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bakurakaboom-blog · 7 years ago

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Starbomb Ch. 5

Fandom: BNHA Pairing: Bakugou x Uraraka Genre: Romance and Comedy probably Chapter Summary: Bakugou has a weird dream about Uraraka and cannot bring himself to face her. Hurt, Uraraka tracks him down at his favorite arcade and attempts to at least play a game with him. A/N: I’m continuing this on this blog. Btw.

Bakugou opened the door to his dorm room, and on his bed, a matured, exceptionally voluptuous Uraraka lied curled up with her long, brown hair sprawled across the silky red sheets - waiting for him. She wore his t-shirt and his socks and his underwear! How did she even get ahold of something like that?

"Hey, Katsuki," she sang as she yawned.

What? Katsuki? Only his family called him that.

His body acted on its own as he lifted her shirt and pulled down her shorts. His hands began to roam her body with reckless abandon.

"Oh, Katsuki," she sang in a different pitch.

"Haha. You like that, huh?" He would never say something like that!

Her reddened cheeks and frequent, happy gasps made her look like an idiot to him. And as sweat dripped down her face, he followed each drop with his eyes down to her giant, open smile. Drool gathered in the corners of her mouth. Even as his hands wandered to squishy places, his stare fixated on her face before he lowered to kiss her with an astounding thirst.

His hands wandered for certain spots.

Touching right there caused that kind of note.

And down there caused that kind of note in a different octave.

He played her like an instrument. As he groped her, her voice inched higher.

"You're the best, Bakugou," she managed to moan.

That situation escalated into new, rhythmic motions and from there into ecstatic sensations that he had yet to feel through combat with a fraction of the physical exertion that he ever put into training.

Then, he felt the most pleasurable explosion he had ever unleashed.

When Bakugou woke up from the apparent dream, he realized that he ruined his sheets. "What the fuck was that!?" he yelled.

Uraraka had tried to interact with Bakugou earlier the following day. She attempted conversations with him, and she even tried to compliment him. To no avail, he shot her down. He had shielded his face from her all day by either turning his entire body away or burying his head in his crossed arms. His actions caused her to check her face a few times in the mirror.

Midoriya may have done that a few times in the past, but he certainly never growled while doing so. Plus, Midoriya would always at least attempt conversing with her.

When she finally saw Bakugou's face after class, every inch had reddened to the hue of his crimson eyes as he twitched and convulsed with what she thought to be hatred. He must have been outraged with her. Following her glimpse of his profile, he about-faced and walked in the opposite direction.

Before his shift in demeanor, they had civil interactions. On the days of their late excursions to see Kotone, they met in the gym for an even later night workout. Then, suddenly, he vanished from her routine. Maybe she complimented him too much, or maybe she poked fun at him too much.

She tried to replay the past few days to see what she may have done wrong.

By the time the weekend arrived, she had noticed her gut feel heavy and a bit emptier. When she passed by Bakugou's dorm room, she lingered near the idea of knocking and confronting him for a chance at rekindling their delicate friendship. If she waltzed up to his private quarters, then he'd almost definitely lash out at her for invading his personal space. That wouldn't work.

Since they lived on the same floor, she overheard Kirishima invite him to an arcade. While she could have brought Iida and Midoriya along, she knew that would be fighting the fire with oil. Bakugou hated them. Instead, she opted to go alone.

On the way there, she assured herself that she wasn't stalking Bakugou. Rather, she practiced some investigative field work to understand her allies. If she could somehow find a way to cooperate with the most stubborn and callous person in her class, then maybe she'd work towards an S-rank cooperativeness grade one day.

No, she didn't have to justify her actions. Genuinely, she wanted to be on good terms with her partner. Just a few days ago, she would tell anyone if they asked that she had made progress.

Uraraka stopped to gulp down a lump in her throat. While she would not be as naive as to assume that she captured Bakugou into a friendship, she mourned his company.

Her family had sent her a bit of spending money. Putting aside the money that she bought had plagued her conscience. Plus, what if this was the wrong arcade?

Nearly an hour passed, and she checked over her shoulder every moment. Maybe she should have invited her friends. If Midoriya were there, then she wouldn't feel like she had squandered her money. However, as she dug through her bag for her final token, she held out hope that Bakugou would show up and make the entire effort worthwhile.

She climbed into an alien-killing game located in a secluded booth and began to load her last token before the black curtains ruffled and ash blond hair poked through. Her already alert eyes grew and glimmered as her heart nearly leaped from her chest. "Bakugou!" she cheered as she eagerly pulled his arm towards her.

A tingling sensation rose to her face as she grinned. All that waiting was worthwhile after all.

"What?" said Bakugou. Of all the games in the building, he played that one the most. And, of all the times he visited that cheap arcade, he had never seen Uraraka there before. "What the hell is going on?" This encounter had to be some intervention.

"Come! Play this with me. Don't tell me that you think I'm gonna beat you," challenged Uraraka as she pointed at Bakugou's face with her free hand just like she rehearsed.

Somehow, his depraved sexual dream dissolved into nothing when he laid eyes on Uraraka's untainted, rosy cheeks. A girl like that couldn't possibly make a face like the woman in his nocturnal fantasy. He sprang at the chance to banter back and mischievously smirked, "Beat me? At Planet of Devastation: Vile Panic Strikes Back? Think again, round-face."

Uraraka showed her teeth when she grinned until she could hardly see through her elated eyes. So then, they had regained their peculiar bond like nothing ever happened. If she could withhold her curiosity of why he acted the way he did, then she just knew that they would have a pleasant time.

Picking up her last coin, she pushed it into the slot. They could enjoy that one game together.

The game began.

A slight notion of doom settled into Bakugou's chest as soon as he sat down next to Uraraka. A unique type of nervous energy rattled his limbs for a few moments before he gulped. Their shoulders grazed each other, and the sudden contact beckoned for him to glance over at her black tank top.

Then, again their shoulders brushed when she leaned over to take a shot at an approaching virtual enemy.

Once more.

Bakugou would have destroyed the toy gun in his hand if he had any less restraint. Grounding his teeth, he cursed upon looking at the score, "Shit." If Uraraka had have worn something that didn't reveal the eye-catching cleavage of her feminine chest, then he would have won. He would have voiced that excuse if it weren't a potential future weakness of his that she could exploit. The fact that he gave a speck of a shit about her fashion choice endlessly irritated him.

By the images of his dreams, he knew what lied beneath that thin cloth anyway.

"Ugh," complained Bakugou. He acknowledged that he shouldn't have allowed his mind to wander back to his NIGHTMARE. Retracting his arm closer to his body, he attempted to keep an adequate distance.

Uraraka thought to herself with authentic disappointment, "I didn't think you'd hold back." A frown dropped onto her face.

Regardless, she couldn't even play a rematch, for she had spent her last coin.

When he didn't respond, she jumped at the opportunity to excuse herself. If she had to admit her poverty in front of him again, she'd probably die. Forcing a yawn, she said, "I was thinking about heading back to the dorms. I'm kinda tired, ya know?" She stretched her arms into the air. "Maybe that can be our rematch for the Sports Festival."

If she wanted to go, then she probably shouldn't have said that.

Bakugou, who, at the time, withdrew into his thoughts to understand what went wrong decided that he rather cover her with his overshirt. And why the fuck did she have to stretch like that? Didn't she know that her breasts bounced when she did that? She pulled that shit in his dream, too.

He shook his head to rid his thoughts and instinctually growled at the flippant remark. "This isn't a fucking rematch. I'm gonna kick your ass for saying that later. Plus, that win is bogus without another round," he grumbled as he shoved coins into the slots. "If you take this seriously, then stop yawning."

"Okay," she agreed as she bit her bottom lip and nodded with a small smile. Uraraka saw that he paid without any snarky remarks, and when the realization hit her, she didn't know how to react. She wouldn't be able to pay him back if he asked - maybe with the few tickets she won. If she thanked him, then he'd probably immediately jump out of the game.

Meanwhile, she noticed her heavy breathing as she glanced over at him with a buoyant heart and a glittery sensation in her cheeks. Maybe she needed to think a little less.

As he slaughtered her in the following round, Uraraka witnessed an amazing combo of 100 kills and joyously squealed, "You're amazing, Bakugou!"

He stopped pulling the trigger and froze in place as his eye twitched and mouth contorted into a tight frown. She moaned those words in his dream. Maybe the two Urarakas had more similarities than he initially thought. Shaking his head again, he reminded himself of the context, and when he narrowly escaped with a victory, he noticed her wide-eyed, obvious stare linger on his face.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she frowned once more. "Sorry. Was that too much?" she asked. "You keep making that twitchy face."

Taking off his black over-shirt, he threw it at her. "No! I'm fine! I just haven't played this in a while, and these cheapskates need to turn up the AC," lied Bakugou.

"Really? I'm actually a little chilly. I shouldn't have worn something so thin. So, thanks, I guess," replied Uraraka as she stuck out her tongue.

"Then hurry up and put it on!" he urged. His shoulders rigidly hunched with each word.

She jumped at the sudden gravity in his growl. "Wah? Put it on? Are you sure?" However, she dressed in his edgy, skull t-shirt. At least, she felt a little warmer. Pleasantly melting into her seat, she raised her eyebrows when she noticed Bakugou shove more coins in for another game.

"Best 3 out of 5, round-face. I'm going to murder you."

"Okay," she nodded as she stifled verbal gratitude and grabbed her toy gun.

Kirishima passed by a few games as he searched for Bakugou. He had suddenly disappeared. Over the past few days, he noticed that Bakugou seemed a lot more flustered and would lash out at anyone around him. Twitchy and boisterous, he even yelled at Kaminari the day before. Then, when they went out to the arcade, he kept his distance and played games alone for the most part.

Something changed, and when he spotted Bakugou across the room in a shadowed booth of his favorite game, he began to stride towards them. That was until he noticed his companion - a girl!

So that was why Bakugou ditched their sparring sessions for the gym on some nights. Maybe they worked out together. Kirishima honestly thought he had taken an interest in Uraraka, but he hadn't seen them converse all that week.

When Bakugou emerged from the game, Kirishima gasped and subsequentially ducked when he caught sight of the girl. She was Uraraka! Covering his mouth, he pumped his fist. "Alright, Bakugou!" he cheered under his breath.

Wait. Did they switch shirts?

Oh man, Kirishima invited Kaminari to come along, but if he wanted today to go smoothly for his friend, he would have to cancel. So, he texted him, "Hey, Bakugou bailed, so let's go to the shitty place closer to the dorm instead."

Meanwhile, Uraraka tried to think of an adequate excuse to get out of revealing her empty wallet to Bakugou. However, he pointed at game after game and shoved coins from his pocket into the slots. She figured that he enjoyed having a punching bag since she had virtually no talent with video games. Maybe something with hand-eye coordination like Dance Dance Revolution would have been better, but she couldn't picture Bakugou playing something that embarrassing.

Bakugou heard Uraraka giggle to herself. Why would she giggle? Was she having fun?

He had no reason to pay mind to what she wanted to play. He had a strict routine of games that he played every time he visited that particular location, but he noticed how fast he burned through his stock of coins. Since Kirishima ditched him, he needed someone to help him get the maximum amount of tickets.

That would be his excuse for letting her stick around. Though, he curiously awaited every second they spent together.

They wouldn't be able to play his typical final game. He noticed her eye the skeeball. They wouldn't get a lot of tickets from that, but if she were good at it, then maybe they could get enough for an adequate prize.

Without warning, he loaded his tokens and turned back to her. "This is really fucking easy, so if you don't get any tickets, then I'll kill you."

Careful not to acknowledge that he willfully paid for her, she raised her eyebrows at his eagerness to play. What a success that day had been. They played together all day like friends would. Even though he cursed and swore at every opportunity, the atmosphere kept a smile on her face. With a spring in her step, she grabbed a ball with the palm of her hands and melodically rolled it up the ramp and directly to the center.

"Jackpot!" alerted the machine as it spat over 1,000 tickets out.

"What? Look, Bakugou!" shouted Uraraka as she jumped and grabbed his arm. "I got the jackpot on the first try!"

Their cheeks centimeters apart, Bakugou scratched his collarbone as he urgently smothered a growing smile until he proudly smirked. Allowing her to hang onto him for a few moments more, he wondered why he didn't want to attack her.

Racing heart, euphoria, and a bit of nausea - that's what he felt with Uraraka by his side.

His palms dripped with sweat. Although they certainly could not continue playing in their position, he failed to push her way and instead groaned, "Alright, round face, keep rolling. We're gonna run out of time."

When she separated from him, she hesitated to continue playing and pulled at a strand of her hair. Maybe she got ahead of herself, for she could have sworn that she saw him smile, too.

Uraraka nearly screamed and cried when she noticed the time on her phone. The cafeteria closed half an hour before. Desperate tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as they stood around the prize booth. Quickly, she wiped her face before saying, "Well, this was fun, Bakugou. We should do this again sometime. Maybe I'll actually beat you at something besides skeeball," she laughed before twirling around to the exit.

His firm hand gripped her shoulder and jerked her back. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" growled Bakugou. "We're going to the same place."

She gasped and pointed to a green shirt that looked like the skin of green grenade. "Bakugou, that's perfect. Did you see that?"

Bakugou narrowed his eyes at the article of clothing and slammed his tickets on the counter. "Give that to me!" he demanded. The cashier handed the t-shirt to him with a lofty sigh. "Uraraka, hurry up and get something. I don't want to stay in this dump anymore."

"Me? Uh," Uraraka stammered. "Okay. I want that necklace with the star." Pointing to the yellow, Mario-esque, chubby star on a silver chain, she sucked in her lips to prevent a prevalent smile. She knew not to thank him.

The heroine's stomach growled on their way out the building. She dangled the chain in front of her face and gave herself a victory sign. A token a friendship and triumph hung in her hands. Not every day and certainly not everyone got a chance to befriend the class pugilist. Maybe she felt a little too excited. Her heart hadn't calmed for a while.

Then, again, she was probably just hungry.

As they walked down a darkening city street, neon lights shined on the various storefronts. If only she hadn't spent her money at the arcade, then she'd be able to at least stop at a street vendor.

Bakugou made a turn away from the direction of their school.

In turn, Uraraka stood at the crossroads and watched as Bakugou continued into the shopping district. He glared over his shoulder and said, "Stop standing there like a fucking idiot."

He would never admit this, but Uraraka had bonuses that came along with her useful quirk. He found appeal in the way Uraraka's hair curved around her round face, and the melody of her laugh pleased him as well. Her energetic and passionate adulation boosted his gaming performance, too. Their proximity gave him a rush especially on the off moments their arms bumped into each other.

As he walked, he enjoyed the warmth of her stare on his back.

Rubbing his neck, he figured he had many rational reasons to keep her by his side.

Uraraka sweat bullets the entire stroll to the restaurant of Bakugou's whim, and when she pointed out a familiar, Japanese restaurant, he scolded her for thinking she had any choice in the matter before he entered the traditional style building anyway.

"Don't tell me you're fucking broke. This is the cheapest damn place on the block. I guess poor people like you have to ask for food," Bakugou taunted as he pulled out his wallet that had just enough money to cover her as well. However, being the sadistic guy that he was, he wanted to hear her beg. After all, he already said that he'd take care of her one day. If she wanted to be stubborn enough to reject that offer, then he would have to push her until she came crawling.

Smirking, he glanced up and expected his intimidation to get through to her. Sure, sweat jumped from her glistening face, but her pensive stare furrowed in the direction of her bag. Her permanent blush at the tips of her cheeks paled in comparison to the fluster that he imagined. Why didn't his taunt affect her? He realized that she had run out of money back at the arcade.

A bright, toothy grin popped onto her face as she revealed her plan in the form of a small ticket. "It's okay, cuz I've got some coupons!" she boasted. In fact, she hardly heard Bakugou's rant about her poverty. Holding up two fingers, she added, "2 for 1. I got a whole bunch, so get whatever you want. I got one for a free dessert, too."

Bakugou then wondered how he could ever win over someone as independent as her. He censured with a scoff, "Fuckin' mooch."

Standing up, she dropped everything she held onto the table and lowered her head. "Bakugou," she muttered in a low, shaking voice. "I know you paid for the games we played together because I ran out of money. I was really happy that we could have lots of fun together. And, I know you said you'd pay for me when I got older. But, I don't want that. Quit bullying me for not being able to buy the things that I want."

When Bakugou witnessed her try to leave their booth, his chest wrung and he reluctantly blurted, "Don't tell me you dragged me to this shitty place just to leave me here." He had doubted he could debilitate her that easily, yet there she was - abruptly fleeing from him.

Even though she needed to wipe her face, she knew that doing so would let him know of the tears that fell from her eyes. "I'm trying to be a pro hero. I'm doing my best, and I'm gonna use this damn coupon," she demanded before she plopped back down into her seat.

That side was the girl that Bakugou wanted to see.

He smirked at the fruit of his berating. After all, how many people got to see the gutsy face of Uraraka?

When the waitress came around, Bakugou ordered, "Give me the mapo tofu."

"Me too!" added Uraraka before she corrected her urgent and passionate outburst. "I mean, me, too!"

"How plucky," thought Bakugou as he averted his gaze to the window beside them. He stared at her reflection instead, for looking at her directly on caused his heart to race too fast to the point that he hardly felt like stuffing food into his mouth. In fact, in that moment, he hungered for days like that with her over everything else.

"I'm sorry for blowing up like that," Uraraka apologized. "I should have thanked you earlier, but I was afraid that you'd get mad and leave."

Bakugou had no response. Her thanks meant nothing. Alone, her gratitude neither angered him nor pleased him.

"Now, I'm not gonna back down. I'll tell you whatever I'm thinking because no matter what you're probably gonna get angry, right?" Uraraka laughed as she sipped on the water that the waitress served to her. For that spicy meal, she would probably need a lot.

No, he felt obligated to pay for her as long as she stayed by his side. As she spoke, he shifted from side to side in his seat. He wanted to be with her because he found her company more enjoyable than exploding objects and enemies. These sentiments failed to come to fruition in his silenced mind. Instead, he focused on his growling stomach.

After they had finished eating, Bakugou abruptly snatched the coupon from under Uraraka's nose and threw it across the room while she chugged down the rest of her water.

The anti-gravity girl wondered if he harbored rancor against the ordeal after their "heart to heart." Maybe she held a one sided confrontation with him instead of the breakthrough conversation that she imagined. Bending down, she retrieved the small, crumbled ticket from beneath a table. When she returned, she asked, "Hey, Bakugou, why'd you do that?"

Quickly, he snatched the small sheet of paper from her, blew it up, and then rushed out the building with a frightening shade of blood red illuminating his face.

"What?" she shrieked. What was she supposed to do? That was her only way to pay. Maybe she had another coupon or enough cash to cover her part. She gulped as her trembling hands navigated the pockets of her bag. Why would he do something like that? This predicament was her fault for getting close to Bakugou.

If he used this whole day just to make a fool out of her, then she had no reason to hope for a better friendship. Her chest tightened as tears came to the corners of her eyes. The stress in her heart worsened over her thoughts and memories with Bakugou rather than her monetary dilemma.

The waitress approached her and bowed, "Have a good night."

"Wah?" Uraraka gasped, "I didn't pay."

"Your boyfriend paid for you," explained the waitress. "Young love is tricky like that I suppose."

Boyfriend? Did she mean Bakugou? Before she could think to correct her, Uraraka made eye contact with Bakugou through the window as a grin burst onto her face. He had been waiting for her. She carelessly allowed her residual tears to fall from her eyes as she watched him turn away. Darting down the aisles and out the door, she wanted to hug him, but she knew that would be a straight ticket to a sordid scorn.

Instead, she clasped her hands together behind her back and tried to catch up to him. She noted in a sing-song voice, "You waited for me, and you paid. Thank you a lot. Today was amazing! I had lots of fun."

He tried to pick up the pace so that she didn't see his heated face. "Don't think anything special is happening. I don't want to be seen with people that miss curfew. And," he stammered with a brief pause. "I only had that kind of bill, and I didn't feel like waiting for the change, so consider yourself lucky."

"You're the meanest good guy I know," Uravity pointed out as she stroked the star chain that hung around her neck.

"I don't give a fuck what you think."

Uraraka mused out loud as she looked to the sky, "I hope we have more days like this, you know? Only, next time I'll make sure I can pay for myself. Maybe I could even pay for a meal for you." Of course, she knew that she would have to ride the Bakugou rollercoaster a few more times before she could handle nausea and stress of it all. However, simply hanging out with him outweighed his volatile idiosyncrasies.

"You're never going to fucking pay for me! I already told you how things will go after we get," the blond began until he trailed off because, for some stupid reason, he felt as if reminding her of their future marriage exposed a desire that had dug deeper into his mind than he could handle. With all his might, as he panted and seethed, he could not force out the word "married."

Something inside Bakugou grew as he gulped, and he didn't know how to kill it. However, the next day he had a lot more gusto in his work out.

#kacchako #bakuraka #bakugou x uraraka #katsuki bakugou #uraraka ochako #boku no hero academia

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therewithasmile · 5 years ago

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btw if you were interested here’s my character’s backstory

The day she was born, Elduin Tathvir’s beaker – yet again – bubbled over, overflowed, and all but oozed onto the elven wizard’s hands. All things considered, he was relatively unfazed. This has been happening as of late; he simply emptied the remainders back down the drain, twisting the tap to rinse out the failed contents of his would-be potion. Business as usual. What he wasn’t expecting, though, was the familiar of one of his apprentices – a small bird, not the first choice of most magic users – fluttered to a stop on his open windowsill, which was left so exactly for occasions like these. Elduin didn’t need to turn to know what the message was. He’d been the one to send off his wife to the healers, after all.

But it was then when his first child, Rhystael, roused from his slumber. The young elven boy uncurled his spot on the couch, mess of gold-spun hair an indistinct halo around the crown of his head. “Father?” he mumbled, and when his father turned, a dazzling smile pulled on the wizard’s mouth.

And with a voice that was nothing but sheer joy: “my moon, your sister is here.”

Her name was Ilistrae Tathvir. After the goddess Eilistraee, was her mother’s explanation. A drow goddess. Sorisana Tathvir was always forthcoming about the nature of her daughter’s name, but her sympathy for her shunned elven sisters and brothers was also no secret in Silverynoon, where the Tathvir clan resided. A diplomat by nature and profession, Sorisana’s (perhaps naïve) optimism about the drow race was quite peculiar, even for – or perhaps due to – her own identity as a high sun elf.

She cradled her new bundle to her breast, miniature gold-spun curls decorating her newborn child’s head. She was nothing like the drow goddess for which she was named, but that was the point – if Eilistraee could be a good Drow, then all Drow could be good.

Sorisana knew this.

She always did.

When he was old enough, Rhystael’s free time swiftly became occupied with his studies. A good student by nature, he found his time once spent with his other sun elf peers stolen by books and magic. There was never any true ill will behind his parents gentle nudging – he knew the legacy that fell on the Tathvir shoulders, and so he studied diligently, and when he did, he quickly proved his aptitude to magic. His father was proud of his child’s quick studies, pride that the wizarding practices would live on to the next generation of Tathvirs.

If Rhystael was like his father, many had told little Ilistrae that she was much like her mother. Almost as soon as she learned to walk, she fell into a swift love affair with knowledge. Reading was her forte, and even then, her research capabilities were endless. But that wasn’t to say that Ilistrae didn’t know the value of family. When the sun fell down and their nightly meditation sessions began, she’d ask her mother for her stories, sometimes about the Drow, sometimes the policies that her mother was so involved with, but then, one time, a relatively innocent question: “How did you and Adar meet?”

It was a question that threw Sorisana off. She was used to her inquisitive, always curious Ilistrae asking about something more substantial. But a warm smile spread on her lips as she recalled how she had met him. He was an adventurer, on his own quest, having stopped by Silverynoon for a mission. It was then they had met – she’d never once stepped foot outside of Silverynoon, as a Tathvir she was never allowed to. Her path had already been set out for her from the beginning: like her mother, and her mother before that, a diplomat, on behalf of the modest Sun Elf community within their city walls.

So Elduin, quite the adventurer back then, regaled her with tales of his adventures from back in his day. He was enthralling, endlessly charismatic, and had experienced so much more than her. They had fallen in love. And she wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to settle him, but she did – and it was all that mattered in the end, because they loved each other, and they – all four of them -- were family.

Family, Ilistrae repeated, and it wasn’t until she had settled deep into her trance did Sorisana finally leave Ilistrae’s room, a warm feeling buzzing in the deep cavities of her heart.

As Ilistrae grew older, it wasn’t long before her studies began to include diplomatic tendencies. Just like her mother, were the whispers that once had said the same things, but about her brother and father respectively.

It was true. She was good at understanding policy. Her thirst for knowledge equally complimented her swiftly developing diplomacy. More, more, more – she grabbed for more books, for more understandings of this world. She asked frequent questions. Why did the history record it this way? What happened during the spell plague? Why were the Drow portrayed as enemies, then?

Her mother always had an answer, and Ilistrae would walk off, satisfied, to return back to her studies, only to come back when she had another question.

… or so she had her family think.

On her way back to her family libraries, she heard a sound. And she stopped. Opened the door just a crack. Watched as her brother flipped his long mane of golden hair over his shoulders, as he flicked his fingers, a fire ball went hurling into the long-charred spot in the wall – a bullseye, so perfectly in the epicenter of the burn that the tendrils of red hot energy spread nearly identical to the everlasting black ash underneath.

No, Illistrae did not return to her studies that night.

She waited until her mother finished planting the kiss on her forehead, waited until even her mother believed she was undergoing her trance before she cracked open an eye.

She flicked her fingers, like her brother. Always like her brother.

But nothing happened.

Ever since she started trying, so long ago, nothing ever happened.

The first time she’d spotted him, it was on her way home, after watching one of her mother’s council meetings. It was easy to spot him, his dark skin amongst the pale, his locks of midnight blue hair a startling contrast to the common reds and ambers and spun gold. No one made comment. As it should be, said the diplomatic side of Ilistrae.

But she asked about him anyways -- to her mother, who always seemed to know the answer. “Drow,” Sorisana would eventually conclude. “Like-“

“-My name,” Ilistrae finished. Sorisana smiled.

“Your name, yes. Because there are Good Drow. Like Drizzt Do’Urden. I met him once when I was little,” she recalled fondly. “And that man may be too, you can never tell Ilistrae. Not until you meet him.” With that, Sorisana moved to leave the table.

“Mother?”

Sorisana paused.

“If the Drow can be Good, why do the books portray them always as Evil?”

Sorisana took a long breath, thinking for a leisurely moment, before finally answering. “The books are written by winners, my Stars. Who’s to say what’s true, and what’s good?”

It was her last phrase that made the most lasting impact on Ilistrae.

“That’s our job to decide.”

The next time they spotted him, Sorisana noticed Ilistrae had too; and her eyes met his – a startling red. Red was not a common eye colour amongst the Ar-tel-quessir. He’d given Ilistrae a smile. Naturally, her daughter gave him one back.

They met once more after that, he’d made a gesture to her, just a small crane of the neck. Ilistrae turned swiftly to her mother, but Sorisana knew how to deal with these situations – it was as natural as her Tathvir blood. She gave him a slow nod, and he approached.

“Sorisana Tathvir,” he said, a rich baritone, almost breathless. “Va’ar Undyn. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance –“ he was almost breathless as he spoke. “I just, I’ve always wanted to thank you. For your work for my people.”

Sorisana’s smile was genuine. “Va’ar, quenya. Knowing I can be helping your kind is all the gratitude I need.” She rubbed the top of Ilistrae’s head. “My work does not end with me. This is Ilistrae.”

His red eyes widened. “Like the –“

“-Goddess. Yes,” she finished pleasantly. The drow’s eyebrow raised, before another smile crossed his lips. He did a small flourish with his fingers, small sparks forming and showering over her daughter’s lithe body. Prestidigitation. A mere parlours trick, one she was used to seeing her son perform effortlessly. Ilistrae was similarly accustomed, but to her credit, her eyes widened. Ever the diplomat, the courteous curiosity that could so easily be mistaken as real.

“Such a beautiful namesake,” he said. “I am very happy to have met you, Sorisana, Ilistrae. I look forward to your continued contributions.”

He shook her hand first, then her daughters.

“Happy to be of service.”

“Vora,” he said back, always, and Ilistrae’s eyes followed him longer than hers, much longer than Sorisana was able to notice.

It was becoming habitual now, to wait until her mother had left her chambers, before Ilistrae stirred. The image of the drow flickered behind her eyes. His eyes, beady, red, made shivers run down her spine. She’d read about the Drow, heard from her mother. But that was her first encounter with such a type of elf, and the sparkles that he’d produced were similar to what she’s seen before, and yet different. She couldn’t tell how. But it was.

The thought of trying it out flirted in her mind. It joined the ever mounting urge to try something – sparks, firebolt, something – but she knew the outcome. It hasn’t changed. It hasn’t changed once.

Instead, Ilistrae unfurled the note she’d kept stubbornly tucked into the sleeve of her dress.

To the namesake of my goddess,

I sense a thirst for power, a thirst for knowledge and magic and understanding. Your studies betray you. You are meant for more than diplomacy and politics. You, who are named after a goddess, have a place amongst them with us. They have told me.

I can show you.

When she first set out to meet him, there was a lot of early misgivings. Yet she knew she was a Tathvir, her father a decorated wizard within Silverynoon as a whole, mother a wellknown diplomat. Brother training to be a Spellguard.

Ilistrae just wanted to live up to them.

Their first meeting was in daylight. And they didn’t do much, nothing she wasn’t comfortable with, Va’ar had promised her. At first, she didn’t want to attempt magic. It may have been childish, as if she were twenty years younger than her true age. But she didn’t want to fail.

So she asked him for stories. Asked for his experiences. And she learned a lot – about Drow society, about their hatred for the surface elves, about their connection to their pantheon.

It was fascinating knowledge.

She came back for more.

And more.

And then, no longer meek, but confident: “I want to learn.”

“Learn about what?” was the response, a smooth silky baritone, like music to her ears.

“Magic. You had offered.”

Va’ar’s eyebrow raised. “You never asked me once, Ilistrae, I’m sorry, I assumed I was wrong, your father – your brother—“

“—You weren’t,” she cut him off. Ilistrae sat back down in a huff. “You knew from the beginning, yes? That I can’t do magic.”

Sympathy twisted the drow’s face, a look she had so often seen on her mother’s when it came to the drow, a face she never wanted to see directed to her. From her mother, at least. From Va’ar, there was something almost comforting about it.

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Ilistrae responded quickly. “I shouldn’t have misled you.”

“You didn’t,” he said, and then with a small laugh that was like liquid honey, “not intentionally, anyways.” Va’ar paused. “I am a warlock. You know what that means, yes?”

Ilistrae nodded. “You have a patron.”

Va’ar hmm’ed in response. “I wasn’t lying when I said there’s a place for you amongst the Drow gods. You, who share the name of their brethren.”

“Eilistrae betrayed them,” Ilistrae said almost immediately. “She betrayed them, they hate her. That’s what the books say.”

Va’ar’s sympathetic smile only deepened further. “And what do they say? What do you say?”

“That it’s my job to decide,” Ilistrae said, as her mother had, so many years ago. “So why do they want me?”

Va’ar reached out a hand. “Why don’t you ask them?”

His hand was cold, but the sudden chills that ran up and down her body were doubly so. It was black – black and thick and dark and cold. Ilistrae didn’t think she much liked that feeling.

And then there was something else. A pulse, like a heartbeat. For a second, she wondered if this tiny bead of life was what she was looking for. She reached out, grabbed that small bud into her small, small, hands, and it pulsed –reverberated all through her body.

It was ice, fire, electricity all at once – up and down her veins. Through to her eyes, her ears – out her nose, through the tips of her toes and fingers. Each time every sensation spiked, heightened, spilled out through her scalp and fighting to explode out of her skin. And then – stillness. But a small ball of energy in front of her – if there even was a front, or back, or any direction at all – and she understood if she reached out, accepted this, there was no turning back.

Her fingers dug into this small ball of energy, and it splintered into small fragments, no bigger than pomegranate seeds.

She put them to her lips, and then onto her tongue.

Ilistrae opened her eyes.

Va’ar’s gaze was endless, and his whole body shuddered, heaving for breath. Like he’d experienced the same thing she just had.

Ilistrae was suddenly, viscerally, aware that she was shaking.

And before either could speak, she loosened her hands from him – and flicked her wrist to the side, could only revel as a fireball exploded from her fingertips.

His daughter was also a wizard.

Elduin Tathvir discarded another failed potion, the ooze nearly staining his workbench.

But he hardly cared.

His daughter was also a wizard.

They had a celebratory dinner that night, inviting all of his acolytes and apprentices, familiars and all. Ilistrae was delighted – she’d always loved the bird familiar, so peculiar, so unlike the rest of the magical companions that often accompanied them. And the equations she’s meticulously studied, so much more than her brother, had finally made sense. She demonstrated it to them. And it was wonderful. Claps erupted from their dinner table. His Sun and Moon nothing but proud.

He was too.

Even though he could tell something was…different.

But it was his daughter’s moment. His daughter, who he’d seen practice and practice when she thought no one was watching, who studied magical formulas and spellcasting with twice the enthusiasm that Rhystael ever did. She had explained that a drow, Va’ar, as his Sun had told him once before their trance the night they’d met, had helped the missing pieces of her puzzle. Pinpointed what her mental block was, and had unlocked her capacity as a Wizard.

Elduin suspected it wasn’t fully the case.

But he hardly cared.

His daughter was happy.

And so he was, too.

Ilistrae thought she was sneaky, and in many ways, she was. But when they had whispered that Ilistrae would turn out so much like her, well, Sorisana couldn’t help but believe it, too. Because the way her daughter snuck out at night was identical to how she used to, once. To meet with Ny’eth.

Her lover, from a lifetime ago, before Elduin.

A drow.

But she found her body mangled in the river, blamed for a crime she knew Ny’eth never committed. How she sobbed over her body, over the cool blue skin she loved and twilight tresses she once relished between her pale fingers. How she thought she could never love again, until Elduin arrived in Silverynoon, so opposite from Ny’eth, but perhaps why she felt the stirrings in her heart nearly a century later.

She wondered if her daughter was in love with this man. Va’ar. Perhaps love was the wrong word. Fascination, adoration – a means to quench that thirst of knowledge.

A role that Sorisana was so used to fulfilling.

She watched as her daughter slipped from the front door, watched her embrace the drow, before their hands connected, and she’d close her eyes. Then their hands parted, and they darted off into the dark – but she’d return completely unharmed in the morning, just in time for breakfast, sometimes with a new advancement in her magic.

How could she, of all people, judge?

Ilistrae – it seemed like her drow name was a little on the nose, Sorisana thought to herself, and she dismissed her family’s confused looks when she chuckled to herself.

It was black, dark, cold.

But that didn’t make sense. She never felt like this until she took his hand. Closed her eyes. Let him speak to her.

There it was, that ball of light.

She reached with outstretched fingers.

But then it twisted. And she was holding a knife.

The handle was oozing.

Ilistrae snapped from her Reverie.

She said nothing about it when she ate breakfast. Said nothing as her brother pulled her into their casting room, laughed as they tried to connect some harmless spells to each other. Said nothing after she was knocked to her feet, grasping Rhystael’s warm, warm hands to pull her upright.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice snapping her from her thoughts.

“No,” she said quickly. “My back hurts, Rhys!”

“Well, Ili, gotta figure it out fast cuz-“ but before her brother could finish his sentence, he found himself lifted by an invisible force, before being thrown against a wall. “-ow.”

She couldn’t stop the peals of laughter that bubbled when she took in her brother’s face. “Brother dear, you’re never going to make Spellguard if you let your guard down like that.”

“That was cheap, Ili!” he complained. “Did the drow teach you that too?”

“Va’ar wouldn’t give me a chance at a speech first,” she taunted, and her brother only rolled his eyes before he went for her again.

She was holding the knife, except it was oozing, and there was nowhere to hold but the blade.

It should’ve sliced into her fingers. But nothing came from there. Ropes of black vicious liquid poured out instead, like her body wasn’t a vessel of blood, but ink.

Spilling, spilling.

She was drowning.

The night air was crisp, the sounds of a dusky city quiet in her ears. His hands were cold.

But that was it.

Until now, that was never it.

But she pretended like it was more, as she gripped his fingers harder, looking – searching –

“Ilistrae.”

His voice was quiet in her ear.

She opened her eyes.

For a second, thick, black ooze pooled at her fingertips, dripping where their hands connected.

But then it was gone, and Va’ar gently took his hands from her. “Are you okay? You were gone for a long time.”

Ilistrae swallowed. “Fine. He was just – ah – showing me some things.”

For a second, something like jealousy spiked Va’ars tone. “Like?”

“Half visions,” she lied easily. “Blackness. Pomegranate. Warmth. You know. It’s never clear.”

“Never,” he responded, and then whatever was playing at the edges of his red gaze dissipated. He gestured into the woods, where they’ve been practicing magic for the last several years. “Ready?”

No.

“Yes,” Ilistrae said obediently.

Her hands were still black.

But when she wiped them away, her pale skin stared back at her. And so she followed him, the smell of the end of summer crisp in her nostrils, her white dress entirely untainted as it played in the breeze.

She was already holding the knife.

Black pooled at her feet, swallowed her dress, staining the pure fabric into something else.

What are you trying to tell me?

As if in response, small lacerations marked like rope burns up her arm, making their way slowly towards her, towards her chest –

Ilistrae snapped from her reverie, panting, chest heaving, cream arms shaking as they wrapped around her knees.

“Va’ar.”

The silhouette froze, robes still in the dead of night, hood pulled heavy over his head.

“I know it’s you, Va’ar.” Ilistrae wasn’t scared, or surprised. In fact, she’d always known.

Slowly, the figure turned. “Ilistrae,” he finally said, and it was his honeyed baritone, thick with intention, but Ilistrae saw through it.

“How could you, Va’ar? I was a child.”

Maybe, deep down, she felt something. Remorse, confusion, betrayal – all childish emotions, ones she had to swallow away, lock deep in her heart when she realized what he was up to.

What He had always been warning her about.

“You were lost, and I saved you,” was his easy answer. So layered in his voice – but his Charm wouldn’t affect her anymore.

“Is that why you hold that letter of confession?” Ilistrae said, and she allowed steel to edge her words. “That I’m not a wizard, but a warlock, in a pact with a Drow god?”

She saw his fist tighten – she knew these tricks well before he knew she did. This was how it all started, wasn’t it? When he’d passed her the note the first time, so inconspicuous he thought he was. But Ilistrae knew him, He knew him, and knew this would happen.

“You never saved me. He did,” she said coolly.

Va’ar clicked his tongue. “All I ever was, was a recruiter. I hate that I recruited you. That He picked you over me.” His voice went high, near hysterical. “It was supposed a hilarious joke. That the one named for our betrayer Goddess would be bound to Him. He wanted you more than anything. And I gave you to him.” He narrowed his eyes.

“And now He intends of ridding me.”

“Wrong. He’s protecting me. From you.” Ilistrae straightened, and her fingers buzzed with power – just the thought of those eyes she once trusted, a smile she once felt safe with, only made the magical surge grow stronger.

“Is that what you think, Illistrae?”

His voice was always honey. Honey and warm and so convincing.

If anything, she so desperately wanted to believe.

“It’s my job to decide,” she said quietly.

She flicked her wrist.

“Alas Va’as Ghaunandaur Tevenir.”

Ghaunadaur will greet you in Hell.

She burned the note, along with his corpse.

Ilistrae stood at the precipice, and so many thoughts swirled in her head. Half were heavy, black and dark and she didn’t know if they were hers. How long has it been since things were hers? Her path was always set for her. If not a warlock, then a diplomat.

She never really had a choice.

Yet she found herself at one, when she held a lit match to a spot behind her house, straw and meats from the kitchen and locks of her gold-spun hair arranged in such a way and ready to catch flame. It was close enough to her house. They would smell it immediately. They’d see her shoes first. Then the outer edges of her hair.

Her mother would cry.

No, her mother would be hysterical.

She would sob and sob and scream why it had to be Ilistrae, why her daughter and not herself –

Her Father would summon all the clerics to try to save her, but it would be too late, for her corpse would be too badly burned, but it’s not her corpse, at all –

And her dear brother was supposed to go to the Spellguard initiation in a few days, she couldn’t do that to her him, he’d be too broken –

One by one, those childish, childish emotions fought to the surface. She thought she’d locked them away, when she looked Va’ar in the eyes when she did it, watched the life drain from his face…

She pictured her funeral. How much they’d mourn. Silverynoon would feel the impact of a lost Tathvir. It would be forever changed.

Drow would never be forgiven.

Drow shouldn’t ever be forgiven, said another voice, a newfound hatred, with such venom that it didn’t stir her in the slightest. Edged with darkness, oozing with poison.

She blew out the match instead.

To my parents, my brother,

Va’ar’s sudden passing was a wakeup call to me. I must find my own path. It’s what he would have wanted. I have more to learn of the world. I was always told I was like you, mother, and in another life, if I never discovered magic, I would walk your road as a Tathvir. But perhaps I am more alike Adar than I realized, and magic was only the beginning. I feel the call of adventure. To learn more. I hope to return home one day, to Silverynoon, to you, to Rhys and his new position within the Spellguard. I wish you nothing but health and fortune, and I will write when I can in between my studies.

I am ready to start my journey. It’s my job to discover the world.

All my love,

Your Stars and Sister,

Ili

Fourty years passed since then. She passed the age of 110 in isolation, in a quiet tavern in the dead of night. The only company was the still of evening and the dark ooze that permeated through her body when she closed her eyes.

Gaunadaur protected her. He’d shown her things she barely understood, until they came to fruition later. A dead deer. A slaughtered house. Blood dripping from the ceiling.

He’d never treated her like a recruiter, not like that horrid drow. Not at all like him, and for that, she was thankful.

But fourty years of isolation, of brief meetings then briefer partings, had begun to blur her thoughts.

Which were hers, and which were His? What was her will, and what was his own?

If she’d faced it, she’d realize she didn’t know.

All she knew was that she was completely – utterly -- alone.

She had swallowed down those feelings. She knew she was the stain on Tathvir’s name. Overtime, she’d come to embrace it. She knew she wasn’t doing good things. But when had the world been good to her? They didn’t give her magic to begin with. Ghaunadaur did. They didn’t offer her protection from evil. Ghaunadaur did. It was Ghaunadaur. Always Ghaunadaur.

Always…

Always –

And out of nowhere, her family popped into her mind.

Her mother, Soriana, kind and patient, a great answer to every question she had.

Her father, Elduin, a spectacular wizard, several acolytes over frequently for dinner and tea.

Her brother, Rhystael, with a proud gold-spun ringletted mane, a smile that was always genuine, clad in Spellguard robes and enchanted armor.

They had asked her for her name – this group of adventurers, a human male, a gnome sorcerer, a Halfling trying to keep them together. They were quite boisterous, the kind she once tried to avoid, in case they would somehow recognize her, spill her secret. Even though all traces of her former life was gone – she possessed none of her fineclothes, her fortunes left behind, even her golden hair dyed black – all, but a small ring, hidden in the seam of her satchel. Childish it may have been, but something about these children -- their energy, despite being more chaotic, reminded her of home. Of Mother, of Father, of Rhys.

“Lyss,” She found herself responding.

Ilistrae was no more.

And in her mind, the picture of her brother she adored – missed beyond belief -- smiled.

#DAS MY GIRL #Lyss T #Ilistrae Tathvir #dnd #I had some big plot points in my mind #noble background #warlock #drow god even though sun elf #and her family is NOT broken (bc that was too easy of a route)

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