant of his fate, he's welcoming it, and it makes me wonder just how much he's been through. His despair, is it entirely from the memories he's been created from? Or is it from something else? *coughcoughashittyoldmancoughcough* Thinking of the Jakob part in tag force, how he straight up killed Placido and Lester, how he spoke about them, I feel like it wouldn't be too far fetched to assume he's said these things to Placido's face (and let's not forget how Zone spoke to Placido-and only Placido- in duel links)

Perhaps Placido's real despair wasn't the inherited trauma from Aporia.

Maybe it was the way he was treated by the only people around him. One of his duel links lines is "it's so sad when you have no one to love" and yet the other Iliaster members are right there, as family. And yet, he didn't get love from them.

Maybe he could have been saved if someone did love him. Maybe then he would have had something to live for.

(Apologies for the mini essay in here it was supposed to be a few sentences and then suddenly I've written an essay)

OH YEAH NO FOR SURE we are definitely WELL past the point of Primoplacido Yugioh 5D's having a true sense of self-worth in any emotional or psychologically 'human' way, but I think when analyzing that (and his behavior that could definitely be labeled some form of suicidal) it's important to approach it less from a "oh what [abuse/traumatic event/negative feedback] has he personally been through to cause this" and more from a "what are the circumstances of Primo's creation and how does that effect him." The former is still an important element of course, but it's a bit of a disservice to his character to attempt to 100% separate him from Aporia when dissecting what's going on with him; one really can't exist without the other! (i.e. Primo was only brought into being via Aporia's memories and suffering, and Aporia as we see him in-show only can be brought into being when the emperors fuse....the cyclical infinite nature of these characters runs very very deep hehehe)

imo it's not an either/or situation with Primo's despair--I think his completely fucked sense of self worth stems from the trauma he's inherited by being a piece of Aporia AND the bullshit he deals with from his peers currently AND, also, the inescapable fact that Primo was Created To Act Under a Specific Set of Parameters. more after the cut, lots of analyzing this miserable Swordbot9000, apologies for the Epic of Gilgacidomesh

Primo is not human. IM NOT SAYING THAT TO BE MEAN TO HIM OR ANYTHING he's just Literally Not a Flesh and Blood Human Being; he's a machine created from a dead man's memories and emotions by Just Some Guy who thinks he's god, and due to this Primo has deemed himself Above humankind--better than them, more capable than them. Sometime I need to go off more on my Emperors analysis discussing the fact that theyre basically Mechanical Angels, BUT FOR NOW I think a very core trait of Primo's is the fact he doesn't see himself as human, and he takes great pride in that. He's less come from hell himself, I'd say, and more or less come forth from Someone Else's Hell and Now He Has to Live With That. And also he is completely, almost desperately devoted to his God. If anything, he sees himself as a tool blessed by god Himself, with a great power he will use to enact justice upon this wretched timeline.

He sees saving the future as a very important task he needs to complete (and he DESPERATELY wants to be the one to complete it himself, more on that in a moment,) and I think that in part is why he's so excited about "finally being able to rest" and welcoming his fate--it means that he has completed what he was made to accomplish, the way a computer would complete a process, and why would he ever want to "save" himself from savoring that experience? (reminds me of how in TF6 lester is like "why would I want to run away?" re: trying to escape the Ark Cradle crashing into the city--it's not just a Primo thing, this sort of lack of self preservation!) (Also considering primo's track record of failed plans, no wonder he would be Especially obsessed with completing the Circuit and getting the cream of the crop "glorious honor" of dying in Z-one's name in God's Very Citadel and preventing the catastrophic future. That IS his will to live; he doesn't know how to have another one 😬) Dying in the process of the Ark Cradle crashing onto New Domino isn't seen as a 'sacrifice' for these guys I don't think; it's seen as an inevitable conclusion to what they were brought into existence for.

(Also, while we never really get complete confirmation on this, I do think Z-one also Definitely programmed the Emperors to worship him, to act with such dedication to the cause, to work ceaselessly towards their goals despite years (centuries?) of failures, and not stop, not give up. And I think that, alongside the fact they're effectively gijinkas of the most traumatic moments of Aporia's life, robots built from misery, quite literally Embodiments of Despair, that's not just flavor text. It's what powers them. And it explains a Lot of why they act the way they do, especially with regards to something like Primo's 'suicidal' behavior. In fact, I don't even think they would see this way of thinking as "suicidal," even, since that implies being alive in the first place, and the emperors…um. don't see themselves as 'alive!!!' :,) kind of fucked up to think about!!!!!)

OK SORRY FOR THAT TANGENT IT'S JUST SOMETHING I THINK A LOT ABOUT WITH THESE GUYS the inherent discussion of humanity when it comes to a robot. anyway, re: the way Primo's peers treat him, yeah i don't think that's helping much !!! Primo seeks approval like he'll die without it, he's an android copy of how much it Sucks To Be 19; like I said above, he desperately wants to be the one to complete the Circuit, to save the future, in the dub he basically states he wants to be God's Favorite, so course that brings him into conflict with Jakob (the implied actual Favorite,) of course Z-one apparently REPEATEDLY not giving a shit about him is doing damage to his psyche.

He gets clowned on and demeaned by effectively all of his coworkers (including and especially these other pieces of himself) (good GOD), no one even seems to LIKE HIM. LIKE. AT ALL, of course he wants to feel important to someone!! he probably (definitely) thinks if he can complete the Circuit he'll win favor with God, get the respect and attention he craves. I've talked before about how I feel like Z-one condemned his dead friends to the same loneliness he's become cursed with, and you REALLY see that with the Emperors and Primo especially. Aporia got split into threes and all three of 'em somehow ended up even lonelier than they would have been as one body--Primo is SUCH A MISERABLY LONELY GUY. HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO INTERACT WITH PEOPLE LIKE A NORMAL PERSON BECAUSE HE WASNT PROGRAMMED TO BE A NORMAL PERSON.

sure yeah his chronically unpleasant to be around attitude doesn't help, but in the Tag Force games you see these repeated little moments where you can tell he enjoys your company, he's Excited to spend time with you. I get the impression half of him thinking you should be happy to die too is just that he's so excited to share what he considers the ultimate culmination of what he was created to do with you (if TF5 is considered 'canon' in TF6 he might even be under the idea youre also an android--but that's a kettle of fish for a different time, primo's TF5 route is also insane). This isn't suicide to him! This is saving potentially billions of people! This is something really important to him, and he wants to share it with you!! Our hard work will pay off and we can rest!! This is the highest holy honor you can have!!!!! Aren't you excited???

I just wouldn't say his continued agonies are Solely hinged on what's happening to him currently, nor are they what are driving him to this supposed lack of something to live for (again, since ridding the world of Momentum IS his something to live and persevere for, since that's what he was made to do.) I'd argue they're definitely external factors exasperating an internal problem built into his very code, though, and it just makes Primo's situation all the more harrowing to think about. He has got so much shit going on with him and none of it is good. "I feed off my own despair" OK COOL BUT THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING, DUDE. BEING A MACHINE POWERED BY YOUR OWN MISERY AND ANGER IS NOT SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF. He was literally Built to Harbor Someone Else's Agony. If you keep dropping straws on a camel who was born with a back already covered in 'em, of course it's only gonna get worse, regardless of how much the camel thinks suffering makes him stronger and above humanity!!!

I do agree, though, that things maybe would have gone so much differently if someone outwardly, properly expressed love and affection to this poor guy. If someone told him he mattered in a way beyond his programming and divine mission. That taunt in Duel Links, the way he actually says it, it comes off as almost this snarling scornful jeer, but he looks so sopping wet sad saying it.

He is the embodiment of "losing those who you love" and you have to wonder how that manifests with him, despite the fact that, like... he doesn't Know Eurea. he didnt even know she existed until Z-one put him back together and told him the truth of what he is. I wonder if Primo feels the itch to inflict that same pain of losing your closest love on other people (a trait Aporia also Very Much Has.) Or if he's written himself off as unlovable entirely (😢)... or if 'disgusting humans' are just beneath his sky high standards. And, yeah, you really do have to wonder why he doesn't class the rest of Iliaster as someone to love, why he gets along so poorly with the other Emperors in the first place. Did Z-one also program them to not fucking get along with each other??? Was this also some 6D chess bullshit to actually hinder their progress even more??? Is this indicative of just how bad Aporia's mental state was/is????? CAN WE KNOW!!!

this is all just theorizing and guesswork at the end of the day, but it's a lot to think about, and i love ruminating on it. I personally think Primo's fixation on having no one to love stems from a combination of things, and the fact some of it is coming from these vague feelings of agony baked into him from when Aporia lost Eurea is, like, GOD. MAN. I also think at least a little of it may be just that Primo thinks he doesnt 'deserve' anyone to love properly, and also that the Emperors are so divorced from humanity in their eyes that to "love" one another, or to see each other as 'family', is absurd and a waste of time (though if they actually fully believe that, who knows--it definitely seems like Primo cares quite a bit about Lester. wahhh ;;; ) Like. They're literally this post. In the Tag Force games Primo always acts kind of jumpy and almost shy when youre nice to him??!? HE DOESNT KNOW THAT ONE. AND IT'S SO SAD.

WOW. OK. THIS GOT AWAY FROM ME A BIT. APOLOGIES!! tl;dr: yeah Primo's sense of self-worth is complete dogshit, the ghost of Aporia's suffering over a woman Primo has never met or known haunts his circuitboards in a way that can't be ignored, and that plus the fact he gets treated with disdain by his closest cohorts (which may be due to their God's 'divine' decisions) are definitely exasperating his issues and behavior. BUT, that being said, that's actually probably the least of why he's shown to be so excited to die, and the actual reasons that seem to be at play are a lot more horrifying! :D Primo largely sees himself as a means to end rather than as a person (he is a beautiful machine, a half motorcycle agent of justice and punishment, and far mightier and above miserable humans like Yusei Fudo,) and THAT'S largely because he was programmed by his creator to see himself that way. He is a computer built to complete a task and shut itself down. He was made to serve his God at the request of His long dead best friend for the good of a future he isn't meant to actually see.

i dont really have a conclusion, but I think a lot about this post with regards to the Three Pure Nobles.

Maybe Primo could have grown beyond his programming, if he'd been exposed more properly to love and kindness. and i hope you want more for him too. im going to bed and going to think about this until i fall asleep. ok bye

[littlemourningstarr]

Where the Delicate Stops

The House of Healing is a horror unlike what Astarion had expected, and he finds it all too easy to let his nightmares surface in a place that is nothing but death and despair.

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Transmasc tav

Part of the Eternally Yours series!

Tags: Transmasc tav, horror, gore, hurt/comfort, fluff, blood kink, blood play, unresolved trauma, vomit

Astarion did not enjoy the look of this House of Healing. The building was cloaked in the land’s cursed shadows, but it felt as if it simply radiated something-

Death.

He fought down a shiver, standing a few paces back as the party determined what they were going to go. The initial plan had been to make their way to the Thorm Family Mausoleum- but that plan had been deterred when Halsin heard the Flaming Fist at Last Light muttering some child’s name.

Astarion hadn’t listened that much- honestly they all said so many things, it just wasn’t worth the time. But now it seemed they needed to wake this man, or the druid was most likely going to erupt into-

Well, something scarier than a bear, he presumed.

Granted, the idea of these frigid shadows leaving was appealing, he could admit. They were a bit much, even for him. And he quite disliked not having the ability to just go look for his dinner. Nothing in the shadows was fit for eating- it all stank of decay.

“We’ll circle around the parameter then.” Astarion focused his attention as he heard Gale speaking. “If you’re quite sure you don’t want us all to crash this little party.”

“No, we can’t draw too much attention. Not yet. The last thing we need is anything getting back to Moonrise- and the cultists swarming Last Light.” Sekh had his arms folded, speaking in a firm but not unkind voice to Gale, the party now divided. Astarion noticed Wyll and Shadowheart flanking Sekh, while Karlach and Lae’zel had already turned to begin heading off into the shadows- both looking quite ready to shed some blood.

Astarion took the few steps to his- well, his…

Well?

Whatever was Sekh now? Astarion didn’t know how to label him, didn’t really know how to do this- how to care about someone. But that didn’t seem to stop his dead heart from hammering at just the sight of him.

He settled on simply his.

“Enough standing around,” the vampire complained, leaning his head on Sekh’s shoulder and looking up at him with rather large eyes, “let’s go hurt something.” Sekh glanced at him, and gave a bemused little smile.

Astarion’s stomach was in knots. He couldn’t remember the last time someone’s smile could send him soaring. He had to lift his head so Skeh could turn, signaling for Shadowheart and Wyll to follow along. “You heard him,” he said, grasping at the large door, “and who am I to deny such a precious thing?”

Another glance back at Astarion with an eye like hellfire and one like the abyss, and Sekh was pulling the door open. Gods, the man was a tease.

Astarion couldn’t forget he had asked for that.

They stepped inside the House of Healing, and Astarion instantly reached up, covered his nose with the back of his hand. The place stank of stale, forgotten blood, bile, gravedirt. So many putrid little nuances that it made him dizzy.

What may once have been a nurse was standing by the door, and she reached a hand out, pausing the party. Her clothing was filthy, stained with the gods only knew what, her skin with a blueish pallor that made Astarion seem sunkissed.

“Ah, more in need of healing. Do wait in line- the doctor will see you soon. He will soothe.”

Her voice was haunting, like a lost echo. For a moment they all paused, taken aback by a single, unarmed person telling them to wait-

But something about this wretched place felt as if they needed permission to enter. A feeling Astarion hadn’t felt since waking up, bathed in sunlight after the Nautiloid.

The party simply gawked, before Astarion sighed, slipping up past Shadowheart and Wyll, then Sekh, to stand in front of the nurse.  He faked a cough, turning into his arm and forcing his lungs to burn with the force, before he dramatically tipped his head back, let himself fall.

Sekh caught him, hands going under his arms and bracing him back against his chest. Astarion had never doubted the drow would catch him.

“Oh dear, are we poorly? Are we very poorly?” Astarion slit open one eye, noted the nurse was staring at him, and gave a sad little groan.

“Quite poorly,” Sekh said, and Astarion could hear the laugh building in his voice. Gods if the man laughed and ruined his perfectly good show-

“Please, hurry now. The doctor will see, the doctor will soothe.” Astarion gave another fake, sickly groan, and made no move to support his own weight. He felt Sekh attempt to shift him, before the drow was hoisting him up, tossing him awkwardly over his shoulder.

Astarion’s eyes shot open, but thankfully Wyll was already between him and the nurse, offering his gentlemanly thanks, as Sekh carried Astarion away from the strange creature parading as help. The drow made it just to the corner, before he was leaning the shoulder not supporting Astarion against the wall.

“Gods you’re heavy,” he managed, as Astarion still made no attempt to move. He was rather enjoying this, actually.

“I am light as a feather, darling,” he drawled, “perhaps you’re just not quite up to the task of handling me?”

Sekh pushed off the wall, and suddenly Astarion was shoved roughly to his feet, back pressed against the wall. Sekh grasped his wrists, pinned them to the surface, the quick action knocking over one of the abandoned medical carts. The metal clanged loudly on the floor, as Astarion felt his breath catching, his dead pulse hammering.

“Want to try that again?” Sekh asked, his smile wicked. Astarion bit at his tongue, arched slightly, pushed himself flush to Sekh. The hands on his wrists tightened. He felt dizzy, hot suddenly under his skin- which was still such a new feeling-

Before he could do anything else, Sekh released him, stepped back. The wicked smile turned kinder, and yes Astarion had been the one to say he needed a bit of time to come to terms with his own body, his needs, his own boundaries-

But suddenly he was desperately wishing the drow would come back and devour him. But oh, it wasn’t the time or the place. And as much as Astarion could want, a large chunk of his very being was terrified of messing this up, of doing something wrong and losing the drow. Or losing himself.

“I don’t want to know,” Shadowheart said, as she and Wyll caught up, the cleric noting the toppled tray, Astarion pressed to the wall, eyes slightly dilated. “Astarion, your acting is atrocious.” Astarion argued that his acting was wonderful as he pushed off the wall, both Sekh and Wyll leaving the two and sneaking back to examine what might have once been a row of patient beds.

It was nothing but dust, bones, and old cotton now.

Shadowheart only waved Astarion off, and the elf frowned, but shut his mouth. He could argue with her later. Now that he was back in the present, and not lost in a sudden moment of need with his… his drow flush to him, the House of Healing was beginning to weigh down on him again. He brushed some dust off his armor as they poked about, noting rusty, blood-dried tools that looked as if they hadn’t moved in a hundred years.

Astarion toed at an old metal bowl, a blackish liquid dried inside. It smelled so bad his stomach rolled, threatening to give up what little blood he had in his body- which wasn’t much, only the light snack he’d gotten from Rolan, the night before.

He turned away from it, noted that Sekh was down on a knee, examining some withered bones collecting dust on a stained bedroll, scattered on the floor. “I don’t think this place has healed anyone in a long time,” the warlock said, quietly, fingers moving over bones. Astarion fought down a shiver- he had to agree.

This place was wretched beyond words.

He turned away, heard a few of the bones clacking together as Sekh moved them, before the drow was up as well. “Whatever that flaming fist found here, I wouldn’t be shocked if it might have made the Shadowfell pale in comparison.”

“I wouldn’t agree there,” Shadowheart advised, but her heart didn’t sound as if it backed up her argument.

“Let’s just be quick.”

Astarion couldn’t disagree. He was happy to leave the abandoned beds behind, moving into the depths of the building, towards a large set of wooden doors. It didn’t need to be said that the party assumed the doctor would be behind these doors.

Honestly, Astarion didn’t think there was a doctor at all. He assumed the wraith of a woman that had greeted them was simply mad. Perhaps the doctor had died long ago, succumbed to these shadows- hells, his bones could have been the ones Sekh was sifting through.

When the doors to what was a medical auditorium, fit for students, were pushed open, Astarion wished he had been right.

A man- gods, was that thing even a man?- was looming over a naked figure, strapped down to a gurney. His hands were monstrous, nothing but long, lithe scalpels that clacked as he spoke, as he gestured. He was surrounded by boney, ghastly figures that resembled the nurse they’d met upon entry.

“The objective of the scalpel, sisters,” he said, his voice this thin, ghostly rasp- it sounded as if his throat had a layer of dry dust coating it, “ is to soothe, for the scalpel, indeed, is an extension of Shar.” He moved his scalpel fingers in the dim light, and Astarion watched Sekh’s hands twitch, caught a shadow coiling around his fingers. The drow was coiled just as tight as he was, at the sight.

Before them, the man took one scalpel finger and eased it into the restrained figure, cutting just below what once was a man’s ribs. The body gave the barest of thrashes, a weak near death rattle leaving its open, bloody mouth.

Whatever this man once was, he was barely alive now, nothing but a toy for this doctor.

“See how the patient reacts when I but stroke the right nerve? Hear its comfort. Hear the very melody of mercy.” The man- was this a man?- tipped his head back, and Astarion watched as he beckoned one of the nurses forward, her own knife cutting into the subject’s stomach. He watched the blade disappear to her knuckles, before the doctor was exclaiming, “Stop! Stay your hand, for it slaps where it should stroke. We can hardly hear the patient’s sighs of solace.”

“Sekh,” Astarion whispered, and the drow glanced at him. They needed to do something- Astarion didn’t want to watch this pathetic show for a moment longer. Next to him, Wyll had his hand on his rapier.

“We need to do something.” the other warlock said, seeming moments away from charging past the drow and into the fray.

“Perhaps it is our unexpected audience that makes you quiver.” Astarion glanced away from Wyll, saw that the room was staring directly at them- heads turned, all unmoving except the doctor.

They didn’t seem real. They looked like something horrid out of a nightmare- something crawling from the depths of a long lost dungeon, locked away in the dark for centuries.

 “Come.” The doctor curled those bladed fingers, inclining his head slightly as he studied the group. “Step forward. You are no sister, but that matters none. Every student is welcome.”

“A…student,” Sekh said, squaring his shoulders, pulling up to his whole height- which wasn’t much, truth be told. Yet even behind him, Astarion knew he had to look imposing. It was just a drow thing, he’d come to realize. “Yes. Do enlighten me.”

“Sekh’met,” Astarion hissed under his breath- gods below, what was he thinking? His muscles were coiled so tight they ached, the vampire ready to burst, to lash forward the moment his companions moved.

The doctor tapped his scalpels on the gurney, the cling of metal making Astarion want to grind his teeth. “Absence,” he finally mused,  “No other word captures the heart of Shar so very perfectly.” Oh Astarion was very sick of that goddess already.  “It is the scalpel led journey that leads from peace,” the man lifted his hand, plunged one of his knived fingers into the eye socket out the man. The subject thrashed, as the doctor pulled free, an already damaged eyeball now skewered on his finger.

Oh, Astarion was going to be sick.

“-To pain,” he concluded, stabbing into the other eye, removing that as well. He flicked his wrist, and the eyeballs slid off, making a wet little squish as they landed on the old wooden floor and rolled a few paces away. The subject pulled feebly at his bindings, mumbling something incoherent.  “If light is the symptom, then darkness is the cure.” 

It sounded like some shit Cazador would say, before locking one of the spawn up. Something he would’ve said to Astarion before all those months-

“He’s just like Cazador,” Astarion growled, baring his fangs, anger rising like a tidal wave in his belly. “Utterly insane.” He took a step closer to Sekh, trembling with the fury that was pulled taut in every muscle of his body. He opened his mouth to beg to kill him- gods he was seeing his damned old master now, instead of this wretched doctor- Cazador standing tall, grinning with those overly long fangs, black eyes pulling Astarion apart piece by piece by bloody piece-

The vampire didn’t even realize the doctor had continued speaking. “Let us soothe. Let us cure you.”  The nurses all took a unified step, and Astarion forced his breathing to calm, his eyes to focus. Cazador wasn’t here, and if he didn’t keep himself together, he’d end up with one of those ungodly dull, rusted blades in his gut.

Sekh inclined his head, and he still looked too calm. Astarion swore he could hear his pulse tho- it was racing. “No wonder their incisions were so imprecise,” Sekh said, “their blades are dull- they need practice before they can show any of us absence.”

“What are you doing?” Wyll whispered, and one of Sekh’s hands fell to his side, slightly behind his back. He spread his fingers, palm out to Wyll and Astarion, a silent wait.

Astarion noticed Wyll relaxed a tick- trust.

“How to steady their hands, I wonder?” The doctor glanced around, and Sekh turned his head slightly- Astarion caught a smile then, charming and calculated.

“They should practice on themselves,” Sekh offered. The doctor seemed to brighten at this, raising those scalpel hands and telling the sisters to acquaint themselves with absence.

Astarion watched in a mingling of horror and elated awe as the nurses turned on each other. They moved in quick, jerking movements- dull blades slicing open skin, stabbing into stained uniforms. No words were spoken, only grunts and little cries. They stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until they were each crumpling to the ground, bleeding out blood so black and acrid it had to be pure rot.

And the doctor simply seemed pleased at his darling pupils. He held his arms outstretched, offering oblivion, sheer absence now, to the party. At least it’d be an easier fight now-

“My magic has blinded me.” Sekh took a step away from the party, towards the doctor. “These false shadows that envelop me, they pale in comparison to those of Shar’s embrace. I see this now.” He continued on, stepped over the body of one of the nurses without even looking. She was still twitching. “Her path is the only true path. Show me how to greet absence, how the worthy embrace the dark lady.”

Sekh stepped up onto the dias, paused less than an arm's length from the doctor. Astarion dug one of his heels against the wood, ready to launch himself forward if that monster so much as twitched in the direction of his drow-

“I beg of you.” Sekh dropped heavily to his knees, looking up at the doctor. It was the stupidest thing Astarion could have imagined him doing- he was at a disadvantage, wouldn’t have the right angle to grab at his sword, and even with his magic-

“Oh but your diligence is exemplary,” the doctor mused, voice a perverted, proud purr. “Very well, your own scalpel you will be. Observe, dear one, then succeed me, into the succour of Shar.”

Then, in a single, fluid motion, the doctor flicked his wrist, and sent one of his knived fingers directly into his own eye socket, so far back that it must have scraped the back of his skull. He collapsed, limp, among the bodies of his pupils, never once touching Sekh in the fall.

The room fell deathly silent, the three just staring at an unmoving Sekh, before Wyll finally said, “I’m terrified of you right now.”

“I think I’m in love with him right now,” Shadowheart mused, voice teasing- but there was a hint of something there- unease as well. Memories, perhaps, of whoever she knew that was just so good at emotional manipulation.

Astarion swore his throat was closing up. Sekh had never once faltered, in playing directly into what the doctor needed to hear. He was persuasive in the perfect, charming, calculating manner.

It occurred to him that he would have been the ideal spawn, in Cazador’s eyes.

The thought sent him reeling. The sheer notion of Cazador even laying eyes on the one thing Astarion had claimed as his, on the one person that saw Astarion as just that-

He was nauseous, thinking on it. The room felt suffocating then, the stench of thick, blackened bile-blood suddenly too much. Astarion tried to swallow, but his throat was too tight.

He turned away from the group, hurrying back out the theater doors. He stumbled a few steps, before he fell down heavily to his knees, hands bracing on the floor as he coughed and wretched. The blood from the previous night was long gone from his belly, and all that he had was sour, acidic bile that burned his throat. He made a pained noise, squeezed his eyes shut, body trembling as he coughed violently again.

He was so engrossed in the tightness in his stomach, the burn in his throat, that he didn’t hear the footsteps coming up to him. When a hand touched his back his eyes shot open, his entire body tensing-

“Astarion, shh, it’s only me.”

Sekh’s voice floated to him, and the vampire relaxed, coughing again, before spitting thick saliva onto the floor. Sekh got down onto a knee, rubbed his hand soothingly along the vampire’s back.  Astarion hung his head, closed his eyes again, tried to breathe through his mouth, afraid if he could so much as smell the corpses from the other room he’d throw up his entire stomach, the whole dead organ.

Taking a very deep breath, Astarion opened his eyes, pushed himself up onto his knees. There was a layer of cold sweat on his spin, sticking to his scalp, that made him feel filthy.

And yet Sekh was there, cradling his face, not seeming to care. “Are you alright?” Astarion managed a nod, as the drow studied his face. “What happened?”

Oh, he’d just imagined possibly one of the worst nightmares of his life, was all. Nothing major.

“It’s nothing,” Astarion managed, his voice weak, raspy. Sekh frowned, and oh he didn’t buy that for a moment, the elf knew. Damn. “Their blood smells so vile that it made me ill. Nothing more.”

Sekh still didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead he stood up, offered both hands to Astarion, and pulled him up to stand. Astarion felt unsteady, and was thankful when the drow kept a firm hold on his arms, as he regained his balance. Once he was steady, he expected Sekh to release him-

But instead the drow pulled him closer, wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. Astarion went rigid for a moment from shock, before he relaxed, melted into the man, resting his cheek on his shoulder as Sekh rocked a little, from side to side. The embrace was short- but oh, Astarion felt like any embrace that ended with Sekh would be too short- but it still left Astarion feeling calmer, even when the drow released him completely.

And when Sekh gave him a little, reassuring smile, Astarion felt elated and dizzy-

“Astarion, Sekh- come in here!”

And Wyll’s shout forced Astarion back to reality. That smile fell from Sekh’s face, and the drow turned, heading back into the operating theater. Astarion steeled himself before following, refusing to be so precious as to not face the carnage again.

Shouldn’t he be reveling in it? No matter how disgusting the necrotic blood of the cursed was?

Wyll was across the room, having been going through one of the wooden cabinets. He had an old, well loved lute in one of his hands, holding it out as if it was treasure.

Was it supposed to mean something?

Astarion filed behind Sekh as the drow reached out, took the lute in his hands. “Look,” Wyll said, guiding Sekh to turn it over. Along the curved bottom was a single engraved word-

Cullagh.

“The flaming fist,” Sekh said, before he broke into a grin. “Wyll, I could kiss you.” The other warlock chuckled, before he glanced a look at Astarion.

“Best not.” Astarion quirked a brow at Wyll, a silent what? That the man utterly ignored. Did he think he would attempt to rip his throat out with his bare fangs over a single show of affection?

Well… maybe not his whole throat…

“We need to get this back to Last Light. Halsin will want to see it.” Sekh passed the lute back to Wyll. “Where’s Shadowheart?”

Wyll gestured back out of the theater. “She wondered that way.” Astarion caught a shift in Sekh then, the smallest flash to his eyes, frown to his lips.

Shadowheart had been oddly quiet during the whole ordeal- considering that her much beloved goddess Shar was being mentioned- all she’d had to say was after. Thinking on it, Astarion would have expected her to step in- while they didn’t know Shar’s dogma, surely she could have recited half the damn goddess’s teachings to soothe the mad doctor.

“I’m going to go find her,” Sekh said, “if you want to finish up in here. I’m ready to be rid of this place.” Wyll’s pained grin was enough to say he agreed, and Astarion wasn’t going to argue. He’d had quite enough healing, thank you very much.

Astarion left the room with Sekh, a step behind the drow, as they glanced around, looking for Shadowheart. She couldn’t have gone far-

Sekh pushed open an old, wooden door, before he paused, blocking the doorway completely despite his lithe frame. Astarion could see the muscles along his neck and shoulders going tense,heard his pulse pick up.

“Sekh-”

“Don’t look.”

Astarion frowned, before he ignored the man, ducking beneath his outstretched arm. Within the room Shadowheart was standing a few feet from patient beds, looking shell shocked, arms limp at her sides. Astarion followed her gaze, before tensing himself.

There was a sick bastardization of a nurse leaning over a body, hands deep inside his opened chest cavity. She was mumbling to herself as she shifted about- gods, looking for what Astarion didn’t know. Gore was caked on her arms, along the front of her uniform-

The poor man was completely opened, sternum to groin.

Sekh moved past Astarion then, saying a shaky whisper, “That’s Arabella’s father.”

The name sounded familiar-

The little idol thief from the Grove.

Astarion felt his stomach drop. That little hellion had been rather sweet, even if he was loathe to admit it. And if that was her father- where was she?

“Shadowheart,” Sekh said softly, trying to coax her back into herself. Her stare was a thousand paces away. When she didn’t move Sekh moved very carefully towards her, trying to be silent. Still, the old wooden boards creaked, and the nurse paused her rummaging, glancing over at her audience.

“Ah, more patients. Please, do sit. The doctor has found oblivion, but no matter. I will carry on.” She turned back to the body, and Astarion watched as she pulled something large and bulbous from the tiefling’s body- gods was that his liver?

He moved quickly to Sekh and Shadowheart. Sekh had leaned in, was speaking softly to her, and Astarion watched as she blinked away her stupor, looked over at them with eyes that screamed. “Come on,” Sekh said, placing a hand on her lower back. “There’s nothing we can do here…”

No, there was no saving this man, or the woman on the bed next to him, already in a worse state. Astarion glanced away, followed as Sekh guided Shadowheart out of the room, and thankfully out of the damned house of healing.

Wyll was waiting outside, still holding the lute, blissfully unaware. He smiled at the group, before the charm left his face and was replaced by concern, at their solemn faces. Before he could ask, Sekh said, “Arabella’s father… her mother too.” He shook his head. “Dead.”

Wyll’s brow creased. Astarion didn’t doubt he remembered every tiefling child from the Grove. He was too good- the sort of man Astarion had dreamed about in his youth to whisk him off his feet. “Arabella?” Wyll asked, and Sekh sighed.

“I don’t know- not there. I never saw her at Last Light.” Sekh glanced back at the house, before a shudder rolled through him. “Take the lute back to Halsin. I’ll stay and look for her- find Karlach, Lae’zel, and Gale. They can help.”

Astarion could tell Wyll wanted to argue, but he didn’t. He trusted Sekh- and Astarion wondered if the drow realized just how hard earned that trust had to be.

Sekh turned back to Shadowheart, and Astarion watched as the drow took her face in his hands softly. The touch was so gentle, and Astarion could feel it himself. “Shadowheart,” he said, very softly, “go back with Wyll, okay?”

Astarion wasn’t sure what had happened to the cleric, but it wasn’t good, that was for sure. He also knew the cleric held a rather special place in Sekh’s heart. Yet he only felt a momentary spark of jealousy, before it was quickly smothered.

Shadowheart nodded slowly, and Sekh gave Wyll a silent look, before he turned to Astarion. “I promise I won’t be long.”

Wait- “You expect me to go too?” Sekh opened his mouth to respond, and Astarion stepped closer, didn’t give him the chance. “I’m not leaving you again.”

And he meant it. Damn the drow for terrifying him back at Moonrise- he’d be damned twice over before he let the man out of his sight again.

Astarion’s mouth was set in a firm frown. Sekh sighed, but relented, didn’t argue, and simply gave Wyll and Shadowheart a nod, before turning away. Astarion walked with him around the hulking House of Healing, towards the decrepit cemetery that seemed to have sprouted from its fetid corpse. The grounds were eerily silent, except for the whistle of a haunting wind that made Astarion want to shiver.

He was cold, colder than usual. His body was running on empty, his hunger gnawing at him more and more with each passing minute. And while he was quite used to ignoring it, he had gotten used to satiating it as of late. He found it was harder to keep from focusing on it.

They were deep into the graveyard when Sekh started calling for their companions. Astarion kept a few paces back, eyes dancing over the shadows- waiting for one to spring to life. He felt like he was being watched in this wretched darkness, and he hated it. He much preferred to be the terror lurking in the dark.

“Will you check up that way?” Sekh asked, gesturing towards a stretch of the cemetery. “I can go this way, towards the ground fissure. I want to find them sooner rather than later.”

Unspoken, he wanted to find Arabella sooner rather than later.

Astarion sucked at his tongue, before he nodded. “Don’t get yourself killed darling,” he tried to tease, but it came out deathly serious. Sekh’s eyes softened and he reached out, got his hands on Astarion’s waist, tugging him a step closer.

“I promise I won’t die without you.”

Astarion hummed, focusing on the feeling of the drow’s hands on his waist and not the clawing ache in his belly. “You’d better not.” Sekh inclined his head slightly, and Astarion saw the desire for a kiss, written all over his face. “I don’t think you want to kiss me now, my sweet.”

Sekh chuckled, leaned in anyway, placed a soft kiss to Astarion’s lips. “I don’t care,” he mumbled, “I’d kiss you no matter what. So long as you want me to.”

Astarion felt his chest constricting. He didn’t dare speak, didn’t trust himself to do so. Gods damn he had never felt so undone in his life, as he did around this man.

When Sekh released him he stepped back, sparing one final, long look at the drow, before he turned, making his way further into the cemetery. He tried to focus on the quiet around him, for signs of movement, voices, a pulse. It took a while, but he eventually heard Gale’s voice.

He paused next to a Mausoleum, peered around and saw Gale was chatting away with Lae’zel, who looked… less than amused. Her sword was very noticeably unbloodied, which meant they must have not found anything interested in the dark.

He walked over, pausing only when Gale caught sight of him and jumped. “Gods you are silent, Astarion!”

Did he need to remind everyone he was a vampire?

“And a welcome sight,” Lae’zel said, yet there was no venom in her voice. Gale might be annoying her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like him- even if she wouldn’t admit it. Their good spirits diminished when Astarion didn’t bother to mask the discontent on his face.

He didn’t relish providing them a clipped version of what had transpired within the House of Healing, but he did it anyway as they walked, heading back towards where Astarion had left Sekh. He didn’t get beyond the wretched doctor though, before he found Sekh. He was crouched down by a skeleton, pushing the bones aside, a small, well worn book left open next to it. Sekh glanced up before Astarion could get close enough to see and stood up, walking over quickly.

“Where’s Karlach?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. Gale recounted what he’d told Astarion as they’d walked- that they’d found Arabella out in the shadows and Karlach had escorted her back to Last Light. They wanted to look for her parents, and Gale was about to implore that they set off immediately to do just that-

“They’re dead,” Sekh said, his voice grave. Gale pinched his lips shut, and Lae’zel’s frown deepened. Sekh sighed, reached up to rake a hand into his hair, loosening some of it from his knot. “Gods dammit,” he said, before he turned, kicked a stray bone. It flew a few paces away, smacked into an older cracked gravestone.

Astarion swore he could smell the anger on the man. It had been growing, ever since the Creche- he’d seen it nearly take hold when they’d first found Last Light. It could be beautiful, if it was directed at something that deserved to die-

But seeing Sekh swallowed by it, unable to truly release himself from the rage? It made Astarion’s stomach sick. Sicker than it already was.

“We need to get back to camp,” Gale said. “We’ll… find a way to tell her.” Sekh took a calming breath.

“I’ll do it,” he said, and the sadness in his eyes made Astarion want to grind his teeth, rip apart the very air around them. And then, in barely a whisper, something caught and lost in the wind, Sekh repeated, “I’ll do it.”

*

Once back at Last Light, Sekh made quickly for camp, intent on not keeping Arabella in the dark. Astarion wanted to follow, but the look on the drow’s face told him it was best he didn’t.

Instead, he let himself into the inn, giving a nod to the tiefling children running around, who all actively stopped to wave at him.

When had that started?

He headed for the bar in the back, found Rolan sitting there, a book open on the bar, reading silently. His siblings were nowhere in sight- which meant it was rather quiet. Without a word Astarion settled on one of the stools, rested his chin on his palm, and just watched the tiefling.

“I know you’re there,” Rolan said, flipping the page in his book. He glanced over, and oh, those fiery eyes were just something. Rolan flicked his eyes back to his book, a bit of color rising on his cheeks. He blushed so easily, from just a glance, a moment of attention.

It was cute.

“Did you need something?” he finally asked, and Astarion shrugged a shoulder. Honestly? No. But he found he didn’t want to be alone, while he waited for Sekh.

And he admitted just that- before he could even stop himself. It just happened. Admitting weakness, especially something as precious as not wanting to be alone, had never been something he had the luxury for.

Rolan pushed his book over then, pointing to a place in the page. “Read with me.” Astarion glanced at the page, as he heard the sound of little feet landing on the bar. The resident cat- His Majesty, Astarion at learned- made his way to Astarion and bumped his head against his bicep.

Without much thought, Astarion pet the cat. “What is this?”

“A tome on fire magic,” Rolan admitted, “I’ve been studying it the whole journey. I want to have it memorized before I reach Baldur’s Gate. Perhaps...” he paused, cleared his throat, “I can explain it to you. Just to prove that I know the topic well, of course.”

And not, at all, because the tiefling perhaps was nervous that he didn’t. Perish the thought.

Astarion took the cat into his arms, as it continued to paw at him until he did so, and gave a toothy smile. If Gale had offered to do the same, he would have bemoaned the torture for hours. But Rolan?

It seemed alright, with him.

*

They hadn’t gotten very far into the book, when they were interrupted. Karlach popped up, lacking her usual bounce, looking almost too serious for Astarion’s liking.

“Astarion,” she said, as Rolan was mid sentence on how best to annunciate for a specific incantation. The wizard paused, and Astarion turned his head, looked at her. “I think Sekh needs you.” Astarion was up before Karlach could take another breath, setting the cat back on the bar- much to His Majesty’s chagrin. Rolan waved him off before he could speak, a few lines forming in his forehead as well, concern that the drow needed something.

Karlach took Astarion by the arm, her latest upgrade meaning she touched everyone at every chance she got- and began walking him through the inn. “You think?” Astarion asked, as they moved.

Karlach nodded. “He’d didn’t… per say tell me that. But he looked…” she paused, “Honestly? Fucking awful after talking to Arabella. And she didn’t take it well- poor thing, wouldn’t expect her to.”

Astarion nodded, as they paused by Dammon’s forge. He could just see Sekh, out by the borders of the light, sitting on the sand by the water’s edge. “He’s been there a while,” Karlach admitted. “I just thought… he might need you.”

She squeezed his shoulder, before turning to leave. Astarion made his way down the rickety old stairs, onto the sand and silt, leaving ghosts of footprints as he made his way over to Sekh.

The drow didn’t look up, when Astarion paused next to him, sat down carefully. He was just staring out into the water, this endless black. Unsure what to say- and was there something to say?- Astarion simply sat with him, staring out into the dark as well. The sight might have been beautiful once- he could almost imagine the lake sparkling in midday, the sky vibrant and clear.

This land must have thrived, once.

Without a word, Sekh leaned over, placed his head on Astarion’s shoulder. The vampire tipped his head to the side, rested it against Sekh’s, and he heard the drow give a little sigh.

“I feel awful,” he whispered, “Arabella…” he swallowed, closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was broken, pained, “Gods she just lost everything.”

“There was nothing you could do,” Astarion offered. It was the truth, her parents were long dead by the time they arrived.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sekh mumbled, shifting slightly. Astarion lifted his head so the drow could sit up properly. “It’s never going to matter to her- or at least, not for a long time.” He added, even softer, “I know too well.”

Astarion shifted a bit, turning more to face Sekh, and the drow mimicked him. His eyes looked so tired. There was so much more here, than just Arabella. It was painfully obvious. And Astarion found he was desperate to know what.

“Care to talk?” he asked, unsure if he had ever actually cared enough about someone else to ask. At least, in his current memory.

Sekh bit his lip, pulled his knees up and folded his arms over them. “You don’t need to hear it.”

Astarion frowned. “I can judge that for myself.” The drow closed his eyes, and then quietly, he spoke.

He spoke of his own parents- the parents Astarion knew so very little of. Sekh had spoken of his father once, but that was it. Astarion had filed it away, despite the drow having wished he would forget. Sekh in the thick throws of just waking had been something Astarion kept locked in his ribs.

Sekh’s own family, Astarion learned very quickly, were long dead. He’d been older than Arabella when it happened, but not by enough to be anything but a child. Slaughtered, in their own home, by one of the daughters of the house his mother served as a hired sword-

A house who employed his father as well, to tend to their most intimate needs. Hell, the whole town, small as it was, had been set ablaze, nothing but ash and burnt flesh and boiling blood.

“I’d be dead too,” Sekh admitted, “if not for Syl.” As if in response, Astarion saw those shadows on his face shifting. He knew they did that, even when his patron wasn’t present- but a part of him found comfort in perhaps her responding to just Sekh speaking her name. “I screamed her name until I swore my throat would bleed… and she came. She slaughtered everyone in my house. She said…” he paused, closed his eyes. “Life for life. She had been waiting years to repay the life I gave her as a child.”

It made sense, in that moment, the protectiveness Sekh had always demonstrated over his patron. How he was quick to bristle if anyone compared his pact to Wyll and Mizora’s.

Sekh pressed his forehead to his arms, looking as if he wanted to hide from the world. “This is pathetic,” he muttered, “I just don’t want to see Arabella going through this. I don’t want to see anyone go through it.”

Astarion lifted his hand, but hesitated. He wasn’t exactly sure how to comfort- he couldn’t remember a time before Sekh that anyone had comforted him. It felt like a lost skill.

So he simply did what he would want Sekh to do.

He reached out, ran his fingers along the drow’s hair. Sekh carefully lifted his head, and Astarion moved closer, got an arm around him, pulled the drow to his chest. “Astarion,” he whispered, as Astarion’s other arm wrapped around him, held him tight.

The vampire hushed him, and he felt Sekh tremble, before his face was pressed tight to Astarion’s chest. His breaths were uneven, shaking-

And Astarion realized Sekh was crying. The realization felt like it opened a gaping maw, in his chest. He ached around the sudden empty cavity, found he was holding the drow tighter, desperately. Sekh clutched at him, gave a little whine, and Astarion squeezed his own eyes shut.

They burned, knowing there wasn’t anything to be done, about the past. He couldn’t undo the death of Sekh’s family, just as the drow couldn’t undo two centuries of torture.

“I have you,” Astarion whispered, rocking slightly. Sekh didn’t answer, just held tight to Astarion. The vampire rubbed his back, let the minutes drag on endlessly, until the drow’s breathing had calmed down. When Sekh finally pulled back slightly, lifted his head, his eyes were slightly red, wet streaks on his cheeks.

The maw in Astarion opened wider.

“I’m being pathetic,” Sekh whispered, repeating what he’d said only minutes ago, “I just… I don’t want to see Arabella going through this. I don’t want to see anyone go through this.”  Astarion reached up, thumb rubbing along one tear streak, and Sekh turned, pressed a kiss to his palm. “I never mourned them. Not for more than a few moments, in the night. I just… kept going.”

Astarion pressed his forehead to Sekh’s. He understood that feeling, too deep in his very soul. He’d never mourned who he was, all he lost- all that Cazador ripped from him.

He’d never felt like he needed to. But sitting here, with his drow falling apart in his arms- he realized perhaps he did.

“Someday,” Astarion offered, “when this is done. You can mourn.” He paused, closed his eyes, and silently added-

And I will too.

Sekh nodded, before he reached up, covered one of Astarion’s hands. And, echoing the vampire’s own words, whispered, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Astarion had to smile, and when Sekh kissed him, he fell into it eagerly. Reassuring, soft movements of his mouth that made Astarion dizzy, his body vibrating with a level of affection he didn’t know he could harbor. He swore he could experience every emotion within the span of a breath, with this man.

Astarion tipped his head, tried to kiss Sekh deeper, wanted to crawl inside his bones, inhabit every empty space inside him. If there were no empty spaces, perhaps he’d forgot his losses, for even a moment.

Astarion pulled at Sekh, let himself fall backwards. The drow followed him, covered his body as Astarion laid out in the damp sand, getting his hands into Sekh’s hair, wanting to free it completely. The kisses still held an almost innocence to them, even as Sekh teased Astarion’s lower lip with his teeth, as the vampire pushed his tongue into his mouth.

It felt so good, to simply kiss, be kissed, with no expectations.

Sekh pulled back slightly, and Astarion tried to chase him, didn’t want him to stop. But the drow chuckled, offered him the sweetest smile. “You’re very good at making me feel better,” he admitted. “Thank you.”

No one had ever told Astarion that he’d made them feel better- let alone thanked him, for how he made them feel. It was strange, to try to fix the pain someone was feeling, instead of being the cause.

Unsure what to say, if there even was anything to say, Astarion was happy to accept another kiss from the drow. He was falling back into it, grasped at Sekh’s now free hair, at his back, thinking he’d like the man to kiss him until his lips were numb-

But then that clawing hunger in his belly raked its talons along his insides. Astarion winced, felt his belly seizing up on itself, and Sekh broke the kiss, looking down at him with concern. Astarion damned himself then- because he hadn’t been done being thoroughly, fully, irrevocably kissed by this man.

“It’s nothing,” Astarion whispered, even as his stomach grumbled like that of a child’s. Gods, it hadn’t done that since he’d first gotten used to the hunger, to starving.

It seemed that now that he knew what it was like to be satiated, his body was determined to make his hunger everyone’s problem.

Sekh sat up, and Astarion begrudgingly followed. “You need to feed,” Sekh said, pushed his sleeve up, ready to bare his wrist. And as tempting as the man’s blood always was, Astarion couldn’t imagine taking from him, just then.

Besides, he was so hungry, he feared his control. And the last thing he wanted to do on this gods forsaken plane was hurt the drow.

He refused to dwell on that thought.

He shook his head, pushing Sekh’s wrist away. “No,” he said, as the drow raised his brows in confusion. Hating to admit it, Astarion added quietly, “I need more than that.”

Sekh nodded in understanding, before he suddenly grinned, nearly jumping to his feet. The sudden switch felt like whiplash- but oh, the drow did seem quick to change emotions. He reached for Astarion, and the elf let him pull him to his feet. “Leave it to me,” he said, and Astarion gave him a questioning look. Sekh just kissed his cheek affectionately. “Can you wait a bit longer?”

Astarion nodded. He’d starved for near two centuries- what was one more night?

*

Astarion waited back at camp, happy to recline by his tent, flipping through a book. Shadowheart had pillaged a few from one of the abandoned homes they found, before making it into the shadow cursed lands, and had insisted Astarion read this one.

It was filthy, and rather hilarious at how poorly it was written.

He hadn’t seen her, since their return from the House of Healing- and he considered perhaps seeking her out. She had been in a bad way, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, all of this band of little freaks meant something to him, now.

He hadn’t even closed the book, however, when Karlach popped into his space, positively grinning. She had some blood on her armor, sweat on her brow- but she was in better spirits than when she had gathered Astarion up from the inn.

“..Yes?” he asked. He could feel the energy rolling off her.

“Come with me,” she said, “your man has something for you.”

Astarion scoffed- but would have flushed, had he had the blood in his system. He closed the book, setting it aside and standing, following Karlach through the camp, around Last Light. They made their way down the side of the building, and then under, to a cellar door. Karlach paused, as Astarion reached for the door. He looked back at her, and her grin only grew. It had to hurt her cheeks.

“Pretty sure this party is invitation only,” she said, “but enjoy.” She winked, before turning on her heel, leaving Astarion alone.

He pushed the door open, let himself into the large basement, far too curious for caution- not that it seemed warranted. He was a few paces in when he could hear heavy breathing, pained and frustrated little grunts.

He paused, glanced into one of the open rooms, and felt his blood suddenly running hot.

Sekh was standing in the center of the room, lit by torches, his foot on the back of a half orc, keeping him pinned to the ground. In one hand he held a rope, pulled taut, bound around the man’s wrists, against his back as well.

His hair was completely free, and he looked almost terrifying in the flickering light, a wicked smile on those sinful lips, his eyes dancing. But Astarion was anything but afraid.

“What have you done?” Astarion asked, not moving into the room. His voice danced with amusement, and Sekh’s smile only grew.

“Consider it an offering.” He dug his foot harder into the man’s back, and the half orc cursed. “I’ll never let you starve, Starshine.” Astarion felt a familiar giddiness, in his belly. He took a few steps closer, eyes taking in every twitch of Sekh’s body, every flicker of his eyes. The shortsword at his side was still bloodied, and Astarion could hear his pulse, slightly elevated- smell the sweat on his skin.

He was salivating, his fangs aching into his gums- at the prospect of blood, yes- but also from the power that Sekh seemed to radiate, in that moment. He was ethereal.

The half orc spouted more curses, thrashing. He cursed Sekh, had a few colorful words to share about his drow blood- and Sekh just clicked his tongue, moved his boot to the man’s neck and pressed, cutting off his air for a moment.

“I thought about delivering him dead so you wouldn’t have to hear him- but I thought this might be preferred.” Astarion dropped down to his knees, and Sekh moved his foot off the half orc, kicked him so he rolled over. The man’s cultist robes were torn, dirtied. Astarion cast a glance up at Sekh, feeling as if this wasn’t real.

There had to be a trick, someone pulling strings, ready to take away the promise of freedom from the hunger. But Sekh just looked at him affectionately, and whispered, “feed, my love.”

Astarion pushed at the half orc’s head, bared his throat, and opened his mouth so wide it ached. He sank his fangs into the man’s warm skin, felt him thrash. As he did Sekh pulled on the ropes binding him, and said almost soothingly, “hush, it’ll be over soon.”

Astarion felt his pulse spike, his body shake over that. He bit harder, before he pulled his fangs back, the man’s pulse flooding his mouth with blood. He drank eagerly, swallowing mouthfuls as the cultiusts’s thrashing calmed, the life draining from his quickly.

Astarion bit a second time, opening his neck further, felt blood trickling down his chin. He grasped at the man desperately, his body humming with delight over being fed. He felt heat beginning to radiate under his own skin, his mind clearing.

He heard Sekh drop down next to him, felt the drow’s hand rubbing along his back. Astarion shoved at the man’s body, rolling him onto his back properly, and climbed over him, pinning him down as he went for his throat, tearing in for a third bite. The cultist barely gave a noise, his pulse quickly fading. He’d be dead very soon.

The hand on his back moved to his hair, and Astarion writhed in sheer ecstasy, body thrumming with a fiery energy. Sekh’s fingers tangled in his curls, as Astarion heard the half orc’s final, pathetic death rattle.

It didn’t matter- he would still bleed.

The vampire lifted his head, gasping for an unneeded breath. He glanced at Sekh, who was simply watching him, eyes utterly enraptured.

It made Astarion feel beautiful, even in the most grotesque moment.

He pushed himself up on his knees, leaving the deadman to lie for a moment, and reached for Sekh, gripped his chin, his hair, and pulled him close. The drow’s breathing was quick, and Astarion felt it against his wet lips for a moment, before he kissed him. Sekh didn’t shy away from the blood on Astarion’s lips, tongue- he groaned, hands reaching for his waist, holding tight as Astarion pushed his tongue into his mouth, forced the drow to taste the offering he’d given him.

He felt Sekh tremble, and Astarion pulled him closer, until his lover was flush to him. The desire to simply crawl into Sekh’s bones was burning hotter than ever- and Astarion couldn’t explain it-

Except, in that moment, he felt safe.

Sekh finally pulled back, gasping for breath, eyes dilated, his lips smeared red. Astarion knew the half orc’s blood was all over his own mouth, chin- hell, he could feel a rivet had made its way down his neck.

The drow licked his own lips, and Astarion groaned, didn’t even try to muffle the noise. “Darling, wicked man,” he breathed, and Sekh gave him a smile to match. Astarion reached up then, pushed at his upper lip with his thumb, saw the confusion flash on Sekh’s face. “Just looking for your hidden fangs,” he mused, “I’d swear you have a taste for blood just as strong as my own.”

Sekh flicked his tongue against Astarion’s thumb, and Astarion felt heat coiling in his belly, his groin. He pulled his hand back, glanced down at the man still beneath him. There was still so much blood in him.

Sekh’s hands squeezed at his waist, signaling him to move. Astarion crawled off the man, watched as rolled the man enough to free his wrists from the rope bindings. Sekh shoved the arm of the man’s robe up, exposing his arm. He pulled out a small knife, before he sat back on the ground, an inviting space between his legs, against his chest opening.

Astarion crawled over him, didn’t need to be asked. He settled with his back to Sekh’s chest, was enveloped in his heat, the scent of his skin, the hum of his pulse. Sekh offered the half orc’s arm, which Astarion took, as Sekh sliced the tip of his knife into his skin, opening a new wound. Blood welled to the surface, and Astarion pulled it to his mouth, greedily drinking it in.

Sekh kissed his curls as he drank, an arm curling around him, holding him. Astarion relaxed back against him, closed his eyes as he reveled in the feeling of being full, satiated- and yet still drinking. He was almost dizzy with the feeling.

Sekh’s hand splayed on his belly, rubbed gently, and Astarion knew that hand could easily slide lower, settle between his legs, bring a second ecstasy to this sordid moment. He almost wanted it, badly-

But Sekh’s hand stayed firm. “More?” Sekh asked, as Astarion pulled from the man’s arm, mouth open, bloodied fangs glistening. The deadman’s blood flow had slowed considerably.

Astarion wasn’t sure if he could fit more blood in him- and yet he wanted it. He wanted to drink until his stomach ached. He had never been allowed to do that- and on the blood of a thinking creature…

Astarion dropped his head back against Sekh’s shoulder, wordlessly. Sekh got his other arm around him, fingers continuing to dance along his belly.

The hunger was startlingly, beautifully silent.

“I don’t think I can,” Astarion admitted, after long, silent minutes passed. How had Cazador ever indulged on all of those victims? Astarion didn’t think he could ever fully drain a single person.

Even thinking his old master’s name flooded Astarion with the dreadful feeling, again, that Sekh would have been the perfect spawn. That Cazador would have unhinged his jaw and devoured this man like a fucking serpent, would have reveled in his bloodlust, his charm.

Would have broken him in the most ugly of ways.

Astarion closed his eyes, forced the thoughts away. He didn’t want to tarnish this moment, the sheer sliver of utter perfection that shouldn’t have existed. But he must have tensed, because Sekh was slowly guiding him to sit up, so that Astarion could twist in his lap, open his eyes, meet the drow’s stare.

The silent question of what he was thinking, what thoughts were running rampant in the vampire’s head.

Astarion ran his tongue along his fangs, thought to simply sit in silence. Sekh’s silence was proof enough that the man wasn’t going to ask, even if he was curious as to what was going on inside Astarion’s head.

And yet- “You would have been the perfect spawn.” He said it slowly, quietly, as if the words were knives, were slicing open his cheeks, his gums with each annunciation. “He would have loved you, loathed you, ruined you.”

Astarion didn’t need to say who, and he was thankful for that. Uttering Cazador’s name felt like blasphemy, in that moment.

Sekh hummed, before he tipped Astarion’s chin up. “Astarion,” he said, carefully, “he won’t have me.”

Of course the drow would know the nameless, aching fear that swarmed in Astarion like wasps. Of course the vampire wouldn’t need to say the words, to speak the terror into existence like a hex- Sekh simply knew.

He knew Astarion far more than the vampire felt anyone ever had, in such a short time.

Sekh pressed a soft kiss to Astarin’s forehead. “And he’ll never have you again.”

It felt like it should be an empty promise. It felt like Astarion should laugh bitterly, sob, because no one could promise that.

Yet, he found himself relaxing, found himself seeking out Sekh’s mouth for a slow, languid kiss. Found the fear quieting.

Found he believed the drow.

The silence in the room settled over Astarion, broken only by the sweet, wet sounds of Sekh’s kisses. The man drank down the war of two centuries, replaced it with something far sweeter, that Astarion swore he was drifting into a new realm, somewhere timeless, ageless, endless.

When Sekh finally pulled back, Astarion swore his lips were nearly numb, tingling slightly.

The man studied Astarion, before he smiled, reached up and traced Astarion’s lips with a single finger. Astarion opened his mouth without hesitation, just enough for Sekh’s fingertip to slip past his lips. The drow pressed the pad of his finger to one fang, and Astarion felt the suddenly bloom of a few droplets on his tongue.

He groaned, couldn’t stop himself, and Sekh’s eyelids were heavy as he whispered, “I want my blood to always be the last you taste.”

Astarion would never argue that. The subtle sweetness, heavy and decadent, coated his tongue- and even just a few drops felt like a feast.

*

Sekh had sent Astarion back to camp alone- told him he would take care of the remains of his meal. He’d wiped his face on his own robes, teased him about being a messy eater, and Astarion may have stolen a few more kisses- as many as the drow would give him, before he was chased off.

Camp was fairly quiet- most of his companions having turned in for some rest. He spotted Karlach still up, stretched out, studying the blackened sky above- she lifted her head when she heard his footsteps, and just gave him a knowing little smile.

He made his way to Sekh’s tent, not his own, and settled outside it, sighing softly. His belly ached slightly, but not unpleasantly so. He was feeling drowsy now, as if he could fall into his trance at a moment’s notice- asif he could almost find sleep without the help of an angel’s kiss.

He closed his eyes, wasn’t sure how long he sat there, drifting in nothing- but he came back to himself when he heard hushed speaking. He cracked his eyes open, stood up slowly, moving around Sekh’s tent-

And found the drow sitting on the ground with Arabella, the young tiefling looking at the short sword that Sekh had placed in her lap. “This was my mother’s,” he said, as Arabella carefully touched the edges, just soft enough not to cut. “She died with it in hand- it’s the only thing I have of her.”

Astarion watched as Arabella reached up, rubbed at one of her eyes. Her cheeks were tear stained still. “I don’t have anything of mom and pops…”

Sekh stood up then, whispered something to her, and left the sword in her hands. When he turned towards his tent, he saw Astarion, and flashed him a small smile, walking over. He didn’t say a word, just brushed a hand along his arm, before he ducked into his tent, returning a moment later and heading back for Arabella.

He crouched down and held out a small chain, a locket dangling from it. Astarion didn’t recognize it, but Arabella’s eyes lit up and the sword fell from her lap as she took it, clutched it in her hands.

“You do now,” Sekh said, “I think your mother gave us that just to keep it safe for you, one day.” He reached out, smoothed Arabella’s hair back. “It’s going to hurt for a long time, but I promise- someday, it’ll get better.”

Arabella nodded, and Sekh wrapped her in a tight hug, held her quietly. Astarion turned then, afraid of intruding, and let himself into the drow’s tent, sitting on his bedroll. He didn’t have to wait long before Sekh let himself in. He sat down next to Astarion, and said, maybe more to himself than to the vampire, “She’ll be alright.”

Astarion leaned against Sekh’s shoulder. “So,” he said, “you have mommy’s sword?”

Sekh chuckled, dug his elbow into Astarion at the little tease. The vampire smiled. “Yes, I do. And I’m terrible with it compared to her. She’d have my head.” Sekh shifted, before he added, “Thank you, by the way. For earlier.”

Astarion glanced up at him, but Sekh was just staring forward.

“I’d like to mourn, someday,” he finally said, and quietly added, “with you. I think I feel safe enough to finally acknowledge everything, if you’re there.”

Sekh reached over, took one of Astarion’s hands, tangled their fingers together. The vampire squeezed his hand, and whispered in near silence, I’d like that.

He felt safe enough to mourn the loss of his first life too, with Sekh. Felt like he could perhaps feel the grief and not let it overcome him.

They sat there in silence, for another few minutes, fingers locked together, before Sekh let go, reached into his robes. When he pulled his hand out it was closed, quite obviously having something nestled into his palm.

“I thought this was a good idea earlier,” Sekh said, before he cleared his throat, “but now I feel a bit like an idiot.” He opened his hand, and Astarion saw a set of rings, sitting there. Aged gold, a stone that resembled cool, placid water. “I found them,” Sekh added, glancing away, “earlier. In the House of Healing and the cemetery. Separate but so close.” He turned to face Astarion, let one drop to his lap as he held the other, lifting Astarion’s hand.

The vampire watched, his heart hammering, hammering, and then stopping, as Sekh slid it up over his middle finger. It fit too well.

“Whoever they were,” Sekh offered, “they were so close to each other’s embrace. Maybe they knew that even apart, even dying, they were still together.”

He let go of Astarion’s hand, and the vampire lifted it, studying the old ring, as Sekh picked up the other, placed it on his own middle finger. This had been what the warlock had found, when he’d been sifting through those bones.

It should have been ridiculous, it should have been too much- but Astarion felt his eyes burning, realized he wanted to sob.

“I just want you to know,” Sekh said, as he took Astarion’s hand again, kissed his knuckles, “that you’re safe now. That I’m here. And…” Sekh took a slow, steadying breath. “I’m going to take care of you, no matter what happens.”

Astarion surged forward then, wrapped his arms around the drow’s neck, kissed him. He squeezed his eyes shut, told himself over and over and over that he wouldn’t break-

But a single tear slipped past his silver lashes, and he prayed to every god that had never listened that Sekh wouldn’t notice. That he wouldn’t see just how desperately Astarion needed him- because it was terrifying, to suddenly have something so precious that could be ripped away.

And Astarion wanted to believe Sekh, down in the depths of his soul- but something inside Astarion gnawed at him, whispered cruelly that this man was too good, and there was no way this could last.