#though i wonder how they can make something magic resistant... with magic

[ambrosiagourmet]

I wonder if the Winged Lion ate Marcille's hair (desires) in part to keep her dependent on him & more easily controlled.

I had already noticed that he has a tendency to frame her power in ways that keep her reliant on him. It's a some classic manipulation bullshit - he appears helpful, but he is constantly pushing her towards isolation.

See, for example: offering at first to give her a full view of the dungeon to help her find Laios and the others, knowing its painful for her -

And then offering using monsters to search instead, which keeps her less aware of what's actually happening

(This post by @mmikmmik has some GREAT insights into this particular moment as well, and is a large part of what has me thinking about the ways the Winged Lion manipulates Marcille in general.)

Or there's also the way that he pushes HER to be the one to attack the Canaries, making her more explicitly their enemy and more directly responsible for their injuries...

Even though moments later he's perfectly happy to deal with Mithrun himself, without Marcille's guidance (he even hides the act from her).

All of these things keep her isolated, all of these things keep him in control.

But if the Winged Lion wants as much control over Marcille as possible, and wants her only to act through him and his powers, you know what else he probably wants to suppress? Her magic.

And what helps her keep in touch with her magic?

Her hair.

Think about it. Thistle was such a thorn in the Lion's side in part because he was able to seal the Lion in those books and act independently. The last thing the Winged Lion wants is another mage getting out from under his thumb.

Plus, we already know the Lion can be tactical with how he consumes desires. We know because we just saw him eat Thistle’s desire to resist, only a few chapters before turning his charms on Marcille.

So, if he wants to make use of Marcille, wants to keep her under his control, and doesn’t want to show his hand - he can use a similar technique.

Something as small as eating her desire to take care of her hair wouldn’t be noticed right away, but it would keep her disconnected from herself. It would be another small step in undermining her ability to act - to keep her friends safe, to achieve her goals, to fix things - without him. To make her feel like the only way out was to obey.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #marcille donato #dunmeshi analysis #dungeon meshi spoilers #(mmikmmik I hope you don't mind the @ I just loved your post and wanted to give it a shout-out)

[elitadream]

"Of all the plants that grow and bloom in the Kingdom, Fire Flowers have always been my favorites," said Peach, as she looked down at the lively specimen she was delicately cradling in her hands. Her eyes were soft and her voice mellow, both filled with a mysterious affection that spoke of something lovely and seemed to make her lovelier still.

Beside her, Mario let out a quiet sigh, his gaze never once leaving her face. He was listening to her every word, curious and impossibly endeared, hoping the princess somehow knew just how much he cherished her company. His love for her deepened the longer he watched her, and his smile was adoring as Peach held the flower closer.

"They are very special and dear to me; Not because of their power or their notoriety, but because of their warmth," she went on, brushing her fingers against its petals in a gentle caress. "They bring an immediate sense of comfort to those around them, and can alleviate one's sadness with their soothing glow. They are said to guide those who are lost, and lift the spirits of those who are tired. They possess tremendous fiery strength, and yet… Unless needed, they are content to simply remain as they are, idle and calm, their inner spark bringing the world a unique and precious light."

She turned to him then, and Mario froze under her stare. The expression that she wore was one of indescribable fondness, sincere and true.

"They remind me of you," she murmured, before ducking her head shyly and averting her eyes again. She was biting her lower lip, her features illuminated by candid mirth, and Mario staggered where he stood despite the grip that he had on the balcony's railing. The dull ache in his chest flared abruptly, seizing him and making it hard to breathe. He felt as through he had just been struck by lightning, his entire body thrumming like a live wire. After a moment, he managed to look away and found his voice again.

"I have seen all the treasures of this land," he rasped. "I have witnessed magic in its purest form, and have been shown wonders I could never even have dreamed of… But none will ever compare to you."

Peach let out a small gasp, her cheeks turning bright pink. They shared another glance, this one longer than the last, and Mario wished the instant could last forever. He was the first one to falter however, and he cleared his throat as his nerves got the best of him.

"I'm… happy that you have kept the flower I've given you," he muttered bashfully, stumbling a bit on the adjective.

"I will never part with it," Peach answered earnestly. She shook her head to further demonstrate her sentiment, giving him a radiant smile as she did, and Mario inwardly winced; trying to rein in his wildly beating heart.

"Sei così bellissima," he whispered waveringly, unable to help himself.

Peach blinked, her usual surprise and delight upon hearing him speak Italian veiled by a cryptic sort of contentment and tenderness this time around. She couldn't understand him, not really, but something in his tone had seemingly given his thought away regardless. And for the first time in a very long time, Mario felt strangely at ease with this notion. If he couldn't bring himself to tell her how he felt, perhaps he could trust the truth to one day reveal itself and finally be freed.

In the meantime though, he would gladly honor all that she saw in him, and continue to be exactly that. A source of warmth and comfort. A tremendous privilege for him, and one that he was more than ready to fulfill.

-

As previously mentioned, I felt like writing a little something for Valentine's Day this year, but I couldn't resist adding a drawing as an afterthought! 🥰 Just a little scene that kept coming back to my mind and which I felt was appropriate for the occasion. Enjoy!^^ 💝

#Mario #Princess Peach #Mareach #Mario x Peach #story #concept #romance #friendship #fluff #romantic feelings #mutual pining #idiots in love #oblivious dorks #otp #Super Mario Bros #fanart

[kenntolog]

Hello! If it’s okay, can I request liner choso sort of being insecure in his relationship but reader isn’t about to have they so she gives him a lot of reassurance and kisses?

it’s true that he can be insecure from time to time — loner choso doesn’t really understand why you chose to be with him :(

there are so many things not adding up in his mind, about how you treat him and how you act around him, it always makes him wonder how can you be so sweet and nice to him?

loner choso can never match you endless bubbly energy that spurts out of you with every word you say, not knowing that his more calm and silent nature is one of the things that you appreciate the most about him. of course, he will dwell over his own intrusive thoughts silently, too, until you notice there is something off about his usually gentle gaze that is directed at you, but at the same time directed nowhere.

you never miss the way he tries to hide away from you in these moments, though, it’s hard to understand if he does it unintentionally or if he pushes you away with the thought of you leaving him so his mind can rest. however, you, being the lovely girlfriend of his, know that there is a remedy for it.

and choso is so emotional, when you talk him through it too :(((

as soon as you start hugging him close to your chest and caressing his face with your soft hands, as if wiping away the stickiness of his ugly feelings and thoughts — choso’s eyes become watery and he tries to hide away once again. he looks like an emotionally repressed child, trying his best to swallow down his own sobs and barely able to get out a word with how his lips wobble shamefully.

“cho~” you glide your fingertips over his eyelids, wiping down his fat tears, and place a kiss on his temple. “you’re my best boy, y’know that, right?”

and your voice is so so soothing, like balm over his wounds, as he nods, looking up at you.

“i hate it when you get upset, choso,” you pout at him and he mirrors your expression, his hold on your waist tightening as he noses at your palm. “i get upset too, baby.”

choso whimpers, body trembling under your hold as his gaze falls down in guilt, “‘m sorry—”

“‘s okay to feel like that, choso, but you have to remember that you’re everything to me.”

he buries his face in your chest, taking in your words slowly. taking his time, just like you tell him every time.

he could easily say the same about you. as much as he thought of it being possible — resisting you was never a task he was ready for, relenting under the magic of your charming personality and persistent nature. it was a losing game from the beginning, he could never say no to you and stop you from worming your way into his very much boring life. he didn’t want to stop you that much, either.

you kiss his lips repeatedly, moving to his cheeks, his chin and forehead until he can’t stop his smile from stretching further on his face, “i love you so so much, cho~”

the silence following after doesn’t offend you because you see everything in his eyes.

#— miya writes! #bro i hate this piece but whatever #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #choso #choso x female reader #choso x you #choso fluff #choso x reader #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo #choso my beloved

[cloudyswritings]

More vessel biology headcanons?

Vessels are actually really, really good at burrowing. It’s probably how so many escaped the abyss after they got sealed. They got it from both parents, and the void. Which per my silly little brain, can old be contained in round glass.

the void basically erodes/decays things in fast forward otherwise?

Vessels all have one major flaw or imperfection the void couldn’t remove, THKs was either a desire for perfection or being able to make familial bonds.

Ghosts flaw is an endless well of willpower. They will never, ever, stop. They inherited from their mothers conceptual side, because their will is the slow burrowing of roots through stone and the deceptively gentle trickle of water on metal. Greenpath vessels was a sense of adventure/desire to explore. And the nosk vessels all had a sense of longing for companionship which led to their deaths.

The vessels also seem to have physical flaws too? Like structurally I mean. The prime example is THKs missing arm, in the pure vessel boss fight that same arm is what they use for the void tendrils attack and by the time we fight them in the egg it’s entirely rotted off. I think it honestly was never as strong or stable as the other arm and was bound to be lost eventually. Broken Vessels flaw would be their third horn(the one that’s broken off).

Vessels actually do still have some of their own light, you can see this in game actually—even without the lantern you give off a subtle glow. I think that some vessels actually retained some of the godly light and status they otherwise would have had, only a little though.

The above idea comes from my headcanon that Wyrms specifically are really resistant to void as far as gods go, because they always dig deep and far and in that sometimes burrow into pockets of void far below the surface. They need to be able to survive contact with it in the short term at least. This nature would explain how some vessels retain minute traces of light, and why the pale king was the one actually standing at the mouth of the abyss waiting for vessels.

given time, soul, and light a vessel can grow to enormous sizes- or eventually metamorphose into a wyrm proper. Albeit one still tarnished by the void

in fact I wonder if any of the seeds/eggs dropped into the abyss hatched young Wyrms instead of vessels? Maybe they escaped or something? I don’t think this is likely but it’s a cool idea.

vessels are deceptively light, as in like hornet could carry THK on her back if she needed to- they’re literally hollow in a way

Void and water don’t mix, it’s like oil and water. That’s why we float in the blue lake.

The void itself might be the remnants of an ancient sea that covered the world beyond Hallownest before the age of bright gods. It would explain the trilobite creature we see in deepnest and the way the abyss and the rest of Hallownest appear to be made of fossilized shells. Plus if it’s the remnants of the sea then it could be something like a microbial mat that’s really toxic to life? Like maybe it’s a magic microbial soup? Magic microbial goop even. Vessels are goop.

Vessels are really really strong compared to other ways of containing things, like THK held the radiance for a long ass time. If a vessel tried to contain a weaker god they’d probably just be able to tbh. Like anything weaker than the nightmare heart if probably fair game for yoinking.

Vessels also sometimes inherit the hunger of Wyrms, and looking into their eyes gives the sensation of falling into the maw of some great beast. Godseaker did call Little Ghost a wielder of nail and eater of soul

Vessels are also really susceptible to outside influences, kinda like evee if they were Pokémon. This is how Ghost can use so many charms at once but also why said charms can change them so easily.

Theoretically a vessel raised by or containing a god could take on some of their traits-either by force or by accident.

Unrelatedly THK has a voice to cry out with…

I think radiance may have eventually tried turning them into something more like Grimm is for the heart, a body for her to use and a mind thoroughly broken to her will.

after-all she shines brightest against the darkness…

If they could eat, Vessels would have a truly remarkable number of tastebuds, because Wyrms will eat anything and I feel like the white lady has ways to “taste” the soil to see if it’s nutrient rich and has fertilizer.

man I’m just realizing, vessels would like some weird food, they’d definitely eat dirt

THK crunching on crystals?? Likely

Finally the horns of vessels are actually their “branches” and will keep growing indefinitely unless trimmed or broken periodically, this comes from both parents. Wyrms need to constantly replace burrowing teeth and Roots are beings of constant growth and pruning.

#wow that was long #hollow knight #hk vessels #speculative biology #headcanon #pure vessel #little ghost #hk pale king #what do you think?

[utilitycaster]

would love to see your take on the recent laudna-delilah merge! i believe you've mentioned before that you found laudna stale (?) so i'm very interested to know if this feels compelling to you. i'm DISGUSTED and scared 😅

I LOVE IT. I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT IT.

In all seriousness my issue has always been that Delilah has for the most part been not just an unfired Chekhov's gun but like...a gun that occasionally thrusts itself into the hands of a major character who was designed to handle this gun and yet everyone including that character was, for like, the majority of the play, repeatedly saying "oh man it's that wacky gun again!" and really, the gun was way cooler when it was fired in an earlier play in 2017.

You can play a warlock without a complex relationship to their patron! Loquatius is a solid example; Elmenore and he are on pretty chill terms and he's mostly a bard and it's a story not about that aspect of him anyway. Zahra is another; she and Sirius appear to be largely simpatico! But if you pick Delilah Fucking Briarwood as your patron you best come correct, and, increasingly, finally, following episode 77, Marisha has and it's been great and it finally expanded into the rest of the party.

I love how quick Laudna is to trust Delilah on this even though she knows Delilah lies, she knows about the gnarlrock. I love how Imogen immediately stands by her and Fearne is inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, only to slowly, with mounting horror, realize (or, more likely, reluctantly admit to themselves) that this is Delilah's doing and that Laudna either won't or can't resist. Because that's the immediate threat - sure, it says something about Laudna's character and victimhood whether she is doing this deliberately, or whether she cannot overcome the compulsions from Delilah, and for what it's worth I think it's somewhere in the gray area between - but in the end it matters most that Laudna as an entity comprising both herself and Delilah is going to pull shit like attacking people in their sleep to steal magic items to feed to the evil undead wizard. She's more sympathetic if she's trying but failing, but in the end, if we can return to the (imperfect but not uncalled for) addiction metaphor Marisha has invoked re: Laudna, whether you drive drunk because you were in recovery and were triggered by circumstance and fell off the wagon, or whether you simply don't care, you're still drunk driving and someone still can be killed. Intent says a lot about your character but not whether you're a danger to yourself and others, and Laudna undeniably is.

I'm honestly happy with basically any outcome here. I think it will be narratively easier if Laudna doesn't really resist much, given that that's what she's been doing for 30 years and much of the campaign; foreshadowing is a complicated thing in an improvised medium but I think it's hard to deny that a tragic ending hasn't been well signaled. But I think it's possible for Marisha to thread the needle, particularly if she keeps putting in stellar performances like that one, to have Laudna snap and turn on Delilah. It's doing wonders for my thoughts on Imogen and Laudna's relationship too; finally there's some unavoidable tension and conflict to the point that even if they deny it that creates more conflict. I don't know if they'll overcome it, but I don't think we can have gnarlrock all sizzle no steak #2 this time. I think Imogen's going to have to make a stand of some kind, even if it pains her.

#answered #Anonymous #critical role #cr spoilers #laudna

[dollish-shard]

Pleasure of Corruption

What they never warned you about corruption is how *good* it feels.

The magical girl 'elders' (in their middle age, for it was a young girl's business) always talked about the pain, the temptation of power. How you'd want it to stop, do anything to make it stop.

How the dark voices that whispered in your ear as you screamed would tell you the only way to make that pain go away was to accept the darkness, embrace it, inflict pain on others. A difficult task, but one a strong and pure heart could overcome.

But here and now, naked and bound to otherworldly magitech you couldn't even hope to understand, you don't feel pain at all. Pain would have been easy. You understood pain.

What you felt was pleasure. Endless, burning pleasure, all throughout your body.

The darkness had creeped into your body through every opening, and instead of the sharp pain it normally brought, it felt... nice. Amazing, even. Every part of you caressed, enveloped by what you had always thought of as your eternal enemy.

You squirmed and moaned, trying to resist as you felt your inner light dim, your purity being perverted... but it was so hard to care. The pleasure was overwhelming...

You could see the Dark Empress watching you, grinning. That same evil smirk as always, and yet…

It looked different to what it normally did. It didn't make the bile rise in your throat.

It made your heart flutter and your spine tingle. Had she always been so... pretty?

The darkness surged, and your arched your back in pleasure.

"Come on, my lovely new pet." She purred, and you felt your brain mush up even more. "Give in. It feels so nice, doesn't it?" She leaned in, and whispered in your ear, her breath hot on your neck. "This is only the beginning. I can show you *so* much more..."

You wanted to tell her you wouldn't. That you'd escape, defeat her, save the day... but the words wouldn't come, though the moans of ecstasy as the darkness filled you completely. Any thoughts of resistance melted away; all you could do was ride high on your lust.

The Empress leaned in and kissed you, and you felt your light shatter.

Darkness rushed to fill the void within your heart, that which was hers filling you, making you hers too. A new outfit formed on your body; tight, black, and deliciously skimpy.

You felt powerful, but not at all like with the power of light. This was something else. Not a flame that burned under your own power, but a vast ocean that you merely channeled. It was her power, that she had merely gifted to you.

At some point your restraints were released, and floated free of the wonderful device that had broken you. You dropped to the floor and to your knees, before your Empress. "I can feel it in me, your wonderful darkness! Thank you so much, Mistress!"

She leans down and pats your head. "You're welcome, pet. I could hardly let such a pretty thing like you labor under the light, now could I? Now you're *mine*, forever. My beautiful servant of darkness."

"Of course, Mistress." You echo. "Forever yours."

And yet, something something still nagged at you. "Mistress?" You ask. "I was... the older magical girls told us that corruption was painful. But for me, it was amazing. Why didn't they tell us it was so wonderful?"

She simply smiles. "Well, pet, isn't that obvious?"

"If you all knew how wonderful embracing the darkness was, why would anyone choose to serve the light?"

#empty spaces #microfiction #shard's stories #magical girls #corruption kink #mind corruption #brainwashing

[epiphyllous]

when morning comes (Astarion/Reader) [3]

Astarion understands Ketheric Thorm more than he realizes. For what are they both if not selfish, foolish men willing to do everything to keep what is theirs? (Astarion begins to think he does not deserve you.)

Word Count: ~9k Notes: Astarion/Reader, Paladin!Reader, AFAB, gender-neutral "you", following Astarion romance route in his POV + my hc/additional scenes, [switches to your POV], annoyance to lovers, fall first/fall harder, mutual pining, Wyll/Karlach, implied Wyll/Reader [Part 2]

[Act II: Moonrise Towers]

Getting into Moonrise was almost too easy. It is a relatively stressless trip if not for the grand introduction of Ketheric Thorm. The man truly is invulnerable, walking up the steps of the tower without care after being killed twice right before their eyes. It is no wonder Moonrise follows his command, convinced of his authority as the Absolute's chosen. 

It is equally as easy to convince Moonrise that they are all willing followers of the Absolute. Z'rell is the only person they truly had to demonstrate loyalty to, but Astarion watches you display just enough cruelty to the goblins to prove your place. 

“Your lust for the neck pricker is succulent,” she suddenly says, eyes turning to him. Astarion looks to you in question, only to see you glance away in mild embarrassment. “It almost makes me want to take a bite out of him myself.”

“Enough,” you say, clearing your throat. “Surely you know by now we're loyal to the cause?”

She does, or she says as much when she assigns them a mission to help Balthazar get the artifact responsible for Ketheric Thorm's immortality. Astarion doesn't really know the details, not caring much to pay attention when he already understands the gist of it involves killing someone. Besides, he is more interested in what exactly Z'rell saw in your thoughts. If only to tease you about your ‘succulent lust’ for him, he means to bring it up the first chance he gets. 

You must realize this, because you take your time exploring Moonrise Towers and keeping them all preoccupied. Gale manages to get blessed for the first time in what seems like forever by his goddess when he rids of the foul Netherese magic circle in Balthazar's chambers. Karlach gets her chance to pet the undead guard dog in Ketheric's private quarters, and you keep him preoccupied with all the chests they have to unlock.

Astarion gets an opportunity to talk after they find Melodia Thorm's room and the letters she gave to her husband, but he finds you solemn in thought at the discovery, so he decides (for once) to leave you be for now. 

Then they meet Araj Oblodra, and the thought completely leaves his head.

He barely resists the urge to cover his nose for how foul her blood smells. He manages to smile rather than grimace when they first greet her, though he finds his efforts wasted when she sets her eyes on him to be bitten. Astarion can't imagine something he would want to do less.

When the drow asks if he ‘belongs’ to you, Astarion watches as you frown. "Astarion can answer for himself just fine," you say. "He's his own person." 

It is almost adorable how disconcerted you look when the drow continues on, as if you can't quite understand why anyone would think you could own him. Astarion finds it annoyingly familiar though, the way he is viewed as something lesser without needs or preferences. Your easy agreement to his own autonomy is... refreshing. He has known your proclivity for all things good and fair, but to have you display it in full for his sake,  Astarion feels touched.

“I will have to decline,” he tells her with a stiff smile.

The blood dealer bristles, not expecting his response, and he begins to feel uneasy despite himself. “Excuse me? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and you're squandering it.”

Astarion nearly bares his fangs in response. “I gave you my answer,” he hisses, and in the corner of his eyes, he sees you shift, stepping closer to him. The unease at refusing the offer dissipates knowing you are there to support him, even when the drow becomes increasingly displeased. 

“Can't you talk sense into your obstinate charge?” Araj demands, and you quip her with a short and sharp smile. That’s one he hasn’t seen in a while, Astarion thinks, forced civility wielded like a weapon against those who have found themselves on your bad side. Which you do have, to his past surprise. Astarion just never imagined that he would bear witness to someone landing themselves in it just because of the way they speak to him. 

Astarion would be lying if he said he was not pleased.

"I don't really see why he needs to say yes,” you drawl. “I'm surprised he said no, to be honest."

Ugh, you are honest even in the worst of times.

"Sorry, one moment..." Amusement and exasperation battles in equal strength as he pulls you away just enough to speak to you privately. "Are you actually asking me to do this? Trading me for some potion?" He asks, though when he sees genuine confusion flit back into your expression, he confirms your question is out of curiosity not persuasion. You seem almost panicked at the thought of his suggestion being true.

"What? No," you reply back to him, alarmed. "I would never!” You desperately scramble to explain yourself. “I just thought you'd jump at the opportunity to bite people. I was, you know, just a little surprised.”

Funnily enough, you may have a point. A point that need not happen in front of an annoyed drow, but a point nonetheless. He could never truly fault you for being right, however inconvenient it is sometimes. (In the past, he would never have imagined he would feel this way about you.) "Well, yes, you aren't wrong,” he says, “but something smells off about her blood. I don't need to taste it to know it's going to be awful."

He shudders for good measure, and he sees your lips quirk up at his dramatics. He thinks briefly about how he has only known the taste of your blood, besides the time he was compelled to take a bite out of Gale because of a cursed frog. The drow's blood smells worse than his netherese poisoned blood, and in comparison, yours is almost sweet. Astarion finds himself elaborating without prompting. "Nothing that will kill me, but I'd rather not go through it if I don't have to."

You nod. "Okay,” you say easily, “if you don't want to, you don't have to.”

"Alright," Astarion replies automatically before his surprise can stop him. Just like that, he thinks, and he can make choices for himself just by how it makes him feel. It's rather novel. The realization is quite overwhelming, despite how simple you make it seem. He pauses, shooting you a quick smile-- or what he hopes is a smile. "Uh, thank you." 

You only wave your hand at him and turn back to the drow with an unapologetic smile. He faces the drow with you and turns her down again, much to her immense displeasure. 

You manage to lift Araj's moods somewhat when you offer up your blood for experimentation. Astarion isn't happy about the exchange, for who knows what the drow will do with your blood, but you seem genuinely curious enough about the whole concept. You get a flask made from your blood in return, which you give to him almost immediately. 

“A gift,” you tell him. “Let me know what it does if you drink it.” A flicker of guilt comes and goes when he accepts it, and for a brief and endearing moment he thinks this may be a gesture made because of the misunderstanding earlier. He feels pleasantly surprised by how quickly you come to his defense and try to make amends when you think you have done him a disservice– as though his feelings mattered. 

You tilt your head curiously. “Can you still smell my blood in the potion?”

Astarion opens up the flask and takes a look. In the bouquet of herbal scents, yes, he can identify your blood mixed in it. He rather thinks he is quite familiar with it, and it is a taste he can never get tired of. 

He wants to thank you but finds that he has bigger things to be grateful for. He has never been shy of showing thanks, but what you've just done for him in front of Araj is too important to him for it to be said in passing.

At every chance you get, you make him feel... seen. Safe. He is his own person, vampirism be damned– a living being with his own thoughts and feelings, and you make it known to him and to everyone even if he himself cannot see it. Your goodness remains in the face of temptation, and you are unwavering in your beliefs when you believe it to be right. How does one even begin to thank you for not betraying his faith in you like that? 

(What a fragile thing trust is, to be put to the breaking point at a single moment in time. What if you had demanded him to bite the drow, regardless of how he felt? If you had placed more value in the potion's abilities than in his own free will? He suspects his relationship with you would be unsalvageable. For some things may be forgiven–and he feels as though he would forgive many things for you–but he cannot afford to lose himself again, even to you.)

Astarion doesn't get a chance with you alone for a while, the party having moved on to trying to break the prisoners from Moonrise Towers. The tieflings– Rolan will absolutely hate the fact they will have saved Lia and Cal for him--and dark gnomes alike all wait in the prisons for the right time to hatch their plan. They are lucky to have them show up when they do and guide them out without a single trace. Astarion is almost disappointed that there wasn’t a fight to be had. 

He waits until the freed gnomes and tieflings steer their way to Last Light Inn in the distance before he speaks with you. Water laps at the makeshift port the prisoners sailed from, and as Gale goes into the logistics of his mage hand magic to Karlach, he approaches you. 

You look into the distance, beyond the point of where the Moonrise Tower's light can reach. When you turn to him, as if feeling his gaze, he feels a moment of déja vu. 

"I wanted to thank you,” he tells you.

You look confused, glancing out into the dark before coming back to him, and he realizes perhaps you think he's somehow grateful for releasing the prisoners. Not a strange notion, but certainly what would be a first for him, considering who they saved. "For what?"

"For what you said whilst we were in front of that vile drow,” Astarion continues, finding himself more impassioned than he previously thought. “You could have asked me to throw myself at the drow, my feelings be damned.” He pauses for a moment to gather himself. “But you didn't, and I'm grateful."

Your response comes easily to you as it did before. "Of course.” You tell him, “I wouldn't want you to do something you don't want to.”

Your words are gentle, but they leave him feeling exposed. It's as though his chest has been opened and now you bear witness to what he has kept hidden for so long. He is by no means fragile, but it does not mean he is unaffected by how vulnerable he feels in the face of your unconditional acceptance.

"I admit it's a novel concept. A little intimidating.” Astarion stops again, musing over his words and willing for his voice to stop shaking. You wait patiently for him until he confesses, “For two hundred years, I used my body to lure pretty things back to my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing-- it never mattered. It would have been easy enough, honestly, to just bite her. Face a little disgust and move on from it like I did before."

“Astarion,” you begin softly, and he feels his neck prickle with an emotion unfamiliar to him: embarrassment. You pause then, finding the words you want to say. “I want you to keep telling me how you feel about things. I need to know what you're okay with and what you're not because,” and it is your turn to look abashed, “I don't always know what you want. I'm not the most observant person, and I would hate it if I accidentally made you do something you didn't want to do.” You breathe. “So, thank you, for telling me.”

“It's rather odd to hear you thank me,” he admits, and he unfurls fists he hadn't realized he was holding. He leaves it unsaid, how difficult it has been to be truthful to himself and to you. He isn't sure if he can remain so in the worst of times, but he knows this at least: he will continue to try.

He thinks it is the first time he has been given the chance to.

You make a face he would have laughed at if he were not so relieved. “I've said thank you to you before.”

“That is not what I mean, dear,” he replies dryly, and when he hears footsteps approach, he knows this conversation has reached its end. (An expert, Astarion carefully sews himself closed, though he leaves a stitch untethered so perhaps next time it will not be so hard to undo. The thought of being seen becomes less frightening when he knows it will be you.)

“Gale and I might've found something you might want to check out,” Karlach says, pointing behind her. “Looks rather nasty and sort of important.”

“Man, can we ever separate the importance from how disgusting it ends up being?” You bemoan, walking up to Karlach and easily accepting the arm she puts around your shoulder. “How gross?” 

“Quite nasty, even to our standards,” Gale replies, grimacing. “I think that's saying quite a lot, considering our adventures so far.”

Astarion hears you mutter a small ‘ew’ under your breath and he huffs in laughter. “Well, as long as it involves blood and violence, I'm sure it won't be too terrible of an encounter,” he says. 

Entering the adjacent bowels of an illithid colony threatens that viewpoint, but the rest of them are too preoccupied with their own thoughts to call Astarion out for it. All in good time, he thinks as he brushes off the organic bits off his clothes without drawing attention to himself.

.

.

.

Shadowheart is beside herself when they enter the Gauntlet of Shar. As one of the only and largest places of worship of the dark goddess, it is impressive in its grandiosity and in how unwelcoming it makes itself to be with its dark corners and tall pillars. If Shadowheart finds rapture in the temple, Halsin and you find it unsettling with how cold it is, though you keep your opinions to yourself. 

For Astarion, he finds the temple rather homey; it is quiet and lonely, but it is still leagues better than the dreaded halls of Cazador's castle. When he tells the party just as much, he receives matching looks of incredulity. 

“Do you… happen to like tall ceilings, Astarion?” You ask, comically sincere about it. 

“Perhaps he sees the beauty in the silence,” Halsin offers. “It could be seen as…” He pauses. “Peaceful.”

Astarion sees Shadowheart turn her head a tad too late to hide her laughter. 

Peaceful is giving the Gauntlet too much credit. The silence of the temple is unsettling at best, abandoned by those who used to worship it. Abandoned, it makes for a lovely home for a devil– more specifically the orthon they are tasked to kill in order to fulfill Raphael's deal. 

Astarion could care less why Yurgur is here, but if the absence of living Dark Justiciars is of any indication, the orthon must have overstayed its welcome after the war. His ability to turn invisible is a tad irritating but he and his army are no match for them and their combined wit. You have quite the arm to throw his bombs back to him, and in the aftermath, there is nothing but dust. 

As though he were watching, Raphael appears to them soon after to uphold his end of the bargain. He seems a midge too satisfied to be revealing the truth about the devilish contract etched onto Astarion's back, but perhaps he is simply happy to have gotten rid of his enemy vicariously. Astarion pays no mind to the devil when he leaves, mind whirling with the implications of the truth. 

In short, it is overwhelming. (The feeling is quickly becoming familiar.) Two hundred years of questions finally answered. The reason for his pain all those nights ago, the horrors he has had to face all these years finally having meaning. It is a dreadful conclusion to result in, with more problems introduced than closure given. 

Astarion lets out a thoughtful hum, and the concern on your face would be funny if his thoughts weren't so preoccupied. "You okay?"

"It's a lot to take in." Astarion pauses, looking over to you as you wait patiently, though there is still a veneer of concern behind your eyes. He finds that in your patience, he realizes he is afraid–of what is to come, and what this revelation means for him. Another realization is the fact that he trusts you in full. It should scare him, the way he feels like he can turn to you for help, but it does not--not as much as it used to. "What do you think I should do?"

"Well," you begin placidly, "anything to do with devils and demons never ends well. And," you glance at him, "the sacrifice of all vampire spawn doesn't sound too good to me."

"There's only the seven of us," he says, though he knows one is already too many for you to leave dead. The thought both irritates and comforts him in equal measure, especially when you give him a practiced look of exasperation. "Though that does include me. Just when I was about to start enjoying life again."

"And about Cazador." You continue plainly, "I don't think you'll be free until he's dead."

His heart leaps, and then something settles. How quick you are to get to the heart of the problem, not that he will ever admit it to you. "I hate," he says, "how right you are. If I thought he'd stop at nothing to find me when I was just his plaything, he'd go to the ends of Faerûn to bring me back knowing this contract." He swallows inaudibly, preparing his next words. "We need to take the fight to him, but I can't do it alone."

"You won't be," you say so easily. It pulls at heartstrings he wasn't aware existed. "You'll have me."

"Yes, well." He clears his throat. "Let's not overestimate ourselves; the two of us will certainly not be enough to go against a true vampire lord. Though..." Astarion trails off, trying but failing to stave off from the warmth that courses through him. "For what it's worth, thank you." 

Your smile is beatific, and Astarion begins to think perhaps he doesn't deserve you. 

.

.

.

As the umbral gems are collected, it begins to feel like the beginning of the end for the shadows that lurk. Everyone can feel it; it is the way hard conversations are beginning to be had, all loose ends tying up before the coming of a new chapter. Astarion sees you speak to Gale about his so-called destined fate to die against the Absolute, to Arabella about her future beyond her parents’ death, and to Karlach about hard decisions and an ending that seems all too close to come. You are busy with all matters of import that Astarion has not had a moment's time with you for the past few days.

He loathes to admit it but he finds himself missing your company. A ridiculous notion, he is sure. It's not as if he has not seen you around camp or not exchanged words with you at all. If anything, you still proactively seek out opportunities to see him when you are free, but all attempts to find the time to spend with him end up taken by someone else. 

Astarion remembers once upon a time when he had barely cared to recognize the effort you put into spending time with him. Now, when he is bereft of your presence, he cannot stand the fact that everyone seems determined to thwart your every attempt.

He says as much to Karlach– though he may have complained more about your busy-body schedule than admit the fact he finds himself in want of you. Much to his dismay, Karlach is similar to you in the worst of ways, seeing through him easier than most. Though it may be due to her straightforward manner more than anything. 

“Aw, Astarion, if you miss them that much, you can try to see if you can talk to them when they’re free too. Ooh!” She exclaims in excitement, “Do you want me to distract everyone for a little while? So the two of you lovebirds can have a moment together?”

Astarion is quick to turn her down. It embarrasses him to a degree that he misses you. He doesn’t think he is quite ready to admit it to himself, let alone to other people. It feels… final, like a turning point that Astarion isn’t sure he can take– should take. Surely, he thinks, you find other people’s company more enjoyable? “No, that won’t be necessary, darling,” he says airily. “It is hardly that important to warrant that much effort from either of us.”

He thinks Karlach’s look is much too sympathetic for his liking, so he excuses himself to read the Book of Thay again. At least then he won’t have to listen to his own thoughts.

That being said… Astarion's gaze follows you when you flit back and forth in camp. The book lay in his hands, opened but nearly forgotten, and he starts to take Karlach's words into consideration. Surely, initiating conversation with you should not be that hard? He has propositioned you twice already with no qualms and yet he doesn't know what to say to get your attention when it is not of sexual nature. He has never cared to, never been able to if he wanted to– and now when he has the chance, he stands rooted to his spot, unable to do a thing when Wyll asks you to dance with him as though it is second nature. 

And of course you would accept– why wouldn't you? 

He may have grown out of prince charmings and fairytale endings, but you? There could not possibly be a better match for you than Wyll, who is the epitome of everything you could ever dream of. Handsome, righteous, selfless– Wyll is the hero of every storybook, and Astarion would not be surprised if the heavens decided to make you for each other. Wyll twirls you in his arms, leading you with a gentle hand that is befitting of your nature. And you laugh, light and joyous, the two of you looking at each other with bright eyes.

Astarion would never doubt the fun that the two of you have together. But he knows you would want more than that. You dream of true love and world peace, dressing up in all white and walking down the aisle to swear yourself to another person for life. You bleed love with your every touch, and he has never tasted love until you. 

He doesn’t know if he will ever be capable of loving you the way you deserve. (After all, what has he ever given you but lies and deceit?)

Astarion watches as you take a deep bow, laughing all the while as Wyll claps at your performance, and something inside him churns with an unfamiliar bitterness. Jealousy? Envy, perhaps. (Of who– maybe Wyll, maybe you, maybe both.)

But then you bid Wyll farewell and turn to him, and your face lights up as bright as moonglow. Astarion hates the way his heart trembles at the sight of you. 

“Hey, you,” you say to him warmly, and a part of him wants to be spiteful– for invoking uncomfortable emotions he does not know how to deal with. The other half is simply glad that he has you at last. 

Bad habits are hard to break though. “I see Wyll has made you his latest dance partner,” he says, unable to remove his scathing tone. You are more surprised than upset at his sudden animosity, which is a boon in itself. You look at him curiously though, with eyes that see into him too well for his sake, before you reply.

“For practice.” You say carefully, “For somebody else.” Before Astarion can inquire on who, you change the subject. “Do you know how to dance?”

“I know enough.” He clears his throat, continuing, “Dancing is an easy way to proverbially and literally whisk someone off their feet after all.”

Your eyes brighten at his words, and Astarion begins to think your earlier joy was not because you were dancing with Wyll but because you love to dance in general. “You want to teach me how to dance?” Your smile reaches your eyes, as it always does for him. “I bet you know how to ballroom dance. That sounds dreamy enough for you.”

“Without music? Hardly a dance,” he tells you, but when he sees you deflate, he is quick to say more. “When there is a proper setting, you can be the first to witness my skills personally.” He finds it inconvenient that his mood shifts with yours, because when your countenance lifts with hopeful anticipation from his words, he finds himself pleased to have caused it. “For now, I think my words will suffice in charming you just fine, don't you think, darling?”

“Confident you still have more lines to give me?” You ask teasingly, and Astarion is nothing if not a proud performer.

“Every time I heard the tieflings cry, I remember how you sounded crying for me,” he recites sultrily. “And now all these accolades from the Harpers are nothing compared to the sound of my name uttered from your lips.”

There is that familiar look of embarrassment and delight again. You laugh in response, leaning your head into his shoulders bashfully. “You're too much,” you tell him, your arm pressed against his. He relaxes at the warmth from your touch. 

Guilt, envy, jealousy: he yearns for you despite everything he cannot be. In the end, he is but a selfish man at his core, and whatever he wants he will take. Until the moment you choose someone else to love and to hold, he will simply count down the hours till the sound of midnight chimes. But he will not let you go until then– and not a moment later. (Though perhaps if there is a person he can learn to love, it is you.)

Astarion goes on, line after line, if only to keep you here with him. “If you don't remember how much you enjoyed it last time, I would like to try again.” He lowers his voice to a whisper and watches as your eyes darken in response, “Until you can think of nothing else.”

“I hope,” Shadowheart interrupts with mirth, “you know he practices these lines when you're not here.” 

Astarion sputters, and he narrows his eyes in mild annoyance when he sees Shadowheart pass by with a knowing smile. “Excuse me-”

“If you wanted your practice to be a secret, you might want to be quieter next time.” Shadowheart pauses. “Or perhaps not set your tent next to mine?”

“I don't know, Shadowheart,” he croons, “perhaps you might benefit from learning a thing or two from my charms.”

“Rather doubtful–”

Astarion hears you laugh long and hard as the two of them bicker. It is difficult to come up with retorts when he cannot help but be besotted at the sound of your joy. He hopes it is not obvious to everyone else.

.

.

.

His worries seem all the more unimportant when they complete Shar's Trial. It turns out that the Nightsong is not a relic but an aasimar--Selûne's own daughter. Astarion already knows a fight lies in wait the moment Balthazar stops talking. After Balthazar swiftly joins the land of the dead, it is Shadowheart's faith that is put to trial. When she refuses to kill the aasimar, Astarion isn't sure he should be impressed she would deny her goddess or by how spectacularly her goddess lost her trust in the course of the journey. 

It's one of the reasons why he has never subscribed to the words of any god. What have the gods done for those who believed in them? Queen Vlaakith, who now swears to destroy Lae'zel despite her intrepid loyalty. Selûne, who could not save Ketheric's wife and daughter or her own child from a hundred years of captivity. Shar, who took advantage of the grief in Ketheric and innocence in Shadowheart for her own means. Mystra, who plucked Gale from a young age and cultivated him into a man who never felt like he was enough. 

There is simply no use relying on them for anything. For what can they offer to him now when none has answered him once in the past two hundred years? 

Astarion thinks you feel similarly. You could have easily been a cleric, a healer of the people blessed by the gods. But instead, you walk the path of the paladin, an oath created not in servitude to a higher being but to the weak and vulnerable. (Even then Astarion thinks that is too restricting for him, bound to do good by others no matter the situation. Believe him, he's already been on his best behavior by not pointing the sharp end of his dagger at anyone who tries to trifle with them.)

He once believed that your heart could know no evil, so being a paladin was easy. But he has grown to know you like the curve of his bow, and you are no saint. You become angry at others, yell and curse, and gods, you had the attitude to match him from the very beginning so he should have known even then. 

But perhaps it is because you are like anyone else that your ability to keep your oath shines far brighter than any devotion to a god. It is a part of you that no one can take away, and it is a concept that both amazes and discomfits Astarion in equal measure.

Even now at the top of Moonrise Towers, you still hold mercy in your heart for a man like Ketheric. Of course you would sympathize with a heart like his, twisted and mangled beyond repair because of love and grief. Astarion wonders how long Ketheric Thorm has gone without anyone trying to understand him? A hundred years at least, since the death of his wife and child, and here comes a wayward paladin and their party of four, giving him a chance for redemption. 

Astarion watches as Ketheric Thorm, the human he was, falls without a fight, and in his place, rises the undead chosen of Myrkul.

They've gone from fighting goblins to living machinery to literal shadows. To think those pales in comparison to the avatar of necromancy before them, all bones and scent of death. It would be so easy to be afraid, but then Astarion looks at you, lips moving in a silent prayer for courage, and he finds it less daunting to know that you can continue to move on despite your fear.

You are quick to dispatch the party: a group to free Dame Aylin from her shackles and another to start the fight against Myrkul. As Astarion sees Wyll, Shadowheart, and Jahiera teleport themselves closer to the aasimar, he knows quickly what team he's on. (“We work well together, you know,” he told you once after knocking down the goblin camp. He finds it somewhat comforting to know that statement is still true today.) 

“Ready?” You ask him, a scroll of dimensional door in your hands. 

“Darling,” he drawls, long bow in hand, “I thought you'd never ask.”

It ends up being a hard battle: cold, grasping hands of death from the unliving attack from all sides, the avatar of Myrkul summoning horrors beyond comprehension when they get close enough. And still, Astarion's hands remain steady as they aim deadly arrows toward a deity until it falls just like anybody else. 

“It's over,” he hears you breathe out, eyes wide as Ketheric falls to his knees for the very last time. It is a horrible sight to see a man in his last minutes, soul broken by grief and the gods that took advantage of that, and body broken by the aasimar he deceived in turn. Still, when your hand finds his in the aftermath of such horrors, he understands two things: he has never cared for someone like you before in his life, and all things must come to an end. 

It is only a matter of when. 

(And a third thing– Astarion understands Ketheric Thorm more than he realizes. For what are they both if not selfish, foolish men willing to do everything to keep what is theirs?)

.

.

.

They stay behind to help the Harpers rebuild the Last Light Inn. It's enough time to see where allegiances lie, who is to join them for the final act in Baldur's Gate, and to see the glimpse of the shadow-land curse ebbing away. Astarion doesn't know who, but someone suggests a celebration of victory as an ode to those who had fallen, and suddenly life is breathed into the land and its people. 

He's always loved a good party and he figures everybody feels the same. He can only hope the wine that's provided is even a smidgen better than the one in the druid grove. And he deserves a break– all of them do. Astarion watches as the Alfira and Lakrissa drag you away to some pre-celebratory hangout during the event's setup and cannot find it in himself to be anything but amused. 

As it turns out, in between the cobwebbed walls and doom-and-gloom, Moonrise Towers has plenty to offer for the celebration. The leftover rations– whatever is still good after the battle anyways– serve as the basis of a banquet. The old and dusty black and white robes and attires of the Selûnites that once occupied this place are still in good condition, if you discount the mothballs and eaten up bits. 

It makes for a nice change in pace for many at least, though Astarion thinks he'd rather wear something with embroidery than don a goddess’ servants outfit no matter how nice it is. It is a good thing Shadowheart is not quite Sharran or else there would be quite an upset. She is more preoccupied by her conversation with Dame Aylin than with the festivity preparations, but he knows she will join in due time if you have anything to say about it.

In the quiet bustle before the banquet, people flit back and forth, busy. Whether they are preparing the necessary things for the celebration, healing the wounded, making the burial grounds, or getting drunk ahead of the game, there is something to do. Astarion finds himself in the last category nursing a cup of wine and watching the processions, His Majesty curled up at his feet. 

The last person he expects to make time to speak with him is Wyll.

“Care for some company?” Wyll asks with a smile.

Astarion shrugs, hiding his surprise behind his nonchalance. “I suppose the wine can be shared.”

Wyll nods. “Much thanks,” he says, allowing Astarion to pour him half a glass before taking a cursory sip. Astarion follows after him, though he watches Wyll carefully in the corner of his eyes. 

“I've hunted demons,” Wyll begins, “orthons, devils, and monsters. When I met our leader, I never expected to eventually fight against a God. Did you?”

Astarion lets out an airy laugh. “Knowing who we're following, I can't say I'm too surprised.” He waves his hand flippantly before crossing his arms. “Goes to show even Gods can fall… and that paladins seek nothing but trouble.”

Wyll laughs at that, and Astarion tries to not make it seem like he's almost dropped the glass. “Makes you hopeful, doesn't it?” Wyll tells him, “That there's nothing that cannot be done at their side?”

And there it is, Astarion thinks wryly. Their single point of similarity lies in their affections for you. He was wondering why the righteous Blade of Frontiers was making conversation. But still, with the jealousy that swirls low in the pit of his stomach, he thinks of you and the miracles you have created from seemingly nothing and warmth spreads and overtakes any and all bitterness.

“Astarion,” Wyll starts, faltering for the first time. Astarion barely has enough time to turn to him when he continues to greater incredulity. “I was wrong about you. Truly wrong about you.”

What? Astarion stares at him for a moment before he realizes he's taking a moment too long. Being snarky comes like second nature. “Let me guess,” he drawls, “you thought I'd sucked blood, but instead I just suck. Was that your witty jab?”

“No! I mean it,” Wyll says. He is sincere as he always is, and Astarion wants to sneer at it, if only he wasn't reminded of you. (He's grown used to people saying what they mean, and part of him is scared of it.) “There's little between us we share, but you've fallen in love and stood by your lover. This is something this dreamer's heart can appreciate.” 

Wyll means you, he realizes. You and him: lovers. It seems to become less of a lie with each coming day if Karlach and now Wyll seem to see right through him. “I– thank you,” Astarion replies, bewildered, “I suppose.” 

“Pay it no mind,” Wyll tells him, clinking his glass to his. “After all the fighting we've done, it puts a lot of things in perspective. I don't want to leave things unsaid nor undone.”

Astarion snorts into his glass; hardly a charming gesture but he finds it easier to be less than such these days. “See, that's where you and I can agree on!” He says slyly, “Is that where all your night time dancing practices have been for? To woo your love at the first chance you get?”

Wyll coughs into his hand, and Astarion watches in glee as he grows embarrassed. “I hope you haven't seen me in the earlier nights; I was quite horrendous.” He sighs. “I can only pray that no one else has noticed besides you and our leader… I was hoping to keep it a secret until later.”

“Knowing our camp, it was never a secret to begin with,” Astarion says dryly.

“I just…” Wyll continues almost wistfully, “I want to give her something to look forward to. She deserves the world after everything she's been through– let alone a dance to truly and well whisk her away.”

Astarion can see the lovestruck gleam in Wyll's eyes as he talks, and he recognizes that look not when he looks at you but instead… “Karlach?” He asks, watching as the mighty Blade of Frontiers fidgets in place, “So you've been practicing your dances for Karlach?” His smile widens not unlike a cat who has captured a canary, both from the fact he has nothing to fear from Wyll and from the way he now has the ammunition to tease the man. So this is what it means to kill two kobolds with one stone. “I hope you haven't been practicing other things without her too.”

“Astarion, please.”

It's moments like these when Wyll is trying to sink into the floor from mortification that he is reminded how young the warlock is. He never imagined talking about love with him of all things, but here they are– it surely isn't the strangest situation he's been through. “I'm sure Karlach would be happy to have you ask her to dance, skills be damned.”

“I'm sure,” Wyll says warmly, “but I want to give her only the best, if I can.”

And if that wasn't another sentiment Astarion has grown familiar with.

Before guilt can sink his mood, Astarion clears his throat. “You wouldn't happen to have a few dancing lessons in store for your fellow companion, would you, darling?”

Wyll is kind enough to not say anything to his question, though the knowing looks he gives Astarion throughout his guidance is reminiscent of Karlach that he escapes as soon as he is able. With the party soon underway, more people come into the main floor with fresh attire. Alcohol is poured and music is played with Alfira leading the fray. Lakrissa, never far from her lady bard, meets his gaze and nods her head upward. 

“Upstairs,” Lakrissa tells him with a wide smile. “They're doing some finishing touches. I'm sure they won't mind if you get them.”

There is that damned knowing look again, he thinks, walking up the stairs. He pauses for a moment halfway up, gazing at the party quickly underway and at the people he has met thus far. He spots Dammon and Karlach talking near the door, Wyll across the room building his courage to ask her to dance. Shadowheart and Lae'zel sit at the bar drinking in surprising camaraderie next to Rolan and his siblings, still ribbing him in usual manner. Harpers are scattered in the room, Jaheira to the side watching on after having said her goodbyes prior; she will be joining their party to Baldur's Gate, after all. 

Halsin was preoccupied with Thaniel so he may or may not be joining them later on, though Astarion doubts he would disappoint you by not showing up. Not seeing Gale in the midst if the celebration is strange, considering how much more eager he is to converse with others. Astarion's pondering answers itself when he sees Gale exit your room.

“Ah, there you are,” Gale greets him cheerily. “They're about done with their preparations– they thought they'd ask me for my opinions on their appearance. And despite my admitted inexperience in the matter, I hope I did my due diligence in reassuring them they looked fine. The rest is up to you, I'm afraid.” He puts a hand on Astarion's shoulder and squeezes lightly, and the look in his eyes grows somber for just a moment. “Treat them well.”

If he had a heart still, it would pang with guilt. “Don't I always?” Astarion says airily, and Gale gives him another pat and a wide smile.

“That you do, my friend,” Gale says warmly. “I am ever glad to see my two good companions happy together. Best wishes to you both.”

Gale leaves him and Astarion stands outside your door, unsure what he is waiting for. He peeks inside, watching as you tinker with your jewelry in the mirror. In the reflection he sees you in all your glory. You are beautiful as ever in your evening attire, simultaneously dashing in your knightly way as you are beautiful and warm and real. You notice him in the mirror and turn to smile at him, and guilt settles into him like lead.

You deserve more, he thinks with finality, and Astarion knows then he can no longer delay the inevitable, despite himself. You must know the truth about his intentions for you, even if it pushes you away from him and renders your protection for him. You deserve nothing less but his honesty. He only wishes he were not so cowardly as to have done it sooner, if only to not ruin the rest of your night. 

(But the truth is, Astarion has a little hope that you will still love him despite it all– because he thinks he wants something real with you too.) 

“There you are,” you say warmly, walking up to him. “Are you ready to dance?” You take his hand in yours, and he holds onto you for dear life. 

"I was waiting for you,” he tells you weakly. He squeezes your hand as if asking for strength. “Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk."

Lovely as you are, you are nothing but concerned for him. "Yeah, sure! Are you okay?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine,” he tells you automatically. Deflection comes easily for him. “I just-- feel awful."

Your sympathy is almost too much to bear that Astarion musters up the will to push forward before your compassion weakens his resolve. He must confess now or he never will. He swallows painfully.

"Look, I had a plan,” he begins to explain, “a nice simple plan. Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me." He lets out a shaky laugh– entirely inappropriate and unreflective of his feelings, but what else is he to do? Does he even deserve to show you how much turmoil he has gone through to reach this point in telling you? 

"It was easy,” he continues, trying to ignore the way his chest twists painfully when he sees you flinch, hurt. “Instinctive.” He lets your hand fall from his as he gesticulates, weaving his story dramatically in the only way he knows how lest he feel too much. Your arms draw themselves in as if to brace yourself for a blow, and all Astarion can think is that he must– he must continue on for better or worse. He cannot bear doing this a second time. 

“Habits from 200 years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it,” he tells you. Astarion feels his voice shake. “And all I had to do was not fall for you. That was where my nice, simple plan fell apart."

He sees a flicker of something in your eyes as he finishes. He can't quite place what it is– he can hardly begin to process how he's feeling at the moment. But the truth is finally out in the open, and the tension in his body is pulled taut like a bow string as he waits for your response. He wants so desperately to make excuses, to go on about anything that would salvage his relationship with you, but he won't. You have been patient with him time and time again, and it is only fair for him to do the same.

No one ever told him how hard it would be though. To wait. You stand only a foot away from him and yet the distance between the two of you feels vast.

"...So,” you begin quietly, “did the nights we spend together... did they mean anything then?"

You're ridiculous, he thinks, almost laughing in fond incredulity. He half expected you to storm out of the room, demanding he never speak to you again. The fact you are still talking it through with him is more than he could ever ask for. "Of course it did,” Astarion tells you fervently. “That's the problem. Or part of it. You–” His voice catches with emotion. “You're incredible. You deserve something real.” 

He watches as you blink in rapid succession, willing the tears that come easily to you away. Astarion thinks about the way you yearn for simple touches, sweet romances, and true love. And even if he does not yet know how to love you the way you want, he knows this: “I want us to be something real."

Astarion reaches his hands out to meet yours before he realizes it is happening. The utter relief he feels when you close the distance (so small yet so far) between the two of you is insurmountable. He thinks you can feel the way his hands shake when you hold onto them. Or is that you? He thinks, savoring the warmth seeping into his skin. No matter– nothing else matters but the way you are still here with him now.

"So do I,” you say wetly. “More than anything."

Astarion knows better than to look into a gift horse's mouth, but it is in his nature to question when good things happen to him. His question comes out quietly, disbelieving, "Really?" 

And he can see your expression soften-- not of pity or sympathy-- just affection as you huff good naturedly, as though he were just absolutely silly for doubting you. "Yes, of course," you say, cupping his face just as gently before you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. 

You are warm in his arms with the sweet scent of lilac. 

When was the last time he has been held like this, he wonders. Without precontext for sex or expectations for something more. Like when he was helpless but to see you preoccupied with others, it is in times like these Astarion realizes he is inexperienced when it comes to affection in its purest form. It makes him… lost in a way, to know what he does not know. 

[Can he tell, you wonder, that you've been wanting to hold him like this from the very beginning? To make him feel safe. To let him know he has nothing to worry about, at least when it comes to you. You hold him tightly, and if love could be poured out from you to another, you would have it spill over and more.]

But you don't seem to care. You never have. Giving little bits of affection to him wherever he can accept it without expecting anything given back. He wants to learn how to be with you starting now.

Moving his arms around you to embrace you is unfamiliar, but his hands find purchase on your back, palms flat and firm. Your heart against his chest beats steadily, and Astarion finds that he doesn't want this moment to end. He feels vulnerable in a way he has not felt in a long time, if ever. Everything seems easier to say to you, now that you accept him, flawed as he is. 

"I just,” he begins quietly, “don't know what real looks like, not after two hundred years of playing the rake. Being close to someone, any kind of intimacy, was something I performed to lure people back for him.” 

He feels you pull away, but only for a moment before you are holding his hands gently. He continues, “Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels tainted.” He feels his mouth twist at the word, and he looks down, shame burning his tongue despite himself. “Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing.”

“I don't know how else to be with someone,” he confesses, “no matter how much I'd like to.”

Silence fills the space the two of you take up. It would feel suffocating if not for the way you rub his hands with your thumbs, grounding him to this moment. It feels so easy to just run away, but he stands with you until you find the words to speak. You tell him finally, “You are important to me no matter what you're going through.” His breath catches. “And if that sort of intimacy makes you feel uncomfortable, we can be together without sleeping together for as long as you need.”

You are firm with your words, and Astarion blinks away wetness in his eyes and tries to reach for levity as he always does. “Why, that almost sounds like a challenge,” he says, and when you do a little laugh, he feels lighter. 

The two of you are by no means a perfect union. Far from it: who would ever imagine a vampire rogue and a devoted paladin to be a match for each other? And yet, you want to make the two of you work. He wants it to work, whatever it is they are. Rather than fear or apprehension, he finds himself in anticipation for an unknown destination with you by his side. 

(It feels a little bit like death, in a good way. To imagine this is how people feel all the time– excited and terrified all at once; how do they all do it?)

Astarion lets out a laugh of his own. "Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing. Or what comes next,” he says. He raises his hands where they are connected to you. "But I know that this? This is nice."

Your smile is wobbly with emotion, and your eyes shining with an affection that Astarion has grown familiar with. "Dance with me?”

Astarion responds by taking one of your hands and placing a kiss at your knuckle. The smile he receives from you is daylight and he basks in its presence. “Shall I take the lead this time, darling?”

“Only just this once,” you tease, and he is almost giddy at the banter. Oh, how quickly the two of you begin anew, as if no hurt has been done. Eyes wet with emotion now dry and upturned from mirth as Astarion dramatically presents your hand, walking down the stairs to join in the banquet.

How ridiculous mankind is, for celebrating while their fate looms over the horizon at Baldur's Gate. How incredulous people are for still holding onto hope even when hope seems all but lost. Astarion still thinks it unwise to trust others in a world where only the strongest survive, but perhaps he has changed just a bit if he thinks it is not quite so impossible to believe in it himself. 

He is not healed– and he feels he will not be for some time, not as long as Cazador still lives. But much like the shadow-cursed land, he feels as though he is healing. At your side, with his hand on your waist and the other entwined with yours to twirl you on a wooden dance floor as you laugh until you are breathless– he can finally try.

And perhaps that is all that matters.

.

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.

(Sleeping beneath the stars, a night before reaching Baldur's Gate, Astarion thinks about how you have given him precious, impossible moments of comfort. He had only expected to have a few more before an untimely death but after time and time again, the two of you live. 

But just how long will that luck last? 

With Cazador, the two avatars of death, and the elder brain looming over their fates, Astarion feels a fear unlike what he has ever faced, for he has far more to lose than just himself now. It suffocates him. Because he is not good enough- not strong enough. Not for you, not for Cazador, nor for the gods that never answered him. 

Unless…

If he takes Cazador's power for his own, if he can ascend and become a creature far beyond a true vampire… he can finally keep the two of you safe– for good. From all the evils of the world, from the Cazadors, from whoever dares to threaten the two of you.

Whoever must be sacrificed to make it happen be damned. Astarion will be selfish enough for the two of you. 

A part of him wonders if you will still love him then.)

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x you #astarion/tav #astarion/reader #thank god i split act ii into 2 parts

[kaeyx]

It's 4 in morning but I NEED to talk about Demon Dazai and Demon Chuuya cause I miss them sm.

Dazai sneaking into your room with his tail swaying as he finds Chuuya between y9ur thighs with his hand inside you, sucking your clit as he fingers your cunt. Biting into your thigh and leaving marks as you're still (surprisingly) asleep. Claws digging into your hips as he buries his tounge where it belongs. But in pure Dazai fashion, he's not much of a watcher, he's a doer. So he climbs into the bed and he goes for your clothed chest, ripping the shirt apart he goes for your nipples, nipping at them as you squirm and attempt to move away. Holding your hands down, he sucks at your neck and nipping at your lips. What you won't know won't hurt you after all. But maybe... they'll give you something more filling.. a little bigger than a finger or two.

Oufhfjv I've been saving this one until I got into a demon mood again bc it's so PERFECT

No matter how many times you scold them or tell them your room is off limits, they just won't stop breaking in! Not even if you lock the door or get a shiny new deadbolt installed, it's child's play for them to sneak in anyway. The first few times you just wake up with your sheets in disarray or some of your clothes missing (Dazai likes wearing them, nevermind that he's way bigger than you and stretches everything out), but then you start finding them in the bed with you. They're very comfortable! As long as there's no horns stabbing you or a wing in your face. But that's not the point! Neither of them give a shit though, and your insistence only makes them more determined.

They like daring each other to do more and more extreme things to you while you sleep, to see how far they can push before you wake up. Of course, they can both work their magic a little and keep you passed out and pliant for far longer than normal, just so you don't spoil the fun.

Chuuya dreams of having you suck him off, especially because he knows he's too thick and you'd choke. He wants to slap his dick across your cheek and smear precum on your tongue, holding your head down while you choke until you stop resisting and he can use your throat like a fleshlight. But since he can't, he decides to be the one sucking you off instead. He fingers you carefully so his claws don't scratch you and sucks gently on your clit, licking up your slick while laughing about the mess you're leaving on his face without even knowing it. Chuuya maps out your pussy while you sleep, learning all the things that make you tick while you're not awake to push him away and resist.

Dazai is more of a tits guy, and he's been itching to get his claws under your shirt ever since he saw you. It's the perfect opportunity now, while you're asleep on your back all cute and defenceless. He can weigh your tits in his palm and lick your nipples to his heart's content, and Chuuya can't even have a go at him for being obsessive because he's too busy getting drunk on the taste of your cunt. But of course Dazai wants more, he's an opportunistic demon. He'll fuck your tits if he can, pressing them and rutting between them while observing your sleeping face. He wonders what you'd say if you woke up tight now and found him like this. Would it even matter? There's two demons holding you down, you're not going anywhere.

As for fucking you..... Chuuya kneeling over your face, jerking off to your sleepy moans while Dazai slowly but inexorably pushes into you. The redhead holding your mouth open with one clawed hand so he can rub the tip of his dick across your soft tongue and the inside of your mouth, cumming inside embarrassingly fast because the view is better than any porn he could ever hope to find. Meanwhile Dazai is busy grinding his cockhead into your cervix to make you twitch and tighten, purely because he likes the way your pussy milks him. Thumbing your clit in slow, messy circles while he struggles to move, his tail flicking wildly behind him because the pain of your walls clamping down on him is delicious.

#dazai.bsd #chuuya.bsd #demon!skk #demon!chuuya #demon!dazai #poly!skk #at least one of them doesn't bother to clean you up afterwards 😒 gross men

[cherry-pop-elf]

Weasley Siblings Reacting To You Coming Out 🏳️‍⚧️ ((Trans Edition))

Some wholesome/projection because wah-! Also reader is under the impression of muggleborn, so muggle ideals would be different from wizards of course

Can he read as Platonic or Romantic! Clause Platonic love is valid af! I see you Ace/Just wanting stuff to not always be sex, folks!

Warnings: Transphobia,bullying ((not from the Weasleys obviously)) anxiety, depression, don’t worry it’s fluff just ya know. It’s scary coming out!

Writing Coms Open

((BTW this was in my drafts, and since Trans Visibility Day was today, it gave me motivation to finish it so let’s go-!))

William ‘Bill’

“Like Tonks-!” You did feel pretty silly, once he said that. Made you wonder why you waited so long. Literally you were friends with a Shapeshifter, so why would you coming out be so different? Oh right, what muggles would do if they knew. “Kinda, minus the whole ya know….Changing on the whim. Wish I could do that-“ You muttered, as Bill would pat your back. The pair of you, ever cozy in the library. Special permission to access the resurrected section, since he was being interned at Gringotts for curse breaking. Meant you had some privacy for such a sensitive topic. “Hey, we can find a way to. Right? It’s magic. I bet you my lucky dagger that the twins probably have something in the works.“ He comforted, and it made you smile. That Bill. Always finding a way to brag about his younger siblings somehow. That was just the cutest thing to you. Just a big brother, finding a way to show off his family. Helped a lot. “Whatever you need, I’ve got you. I know muggles do stuff differently, and a lot isn’t really to positive-“ Bill was the eldest, so it made sense he would be more informed with muggle culture. If his band shirts were to say anything. “Like name changes and stuff. Got a new name you like?” There was something so weird about how casual he was. Just, casual. It was a field, but also felt off. Like something bad should have happened. Maybe it will. Until then, though, you were happy to tell him your new name. “Suits you-!” He smiled that awkward half smile, given the other half didn’t exist anymore. “I like it.” And he was soon ruffling your hair. Older brother habits. They don’t die easy, and you were greatful for it.

Charlie

“Like Tonks-!” Why did you get Déjà vu? You shook it off, before nodding. “Yes, minus the actually changing my gender and stuff.” You clarified, as he multi tasked with the latest baby dragon Hagrid had gotten. Charlie just couldn’t resist, and now you two were stuck in his hut. Hagrid off to find someone to take said dragon, while Charlie treated it like a puppy. Kissing its snout, and making it squeal in utter delight. Despite the slobber, and despite the heat. One of the reason you trusted him with such a secret. His heart was so big, and he held such passion. Not to mention, you hoped he could help you get out of your shell a bit. Such a loud, and proud, man. Also, well, imagine trying to bully someone who’s buddies with the dragon tamer. “Neat-! So do I flip flip between pronouns, like Tonky, or you got new ones-?” You swore he was paying more attention to the dragon, than you. Weirdly, you liked it. He didn’t treat it as life or death, which healed something in you. He didn’t care, but in that good way. That it didn’t change how he saw you. Or, maybe you just asked at the right time. You had to shake his shoulder, to remind him you were still there. You two shared a laugh, as he went on rambling about how beautiful the dragon was, as you were able to relax a little easier.

Percy

“Trans-? Like as in Transfiguration? Finally, actually focusing on your studies.” You were already regretting this. You figured Percy would be someone to confide in, since he was a prefect. You were being bullied by the muggleborns, but the thing is….Hes a pure blood. He didn’t really understand what being trans was. So, you tried to explain. “Percy, they were making fun of me because I was born different.” You tried to explain, as he was starting to pay a bit more attention now. “They saw me going to the bathroom, and immediately threw books at me. It’s not like I don’t mind Moaning Myrtle, but it’s hard to pee with company.” You sniffled, as it was settling in now. “I’m so sorry, I’ll handle this immediately. I….Let’s go take you to the medical wing, to make sure you are patched….Could you explain more to me about this trans thing? Why it makes you different?” It’s a start. He’s willing to learn, and that’s more than so many. That gave you comfort. He’s confused, but willing. With his arm around you, you did your best to wizard it to his language. To get it out of your system, and for once? Percy stayed quiet, and listened. It’s a start, and you couldn’t be happier.

Fred

“Swear you are like the fifth person to tell me that this month-!” He laughed, as you blinked. Despite the prancing dynamic of the twins, they had grown a bit over the years. Suppose the older brother energy they held just drew in comfort. It’s easy to confide in them. They may not act like it, but they can keep a secret. Guess the courtyard was just a hot spot for such. “Wait, why are you telling me this anyway? I knew the moment I met you-!” He snorted, with an elbow nudge to you. Honestly? You were certain he was joking, but you wondered if he did. “About bloody time you figured it out yerself! Not sure how that whole thing works, but I’m sure George and I can brew something up for ya. Need a beard? Or bigger hips? I’m sure we got something-“ That had you roll your eyes. “Sounds like an excuse to turn me into your personal lab rat-“ That had him blink. “The hell is a lab rat?” Right. Pure blood. “I’ll explain it to you later. Just, promise not to tell anyone? I’m….not ready yet.” Fred seemed like he was ready to argue, about needing to just be passionate about who and what you are, but he was hushed. As if he could already hear Molly yelling at him. That was trauma for another occasion. Instead, he made a zipping motion to his lips, and threw away the key. “Thanks.” You smiled, as he gave a thumbs up. Pretending he couldn’t speak at all, and it got you to giggle. Calmed your nerves down just fine.

George

“That’s uh….That thing-! Yeah-!” He bullshitted, but you understood why. He’s the more emotional side of the dynamic duo. So many kids come to them for advice, but more come to George. You would pay a guess that many who went to Fred were actually looking for George, but didn’t realize it was Fred at all. You only managed, because he was wearing his Quidditch Jersey. Least, you think it was his. Shit, was this Fred? Nope, Fred walked by. With Angelina. Phew. “George, do you need me to explain?” You asked, as he rubbed his neck nervously. Embarrassed he wasn’t instantly able to comfort, like it was his only job. “It’s a muggle thing, breathe.” And breathe he did, as he laid back down on the common room couch. With a quick run down, it clicked. He’s an inventor, they are good at thinking outside norms. “Oh! Oh man, that sounds stressful as hell. Hey, anyone starts shit-“ He gave a sharp click with his tongue, and made a shooting motion with his finger. “Consider them chucked into a vanishing closet.” And given he’s a Weasley, you didn’t underestimate him. So, instead, you hugged him. A big, warm, squeeze. Of course, it was returned. Oh those Weasleys.

Ron

“Would you be offended if I go ask Hermione what that means-?” Least he’s honest, and knew better to ask her than anyone else. Hard to ever get alone time with him, as he was glued to her and Harry. Surprised to catch him alone, for once, and took the chance while you could. Now to just look at your breakfast plate, nervous. “I’ll just explain it, the best I can.” You sighed, as you saw Ron wince a little. Feeling he did something wrong. “It’s a muggle thing-“ You quickly said, as he breathed a little easier. A few nervous gulps of juice, and many confused brows, it clicked. "Woah, that sounds terrible. I rememberer when Harry and i had to drink a polyjuice potion. we were still the same gender, and all, but my skin just felt so wrong. Everything was wrong. was just a suit, and i wanted to peel it off. Even if it hurt." You had to stare. That was just so accurate to how you felt. Your eyes watered. “Did I say something wrong, again-? I’m sorry about-“ But you hugged him, with your eyes in his shoulder. Don’t get Ron started on how many times he’s had to be the shoulder for Harry. So, like a time turners clockwork, he held you back. Comforting you. Someone got it.

Ginny

“Think I’m that to-“ Ginny said, as you two just laid in the grass. Just trying to relax, from a long school day. “Like, maybe it’s just because I was raised by a bunch of brothers. Just, being JUST a girl feels weird. Like I’m more than that, I’m not JUST that. Maybe I’m feeling something else entirely. Never been the same, after that book.” She admits, ready to stress her out all over again. Voldemort did a number on her. What a way to start Hogwarts. Damn. “Well, maybe don’t think about it too hard. It’s both super complicated, but not at the same time. It’s more a feeling than anything else. You can be born it, or maybe over time it changes. Maybe by tomorrow you feel something else. Then, the next day it changes.” You tried to explain, as you watched the clouds. “Yeah, like magic.” She agreed, as she looked to her broomstick next to her. Thinking back to her childhood. “Maybe I am a guy, but Mum being so excited to have a girl just….Made me feel like I HAD to be….” God was that relatable. “Trans buddies?” You asked, and offered a hand. In a playful solidarity. You figured that would comfort her, or maybe now he. “Yeah, Trans buddies.” Ginny smiled, as you shared hands. “Jean sounds nice.” Ginny said. “Jean does sound nice.” You agreed.

#harry potter #hp #trans harry potter #William Weasley #William Weasley x reader #bill Weasley #bill weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley #charlie weasley x reader #Percy Weasley #Percy Weasley x reader #Fred Weasley #fred weasley x reader #George Weasley #george weasley x reader #Weasley twins #Fred and George #Fred and George Weasley #Ron Weasley #ron weasley x reader #Ginny Weasley #ginny weasley x reader #Weasley siblings #Weasley family #trans visibility #trans day of visibility #trans pride #Weasley #trans Ginny Weasley #trans your gender

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 19: The Wizard’s Tower

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence

WC: 9k words, 19/?? chapters

Summary: After traveling through Waterdeep, you and Astarion finally arrive at Gale's tower. Introductions are made, tours are had, and the relationship between yourself and Astarion continues to remain complicated.

A/N: People seem to disagree on whether or not familiars age, but I’m going to go with “no” because Tara is already older than a Tressym’s typical life span in BG3.

Ao3 | [Ch18][Ch20] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Walking through the streets of Waterdeep ought to be faster than this. It should have only taken you an hour to get to Gale's tower, according to Astarion.

However, you're in a new city and every single wonder captures your attention, leading you to stray from your path.

"Astarion, what's that?"

"It's a shop, darling. We have those back in Baldur's Gate."

"I know it’s a shop– gods, you know what I mean!"

Despite his attempts to keep you on track, Astarion doesn’t resist your wanderlust. His hold on your hand remains strong and, with every twist you take, he's being pulled along right behind you. You stop for an odd street stall, finding all manner of knick-knacks. You marvel at a statue, standing grand in the center of a plaza. You pull to an abrupt halt, earning a disapproving grunt from Astarion, when you spot a street performer using magic.

After what must be the tenth detour, Astarion finally tugs back. “Darling, could we please focus? We’ll have time for outings while we’re here, I assure you.”

You look at him, finding his expression to be amused, even if slightly annoyed at you. “We’ll have time to explore the city?” you ask, tentatively. You don’t want to presume that he’ll join you for anything, but the fact that he said ‘we’ gives you hope.

“Yes,” he answers, tugging on your arm once more. “But only if we make it to Gale’s without missing his celebration. Otherwise, we will never hear the end of it.”

“Fine,” you say, allowing Astarion’s hand to pull you in the proper direction. “Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit nervous.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow at you, purses his lips some as he asks, “About meeting Gale? Whatever for?”

You avoid his gaze, focusing on the road ahead of you as you respond, “It’s odd meeting someone you’ve only ever dreamt about. I know so much about you all, but you don’t know me. He may not even recognize me. How do I approach that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Astarion starts. You can sense an incoming joke at your expense, so you brace yourself for his next words. “Maybe something along the lines of ‘You’re the man of my dreams’, that worked wonders on me.”

You wince despite the preparation. “Excuse you, that is not what I said. Besides, I didn’t dream nearly as much about Gale. I don’t think you understand how nervous I was to meet you.”

Looking back up at Astarion, you note that he is focused, staring forward as he leads the way. Despite that, you also spot unabashed satisfaction on his face. His tone is just as self-satisfied as he replies, “I would expect no less.” Then a thought occurs to him and his tone shifts, thoughtful and a bit more reserved as he says, “Though that may have been lingering guilt, I suppose.”

Your reaction is immediate and a bit overdue. “Not at all,” you say, stopping Astarion in his tracks as you pull on his arm. "I didn't come find you out of any type of obligation or guilt. I came to find you for you. I set out before I knew anything other than… than love.”

The vampire is forced to stop, look at you and your serious poise with his full attention. He doesn’t seem to believe you, and it becomes more evident when he says, “I’m sure. Certainly explains why you and my siblings have been such fast friends.”

Astarion continues to walk, yanking you after him a bit more roughly this time. Your voice is a bit breathless as you follow in a rush, “Yes, I’ll admit that after I arrived I– I let myself get a bit carried away.” The man snorts from ahead of you. “But that was never my intention when I left Neverwinter. I just couldn’t get you out of my damned mind. You can ask my parents if you’d like.”

The line of his shoulders seems to relax a bit, but he remains focused on navigating the streets of Waterdeep, ignoring your burning gaze. After a few blocks of silence, he speaks, “What are they like?”

“Who?” Your mind has wandered by now, thinking of how, were it not for Astarion’s initial chilly reception, you may never have met with Dal in the first place. Then deciding that, no, ultimately you would always have found the spawn, one way or another.

“Your parents,” he mumbles, barely audible over the buzz of the city. “What are they like?”

Oh! He’d been so reluctant to learn about you as your own person that the question catches you by surprise. Once you collect yourself, you’re only too excited to answer. Your words come out fast, unfiltered, “Well, they’re both elves, of course. They came to live in Neverwinter after meeting through their trade. It’s how they were able to send me to the best college for the arcane arts in the city. My mother is fairly practical, logical. She didn’t want me to come all the way out here, but, erm, came around to it eventually. I suppose I get my curiosity from my father, but, even so, I think you would quite like him…”

As your words trail off, you realize that Astarion’s slowed down, listening to you. “It’s odd,” he says, turning his head back ever so slightly. A worried crease lines his brow. “I am rather more concerned with what they would think about me.”

The admission leaves you a touch speechless. At first because of the vulnerability in Astarion’s fleeting look– Then because you’re honestly not sure how to answer. It would likely be a lie to say that they would love him. Your mother especially would hold no mercy for a man as mercurial as he is. But you decide that your words need not be so severe, “I think they would grow to adore you.”

“I see,” he mutters, accepting your word choice with as much grace as you suppose he can muster.

How I wish he would meet them, you think. But that’s not something ‘friends’ do, is it? Perhaps he thinks Gale really has a chance to stop me. Given his experience, does he actually have a chance?

You don’t have much more time to consider that question because Astarion pulls to a stop before a grand set of doors. They’re made of wrought iron, engraved in runes and intricate patterns, lined with a shimmer of blue magic. You recognize the runes as teleportation runes, and given the outer facade of the building, easily surmise that this isn’t the exact location of a wizard’s tower, just an entrance.

“Is this…?” you ask.

“It is,” Astarion says, flashing you a smile. You’re not sure what the look on your face is, but he is drinking it in with glee.

It’s just past midday, and you’ve finally arrived at Gale’s doors.

Astarion releases your hand to reach the door. You’d gotten so used to moving as a singular unit, that his sudden absence leaves you a bit off-kilter, as if a part of you is missing. You can't help but flex your hand open and closed a few times to return to yourself, to return to the present.

Once he’s reached the doors, you spot a large iron knocker in the center of them: the head of a tressym in high relief, a ring set between its sharp teeth. Astarion grips the ring, knocks it against the door three times in rapid succession.

A voice comes through the tressym a moment later, and you recognize the Magic Mouth spell. Gale’s voice is cheery, exactly as you’d remembered it from your dreams, as he says, “Welcome to the tower of Archmage Dekarios. To enter, please supply the phrase that he undoubtedly provided you with. Knock thrice more for emergency assistance.”

Astarion shoots you a look, as if to say, ‘see what I must put up with?’ then clears his throat before uttering his phrase, “'For the jubilation of one magnanimous mage, I, Astarion Ancunín, am enchanted to be granted entrance.”

The iron on the doors immediately begins to shift, unlocking whatever mechanism lies behind them. Several loud clunks and thunks later, the massive doors open to a glowing blue portal.

“Does he make you say that every time you visit him?” you ask, barely holding back your laughter.

“Oh no,” Astarion replies, gesturing you forward. “It’s a different damned phrase every year. And it seems to be a torture uniquely reserved for me. Elminster simply gets different types of cheese for his phrases.”

You follow his guiding hands, stepping through the blue portal, feeling the world behind you vanish and shift in hues of blues, not unlike the teleportation circle you used to get here. As soon as your foot touches the ground before you, the inside of Gale’s tower comes into focus.

Immediately, you feel electricity in your veins– the weave is strong here. You could only dream of having your own wizard’s tower, but you know enough about them to know their basic principles. They’re often built on spots where the weave is most highly concentrated. It’s often why they’re crafted in such odd shapes, in such inconvenient locations, and built to such great heights. It’s all in an effort to amplify the magic they’re built upon. 

This tower is no different. You can’t quite tell the shape of the full tower, but the room you’re in is a semi-circle, lined with books and featuring several cozy looking couches. It’s quite possibly one of the loveliest waiting rooms you’ve ever had the chance to be welcomed in. You’re practically entranced and only vaguely register when Astarion asks from your side, “Have I lost you to the books already?”

He might have, if not for the rustling sound coming from behind you. You make an abrupt turn, only to come face to face with the man of the hour himself: Gale Dekarios steps through a set of blue, velvet curtains, wearing a set of purple robes and a gentle smile.

Unlike Halsin, who had hardly changed, only sporting a few new scars and wrinkles, or Astarion, who looks entirely unchanged, Gale looks like a new man. Or rather a very old man.

Where there was once a short, brown beard there is now a lush, wavy white beard in its place, neatly trimmed and manicured to perfection. His previously long, brown hair is white as well, carefully brushed back from his face, giving you a full view of his age-dappled features. Gale’s deep, brown eyes are as sharp as ever, surrounded by a webbing of wrinkles well-worn from a life full of joy. Your heart swells at the sight of him, looking every bit the witty sage from your memories, albeit greyer and a fair bit more lined.

You almost don’t recognize him, save that unmistakable glint in his eyes, the patient smile as he takes you and Astarion in.

Gale is the first to speak, his words aimed for Astarion, but his warm gaze falls entirely on you. “Oho, Astarion! Is this the guest you spoke of? I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised upon receiving your invitation confirmation. A guest, for the first time!”

What? you think in a sudden crack of panic. He didn’t tell him who I am?

You flash a distressed look at Astarion, who is only looking at Gale with annoyance. “Gods Gale, must you make a fuss out of everything?”

“It’s not every day that your oldest and dearest friend finds someone new worth cherishing. I was starting to grow rather fearful that you’d get old and wrinkled in your lonesome.” Gale’s smile is a bit mischievous as he turns away from you, to Astarion’s ire.

The words sound like playful jabs from Gale, but Astarion’s glower only seems to deepen. He looks just about ready to hiss like a cornered cat when you interject, “Not someone new per say. An old flame, actually.”

Astarion turns his glare to you, but it’s Gale who responds, “Phenomenal! Astarion, you sly dog, never giving even the slightest indication. When did you find each other, how long have you two been together? And how do you put up with him?”

You’ve only just entered the tower, and already the vampire looks at his wit’s end. Their friendship had always been entertaining to you when you had the chance to dream of it– they’re opposite in so many ways, alike in so many others. As such, Astarion’s flared nostrils and irritated stance come as no surprise. Neither do his clipped words as he struggles to respond to the wizard’s sudden enthusiasm, “What they meant to say is that they are– Well. They happen to be…”

His lips seem unable to say the words aloud, so you take it upon yourself to help. Stepping forward and standing tall, you look your friend and companion Gale Dekarios in the face and say, “It’s me, Gale.”

You’re not sure what you expect when you say the words. Perhaps a question, ‘who?’, or a confused, concerned look. Maybe even Astarion elbowing you in the side.

However, the wizard before you only takes a single beat. For that moment, he looks at you, with those same, familiar sharp eyes, before recognition settles in.

Then his arms are wrapping you in a warm embrace.

“My friend,” he murmurs into the hug, squeezing you tighter with a pair of ropy arms. “I can’t believe it.”

Your own arms respond in kind, crushing him back with your own youthful vigor. “I know, it’s a lot.” And it truly is– your own heart is pounding in your chest, your eyes are welling up with moisture. Astarion was your lover, but Gale? Gale has only ever been your friend. You’d saved the world together. You’d spent countless nights researching and planning together, spent even more simply enjoying each others’ company. And, unlike when you met with Halsin, you now feel so much more comfortable in your former identity. You feel comfortable claiming this hug for yourself.

Outside of your bubble of joy, you hear Astarion clear his throat pointedly. “While this is all incredibly touching, perhaps we can head into the tower before you both break each other in half?”

Gale releases you, as you do him, and you both turn to shoot daggers at Astarion. “Don’t mind him,” you say to the wizard. “He’s just jealous that it took him the longest to recognize me.”

“Of course,” Gale responds with a hearty chuckle. “Astarion has always been uniquely undiscerning when it comes to you.”

The man in question looks between you, face set in a grimace. “Gods below, I’m having the most unpleasant flashbacks.” You don’t need Detect Thoughts cast to see his thoughts written on his face. Something along the lines of, ‘This was a terrible idea.’

Gale ignores him, turning back to you in utter glee. “We have so much catching up to do!” he says, arms open wide. Then begins one of his customary rambles, “By Mystra’s grace, elves are fascinating. I knew you would reenter the Material Plane, but I had no idea it would happen so quickly. Not to mention, from my studies, elves typically don’t revisit past lives– part of ensuring that your kind continues to progress, I’ve been told. That being said, I am ecstatic that you’ve gone against the grain, my friend–”

You’re enjoying a long-lived human’s perspective on your reborn soul, but Astarion clearly doesn’t share your same sentiment. “Yes, yes,” he says, waving a hand. “Very interesting, I’m sure. However, it’s been a long couple of days, Gale. Could we please focus?” You’re reminded of when he asked you to focus on the way here and can’t help the snicker that leaves you. Astarion points an accusatory finger at you, “And you. Stop encouraging him.”

You hold up your own hands in innocence. “I’m only being a polite guest! Gale, thank you for having us.” Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re reminded of your past-self saying the same phrase of thanks every time you and Astarion came to visit.

“It’s my pleasure,” Gale says, his smile widening at the familiar words. “Now, could I interest you both in a drink?”

“We should drop by our lodgings first,” Astarion responds, before you can agree to a drink. “Or do you not want to deposit that enormous pack of yours?”

You blink at the vampire. The pack was growing rather annoyingly heavy, but you, again, hadn’t given much thought to your lodgings. A slight dread begins to build. “Where will we be staying?”

Gale turns around, gesturing for you both to follow. “Why one of the guest rooms, of course!”

One. You try to catch Astarion’s eye as you begin to follow Gale, any amount of his attention, any indication that he’s panicking internally as much as you are. Is he going to be comfortable sharing a room? Will we be sharing a bed?

The man’s face doesn’t react to Gale’s words– in fact, it remains utterly impassive as he says to you, “Don’t worry, darling. Despite his being a senile old man, Tara makes sure the place stays well kept.”

Tara! Gale’s familiar hadn’t appeared in your reveries often, only arriving for a spot of tea or to join you in chiding Gale to settle down. But your memories of her are fond and your question comes with a natural excitement, “Is Tara here?”

Gale takes you up a set of stairs as he responds with a cheerful look back at you, “She is out currently– procuring several items we still need for the celebration. But she should be back in no time. She shall be delighted to see you.”

His words warm you, glad that he’s had someone all these years. Then, remembering your past-self’s insistence and considering no one else showed up to welcome you, you ask Gale, “Did you ever listen to us? Find yourself a partner?”

Based on the way his shoulders hunch a bit, he slows as he continues to climb the stairs, you’re afraid you’ve delved too deep too soon. “Oh yes. Shortly after losing you, I found someone. I’m sorry you never had the chance to meet them.”

Guilt eats at your chest, knowing that he means that ‘sorry’, and wishing that he wouldn’t have to feel any regret. “I’m sorry, Gale, I shouldn’t have pried.”

“No need to apologize,” he says, continuing on briskly once more. “It was a lovely experience. But life goes on.”

You can’t help but look at Astarion as Gale says those words, wondering what he made of Gale’s lost love. What he made of Gale’s continuation after the fact. Perhaps, as two beings with lives beyond measure, their friendship evolved beyond trading barbs in the years after your death. Perhaps they could be there for each other, when everyone else passed on.

Astarion’s face betrays nothing as his red eyes meet yours in the dimly lit stairwell. “Darling?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you respond, turning back to Gale to change the subject. “I’ve only dreamt of parts of your tower, Gale. Would you be willing to give me a tour?”

“I would be overjoyed,” he says, climbing over the last step of the stairs. “Once you’ve had a moment to rest, let me know and I shall be right over.”

Following him out of the stairwell, you’re left in the curve of a hallway, several doors lining the outer wall– likely Gale’s guest rooms. “Amazing,” you say, looking left, right, up. “This tower is built in such an intricate way. What type of material did you use to ensure that the weave stayed stable?”

The wizard stops short of the first door and looks back at you. You can feel his appraising gaze, as if just taking in your robes, the spellbook at your hip, the inquisitive gleam in your eyes. “By the outer planes, are you trained in the arcane arts?”

You nod eagerly, your enthusiasm getting the better of you. “I am. I’ll confess, I was looking forward to meeting you as a scholar as well.”

The energy exchanged between you is palpable, and you sense that Gale is about to start on another lengthy diatribe about his tower, when Astarion clicks his tongue. “For the love of all that is unholy, could you two not wait until the tour?”

“Right you are, Astarion,” Gale says, smiling at you all the while. “What a fortuitous calling you’ve found, my friend. I look forward to imparting as much as I can.”

“More like a divinely ironic calling,” Astarion murmurs under his breath, pushing past Gale. “Which room is ours?”

“The third door,” the wizard responds, otherwise ignoring the man as he continues to speak to you. “It’s been a while since he’s been this prickly. He must be glad to be visiting with you again.”

“I can still hear you,” Astarion calls, as he opens the door down the hall.

You ignore Astarion as well as you respond in a quieter voice, “He’s been like that since I arrived on his doorstep. If it weren’t for my dreams of him, I’d have thought he was a prickly pear, not a man.”

The two of you share a laugh together before Gale continues down the hallway. “I apologize for before,” he says. When you only offer him a confused look, he continues, “For when I thought you were a new love of his. I truly should have known better. Astarion would have needed another half dozen centuries to get over you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but Astarion looks at you both from the doorway to your shared room. His eyes are dark, looking only at Gale, as he says, “That’s enough, Gale. Let us take a moment to unpack.”

Gale reads his friend’s expression with a patience you wish to possess someday. “I shall see you both later for a tour and some tea then?”

“Yes, please,” you reply, entering the room after Astarion. “And, thank you again, Gale.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend.” The wizard leaves you both with one last smile and a small wink, whisking off with the energy of a much younger man.

Now that you’re finally in the room, Astarion lights the lantern by the entrance and closes the door behind you. Looking into the space, you spot an armoire, a changing screen, a pair of armchairs, a couch, and then– just as you’d been afraid of, a single, large bed.

You focus your energy on keeping your voice calm, your breathing steady, even as your heart races. “So,” you start, dropping your pack on the ground and turning to face Astarion. “You didn’t tell him I was coming.”

“I told him I was bringing a guest,” is all that he says back.

“But not who I was?”

“I responded to his invitation weeks ago. It slipped my mind,” he says with a shrug.

The nonchalant look on his face is driving you mad. You’re not sure how this man can make you feel so many different emotions in one day, but by the gods does he manage it. “So you neglected to mention that we weren’t exactly lovers in your letter?” You gesture to the solitary, perfectly fluffed bed.

“Excuse me,” Astarion says, pacing to the armoire to begin unpacking his clothing. “I received enough helpful words from Dal, I didn’t want an entire speech from Gale before even arriving. Besides, it’s sharing a bed, darling. It’s not exactly the erotic act that you’re making it out to be.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” you say, disregarding his words.

“Nonsense, we’re grown elves. We can trance in the same bed without issue,” he says with an eye roll. “And if I’m such a temptation to you, why did you agree to be friends so easily?” he counters, raising an accusatory eyebrow at you. After the weeks you’ve had together, he knows full well that he’s a temptation to you. But if he thinks you’ll give him the satisfaction, then you suppose you know what you must do.

“Fine, the same bed it is. You’re the one who will suffer when I have a bad trance,” you grumble, beginning to take your items out of your pack as well.

Astarion crosses his arms, watching you as you lay out your robes. “I would hardly mind, darling. I tranced next to your past-self for years without issue.”

You suppose it’s true, though you can’t imagine what their trances were like. Your reveries of their life are the most visceral– it’s hard to imagine that they did anything but sleep peacefully. Instead, you ask another question that’s bothering you, aside from the bed, “So what are we supposed to tell Gale? That we’re… friends?”

“Naturally,” Astarion replies, sitting down in an armchair with a content sigh. “He’ll understand. It’s part of living a long life.”

You nod, continuing to unpack in silence, mind filled with thoughts of their long lives. After a few minutes, you ask Astarion another question, “Why didn’t you tell me about Gale’s former love? I might have avoided bringing it up.” Your tone isn’t accusatory, simply filled with a dejected sadness you aren’t able to stifle.

Astarion lifts his head, which had settled back in the armchair’s plush comfort. His words are solemn, honest. “Unlike the rest of our former companions, Gale is still alive. It is his story to tell, if he wishes.”

It makes sense, but you still feel the guilt of hurting him in the pit of your stomach. Not unlike the guilt you felt rehashing Astarion’s past memories. “Can you at least tell me this? How did they die?”

“Old age,” Astarion supplies. “And before you ask, no, they weren’t an elf. They won’t be popping up on his doorstep unannounced like some kind of bookish ghost.”

“He never considered extending their lifespan? There are plenty of–”

“No,” Astarion interrupts, looking at you with tired eyes. “They didn’t want that, and he respected their wishes. An extended life isn’t for the faint hearted.”

You gulp, feeling the guilt bubble up again at the question you inevitably want to ask, once more afraid of hurting Astarion. “And is that how you feel?”

“I don’t know anymore.” His words are quieter, barely loud enough for you to hear, and you can’t read his expression as his head ducks. His head is back up a moment later, a nervous little smile playing on his lips. “Well, if you have much more left to unpack, I actually meant to have a word with Gale. Shall we meet you downstairs?”

“Oh, sure,” you respond, pushing your guilt and curiosity back down. You suspect you already know what he wants to talk to Gale about. “I’ll be down shortly.”

When you do arrive downstairs shortly, neither man is present. I doubt they’ll be done any time soon, you think, beginning to poke around the room. I’ll find something to read while I wait.

That’s how you find yourself perusing through Gale’s carefully curated selection of waiting room books. And sweet hells is it curated well. It’s all you can do to keep from bouncing off the walls.

After picking up and dismissing several books, you settle on one that truly interests you. “Is this a first edition of Elameth's Compendium?” you ask no one in particular, flipping through the pages of a large, red tome. In it, the elven enchanter Elameth details a variety of magical artifacts, how to craft them, and how to dismantle them.

You’re surprised to receive a response as you flip the pages. “Oh my yes. Mr. Dekarios is quite fond of that particular compendium.”

Your head snaps up at a familiar voice, a feminine, unaffected voice, distinctly posh in its lilt. When you turn toward its source, you look down to see a small, cat-like creature peering up at you. “Tara?” you ask.

“I am she, yes,” the small, but proud creature says, tilting her head at you. “And who, may I ask, are you to be rifling through Mr. Dekarios’ books?”

She doesn’t seem mad at you, rather quite curious as her large green eyes inspect you. Will she believe you as easily as Gale did? Her eyes are staring at you so intently that your voice catches a bit as you begin to talk, “I– I am–”

“Ah, I see it now, my dear,” the tressym says, taking a few steps toward you with her feline-like gait. “No need to explain yourself. You’re Mr. Dekarios’ old friend, aren’t you? You look a tad different, but then again, so do most people that have died before.”

You blink, surprised at how little you needed to say for her to recognize you. “Yes, that’s me. How did you know?”

“A lady’s intuition, darling,” she says, lifting her head proudly a bit. “However, you also have that same air about you. Mr. Dekarios will be quite pleased to see you again.”

“We, erm, re-met each other earlier today,” you say, closing the book in your hands and turning to the tressym. “How have you been, Tara?”

“Very well, thank you for asking,” she bows her head a bit in acknowledgement. “You are far more polite than that wicked vampire you call a mate. Thank goodness you’re back, if only for that pale man’s sake.”

You laugh, vaguely recalling some of Astarion’s previous encounters with Tara. They got along about as well as two opposing felines would. “Has he been very difficult without me?”

“Oh yes,” she says, and her wings shuffle a bit in discomfort. “Nigh impossible to deal with. I don’t know how Mr. Dekarios puts up with him.”

You’re about to ask another question when her ears perk up, shoot back. “Well now, it seems like he and Mr. Dekarios are on their way to you. I am still working on preparations for the celebration, so do keep Mr. Dekarios occupied until I have need of him.”

You’d already planned on thoroughly distracting the wizard with questions about his tower and are only too happy to keep the tressym pleased. “Of course, Tara.”

She purrs a hum of approval before turning around. With a “ta-ta, darling” she leaves you waiting for the imminent arrival of Gale and Astarion.

The two arrive from behind the blue, velvet curtain less than a minute later. “Oh hello,” you say, looking at them from over the book you’d reopened.

Astarion looks to be in a better mood, though Gale looks distinctly less happy. It’s Astarion who speaks first, “Hello, darling. Hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long?”

The warmth of his words comes as a bit of a surprise. You look back to Gale, who is smiling at you sadly. I see , you think. Astarion thinks Gale will convince you to leave your project be– that he can grow attached to you now because you won’t be leaving him in the lurch. No matter, you think. This changes nothing for me.

So you respond with the same enthusiasm, “Not at all! I was just looking through the excellent book selection you have, Gale.” You hold up the red tome in your hand and his expression immediately lights up once again.

“Elameth's Compendium! Why, we used that book in your prior life, don’t you remember?” he says, his crow’s feet becoming more pronounced as he smiles.

You shake your head. “Unfortunately not. I didn’t receive every memory. And admittedly…” You look at Astarion who is looking at you rather smugly, knowing exactly what you’d told him multiple times now. The smug look will certainly only get worse with your words, but you also want to discuss your memories with Gale, as the sage and scholar that he is. “Most of my reveries were about Astarion.”

At that, Gale looks between the two of you, a pensive hand stroking his beard. “Fascinating,” is all that he offers.

“Yes,” you agree, ready to provide more information, to receive any and all theories he has about you and your memories. But, of course, the subject of your memories refuses to be excluded for long.

“Maybe if your evenings researching together were less dreadfully dreary you might have dreamt of more of them,” Astarion offers with a flip of his hand. “Now, shall we begin with the tea or the tour?”

The three of you decide to begin with a tour. 

Gale leads the way, his mane of long, white hair guiding your path forward. As a tour guide, he’s clearly well practiced, describing each room in detail, explaining its purpose, and even peppering in the odd anecdote or memory from your past life.

You go through a sauna, heated with fire runes. You walk past his actual library, filled head to toe with books of all kinds. You drop by his study, and its sweet scent of ink trails after you. An astronomy room, a storage room, a dining room, a sitting room– you begin to wonder how tall this tower truly is from its exterior. Gale explains that he’s had to renovate a few dozen times over the years, to ensure that the tower’s magic remains stable. As such, rooms come and go with a few, necessary exceptions.

Even among all of these extraordinary rooms, a few stand out to you, clear gems in the wizard's remarkable living space.

“This is the alchemy room, where I grow plants and create my various concoctions! I’m quite proud to say that you’ll find some plants that grow even on the other side of Faerûn. I’ve created many an interesting tonic– I’d exercise some caution if you find yourself in here. Why one time…” He trails off into a story about how Tara turned purple for a week. She was not amused, apparently.

“And this is the experimentation room, where I bring anything that may be dangerous to test. There are a variety of different materials for me to test spells and artifacts on, and the room is warded with a wide assortment of protection wards to make sure that the rest of the tower is unaffected. It certainly is helpful when it comes to any errant magic, wouldn’t you say Astarion?” The look Astarion shoots him is that of a man who has seen one too many Fireballs in his life.

“Now this is the enchanting room, where I create magical artifacts. Now this includes your customary garden-variety fare, but I do have the opportunity to create a few rarer objects, such as the sunlight rings that I craft for the spawn. You'll find that I boast all types of spell components and even have a few specialized work benches, infused with various magical properties.”

You want to stay in this room for hours, you want to look through each and every book, peruse the shelves, test out the recipes that are strewn about the place. But you hold back, merely asking Gale a few questions about where he sources his materials, whether or not he had a bench for each school of magic, and how long it took to create a sunlight ring.

Easier questions answered, you eventually ask him, “Is this where we worked on our ring designs together?”

Gale takes a quick glance at Astarion before nodding. “Yes, precisely. That’s exactly the type of thing we used to work on.”

You elect to ignore his word choice, pressing on, “I had a dream about that just last night. We’d settled on a ring made of silver, it had slotting for an inlay along its edge.”

Recognition passes over Gale’s eyes before he bows his head wearily. “One of the last times we spoke. That was our most promising candidate.”

You already know that much. Despite the way Astarion’s eyes tighten around the corners, the way that Gale’s sadness creases his mouth around his beard, you continue, “I had an idea I would love to speak to you about. Would you have time before your birthday festivities?”

The wizard’s head lifts back up, the sadness reaching his eyes now. “I think it’s best if we leave that part of our past behind us, wouldn’t you say?”

Luckily, you’d prepared for such a response, expecting it. From your memories, from understanding who he is, what Astarion might have said to him, you think you know just what to say. “I wouldn’t. At least, not until I figure out one last thing. I have memories of the necromancer’s notes. Untouched, unbloodied, but undeciphered. I just need someone to delve into my mind and pull them out. If it amounts to nothing, well, maybe I could move on. But a wizard once told me, my intuition has rarely led us astray.”

Neither of your companions say anything to this, but you can tell see the wheels turning in Gale’s mind. He’d tried, just as you had, to remove the blood from the notes. He’d attempted, just as you had, to decipher what was left. Here you were, offering him the key to a century and a half’s mystery. He’d be remiss to not take you up on it. 

Astarion, for his part, is simply looking at you. His red eyes seem to glow in the enchanting room’s magical lighting. You wonder if he believes you, that this will be your final attempt to try, that you would leave it be if it amounted to nothing.

I just know it will amount to something though, you think to yourself. I refuse to let it lead nowhere, not when I feel so close.

Gale interrupts your thoughts. “Well, I shall have a think on it and let you know later. For now, let me show you both to our last stop: the kitchen! Where we can also enjoy a lovely, little morsel and a cup or two of tea.”

Musings pushed aside for now, the three of you head to the kitchens for a late lunch. With all of Gale’s commentary, Astarion’s snarky interjections, and your own questions, the tour ended up being quite a few hours. You’re ravenous by the time the tea kettle rings and Gale shuffles about his kitchen preparing an afternoon meal for you all.

“Do you need any help, Gale?” you ask, scooting your chair back, ready to get up and join the wizard as he flits back and forth.

“No need, my friend. You are a guest after all,” he assures you, with a wave. A blue, spectral hand floats behind him, opening and closing doors for him as he artfully arranges what seems to be a hearty assortment of various meats and cheeses. “I may have aged a touch, but I assure you that I am every bit the gourmet chef I have always been.”

“Right,” Astarion mutters under his breath. “Every bit as capable of giving an entire adventuring party food poisoning.”

You chuckle at Astarion’s comment, only to recall that Astarion hasn’t had a real basis for Gale’s food since his early days of pretending not to be a vampire. Since then, his main diet has consisted of blood and wine, which you haven’t seen him partake in in over a week. “Aren’t you hungry?” you whisper to the man, leaning over to him in the event that Gale shouldn’t overhear.

His red eyes meet yours, and, as always, you can see the underlying hunger in them. It’s fruitless to ask, you realize. He’ll always be hungry. 

“I’m managing. Don’t you worry about me– Focus on getting your noisy stomach to quiet down.” He shoots you a wry smile, but you can’t help but worry regardless.

“Fine, but once that’s quieted, I will be bothering you again,” you say, pointing a finger at him menacingly.

“What’s this about noisy stomachs?” Gale asks, walking over with a plate stacked full of meats, cheeses, smears, breads, and assorted fruits. Far too much food for the two of you who could eat it– Perhaps more than would feed you for a week. “Why, I have just the remedy.”

The three of you, well Gale and yourself, enjoy the feast he’s prepared for you, chattering all the while about the various things you’ve seen in his tower, what he’s gotten up to in the last hundred and fifty years, and your life back in Neverwinter. You’re surprised when even Astarion chimes in with his own questions about your current life.

You learn about Gale’s latest research. They learn about your time at the arcane college in Neverwinter. Collectively, you reminisce about times that you’ve only witnessed through dreams. 

Together you have a pleasant afternoon, one that quickly turns into evening as you continue to chat. The entire conversation and atmosphere bring about a warmth you’d missed in your ‘normal’ life. Seated at Gale’s round kitchen table like this, you can almost pretend that this is your life. Perhaps it is now.

It’s only after a small “Ahem, ahem” interrupts Gale’s latest recounting of a particularly explosive application of the Weave that you all realize how late it’s gotten. “Mr. Dekarios, I’m glad that you and your friend have gotten reacquainted, but I am afraid I require your assistance in the dining room.”

“Tara! Of course, I shall pop right on over.” Gale turns to you and Astarion, smiling at you both in turn. “Well, my friends. It seems I’m needed for the party preparations. I hope you don’t mind my absence.”

“Not at all, Gale,” you respond, bowing your head in acknowledgement. “Hosting is plenty of work without my showing up here unaccounted for.”

“Nonsense!” Gale cries, standing up from his chair with a few creaking bones. “Why this may be the best birthday present I’ve ever received.”

His words sound so genuine, his smile so sincere, that you nearly miss what he’s said. A birthday present. Oh gods, I need to get him a present. “Say, Gale,” you say, catching his attention before he leaves. “When is the party proper?”

“Oh, right.” He gives a lighthearted chuckle, looking at Astarion as he does so. “You’ll forgive me for the befuddling schedule– it’s the only way I can ensure Astarion actually shows up on time. You know how he likes to avoid people.”

“Not to worry, I understand.” You snicker, only to earn an indignant elbow from Astarion. 

Gale looks between you two knowingly, and you feel your face flush under his sympathetic eyes. “Well, let’s see…” The man begins a countdown on his fingers. “Including tonight, the party is in five nights.”

“Oh!” you breath out, surprised. Plenty of time to explore the city, to hopefully speak to Gale, and, most importantly, acquire a present for him. “Sounds lovely. Thank you, Gale.”

“My pleasure,” he says. “I shall see you two on the morrow then.” Gale gives you both one last wink before following Tara out of the kitchen.

That’s how you and Astarion are left alone once more. The silence that settles between you is all at once easy and yet deeply uncomfortable. You want to fill it with something, but what can you say? That you know he wants Gale to dissuade you from your goals? That you haven’t known a peace like this in your entire lifetime and you’re afraid it isn’t meant to be yours?

Whatever it is, you need to say something, to fill the silence. You turn toward him in your seat and begin, “Astarion–”

“Darling, I–”

You both stop before you start, realizing that you’re interrupting each other. You’re the first to collect your bearings. “Go ahead, Astarion.”

He smiles at you and the tenderness in his eyes is difficult to miss, catching you off guard. “I just wanted to thank you.” When you only offer him a puzzled look, he elaborates, “For coming with me. I know it was a bit of a gamble for you after, well, everything. But this is already proving to be more… tolerable, than most years.”

His words spark a tingle in your chest, cause a warmth to bloom on your cheeks. It’s a compliment of sorts, and one that you weren’t expecting to receive. Given his sullen attitude and snarky comments, you’d expected a half-sarcastic, ‘This has been riveting.’

But the man never fails to surprise you. So you’re left speechless, nodding at his thanks, unsure of how to accept them.

“Now, what had you wanted to say, darling?” he asks, expression back in a confident mask, as if his words hadn’t just blanketed you in a deluge of emotions.

What had you meant to say? Right. You had wanted to fill in the silence, which seems almost banal in the wake of his sincere thanks. You comb through your own thoughts as quickly as you can, trying to find a reason to speak, to answer his expectant gaze.

“Would you like some blood?”

He blinks at you and you blink back, as if neither of you had expected you to say this. His response comes a moment later, a bit guarded, “I suppose I could use a snack. But with all of the day’s travel and your rather delicate constitution, are we sure that’s the best idea, darling?”

It may not have been your first or most pressing thought, but now that you’ve said it, you realize that feeding him is still quite important to you. So you press on. “I’ll be fine. It’s plenty late and I’ll be able to sleep off any ill effects,” you assure him.

“In that case, perhaps we first head back to our room? That way I won’t have to carry your limp body up several flights of stairs.” His use of ‘our’, his quick acceptance of your offer, it all feels so surreal. Maybe that’s what friendship means to him, but it’s sending you and your body mixed signals.

Either way, you agree without argument, and you both head back to your shared quarters.

Once you’re standing in the center of the room, you ask, “Where would you like me?” 

Astarion raises a suggestive eyebrow at you. “Oh, you absolute fiend. Here I was, thinking that a bite on the wrist was already quite intimate.”

“Astarion,” you chide, ignoring the way his low, sultry voice sets your skin alight. “I meant, would you prefer the bed, the couch, maybe a chair?”

“How dull, darling. The bed then,” he says, gesturing toward the yet untouched plush, blue bedding. 

You follow his direction and sit on the bed. After taking a quick breath, you get to work, rolling up the sleeve of your robe for him and exposing the tender flesh of your wrist to him. “Here you are,” you say, holding out your wrist to him as he takes a spot next to you.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, taking hold of your wrist, angling it back and forth between his cold fingers, as if trying to find just the right spot to bite.

“What’s the matter?” you ask, after the third rotation.

“It’s nothing, dear,” he says, fingers trailing the line of veins extending from your wrist. With his soft touch shocking your brain into submission, you barely register his words as he continues, “I was thinking, perhaps, I might need to bite a bit more carefully to keep you from growing faint again. I’m afraid I had rather gotten used to biting that delectable neck in your past-life.”

You gulp and you’re certain that the sound is audible to you both. “Is that so? Would you… prefer a neck?”

“Don’t you worry your lovely little head, darling,” he says, bending his head over your wrist. “I shall manage.”

You’re about to protest, to insist that he’s allowed to bite your neck, even as your heart pounds brutally in your chest at the thought– but his fangs sink in before a word can escape your lips and you’re left huffing out a small sigh.

Astarion’s lips smile against your wrist, and, were it not for the kind consideration he’d just shown you, you may have smacked him on his beautiful silver head for it.

Much like the previous times he’s had a nibble, his seemingly involuntary hums are more the source of your lightheadedness than anything else. The deep rumble that sounds from his chest sends your heart into a frenzied rhythm that your blood just can’t appear to keep up with.

Calm down, you think, imagining images of still water, light breezes, soft cats. Calm down or you will fall back again. Nothing seems to be working to quiet your pounding heart and, as you look at the angle of his nose, the soft curve of his cheek, you can feel your breath catching, your vision blurring.

No, you repeat to yourself. He will starve himself if it means you don’t get injured, keep yourself together. You’re startled by how accurate the thought sounds to your own mind. You knew he cared about you, but had you ever really sat down and understood the depth of it? However, you don’t have time to think about the implications of his concern because your world is beginning to spin.

Breathe, you command of yourself. You take a deep breath. 

Another, you think, and you feel your eyes start to focus as fresh air enters your body. 

Two large breaths later and you’re feeling significantly better– your heart is still racing, but the room has stilled and your body feels your own again. Just in time too, as you feel Astarion take one last drink from your veins, remove his fangs, and breathe a sigh of bliss onto your skin. 

When he pulls back to look at you, the flush on his face, the pink on his ears is still somehow worth the miserable feeling of blood loss. “So darling,” he says, licking his blood-stained lips. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine,” you say, smiling at him with the best, least exhausted grin you can manage. Certainly better than you have after your previous feedings. “Though I do think it is your fault that I feel faint sometimes.”

“Really?” Astarion asks, raising an eyebrow at you. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Well,” you start, not sure how to approach the issue with him, but needing to tell him all the same. “I think it’s the noises you make while you feed. My heart just, erm, panics a bit.”

Astarion looks at you with a blank expression. “Noises?”

Ah, so they are involuntary. “Yes, the mmm’s and the hmm’s and the–”

“Stop that.” Astarion raises a hand up to your face, placing it over your mouth. When you look toward him to see what could be the matter, you see that a blush covers his cheeks, that the tips of his ears have turned a deep red. “I– I thought I’d stopped doing that years ago.”

It’s as if time stills. You struggle with your confused, nervous thoughts as you register his embarrassment, the words he’s said.

Astarion is blushing, your brain thinks.

Of course, the rational part of you counters. He’s just fed, he’s going to have some blood in his system for a while.

But he’s blushing because of something I said, you supply.

Your mind goes blank at the thought.

You’re grateful that you can’t reply to Astarion, not with his hand over your mouth, because you’re not certain what is liable to come out of it at the moment. 

Luckily, Astarion continues to speak, not releasing your face, “Well, I apologize for the noises. I’ll try to control that. In the meanwhile, why don’t we get ready for bed? It’s been a long day.”

You nod into his hand, after which he removes it from your mouth. His face continues to have a touch of pink, and his eyes refuse to meet yours. You can hardly be bothered by it, because the only things running in circles in your mind are the feel of Astarion’s hand on your face, the sight of his perfectly blushed cheeks, and the fact that, somehow, despite everything, he still cares about your well-being.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You end up having to take a quick bath to clear your mind, and you both get ready for bed separately. However, at the end of the day, you both wind up in the same, immense bed after all is said and done.

You thought that maybe something big would happen. Perhaps that he would recoil from you. Or worse, grab onto you. Maybe that the earth would open up and swallow you both. But nothing of the sort happens.

You both simply lay down, tuck yourselves in a variety of soft blankets, rest your heads on the best down pillows magic can conjure, and remain several feet apart on the massive bed.

Much like last night, Astarion puts out the lantern next to the bed and whispers to you, “Goodnight, darling.”

“Goodnight, Astarion.”

There’s simply no way that your reverie will take you tonight, of that you’re sure. You’re convinced of it, because all you can hear is the pounding of your heart, the muffled breath you take when you try to be quiet. But eventually, against all odds, your trance does overtake you.

That night as you enter your reverie, you blink your eyes open to a familiar inn.

Again, the establishment is dead, not a soul in sight in this remote village. And, as always, the innkeep reaches down into their front desk, pulling out another book.

It looks to be a book that they’ve already started– a bookmark is placed about halfway through its pages. The cover is mostly plain, a black leather with a large tower embossed in the center. In the smallest script you catch the title before they open the book, “The Midnight Tower and its Master.”

The innkeep flips open to their current page and begins to read… 

When you wake up from your reverie a few hours later, you sit up with a gasp, a hand clutching at your chest in surprise.

Next to you, Astarion stirs, looking at you with a drowsy concern. “Darling, are you alright?”

“I–I’m fine,” you say, taking several deep breaths. “I dreamt of the tower.”

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion masterlist #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #when he's all but forgotten how to love again #whabfhtla #reincarnation trope #elf!tav #astarion x you

[alwritey-aphrodite]

The holiday blurbs are here!! Ahhh!! ❤️❤️

Going to request decorating with Roy Kent 🥰

2023 Holiday Blurbs

When you were younger, your entire reasoning behind dreaming for a big house was to enough space to be able to decorate for the holidays exactly how you imagined it, inside and out. You loved being festive, no matter the time of year, and the act of planning out what to buy and where to put everything was the perfect outlet for your creative energy.

Now that that dream was realized, you’re keeping your promise to that younger version of you, going above and beyond with decorating for the seasons.

“How many more bags are there in the car?” Roy asks on your second trip into the house, coffee cup held aloft halfway to his mouth. You look almost sheepish for a moment, before you grin and set down your shopping bags, turning back to the car to grab the rest.

“Only a couple!” You shout out as you close the front door against the cold, leaving Roy to shake his head at your antics and resist the urge to look through the bags, curiosity beginning to gnaw at him. Even in your relatively short time living together, Roy has learned that it’s best to let you take the reins when it comes to decorating, knowing that he doesn’t care and you care enough for the both of you.

Once you return, throwing your keys onto the counter and diving right in to sort through your purchases, Roy is right there with you, following your instructions on what to put where. For the most part, you’re a well-oiled machine, and Roy never gets impatient, no matter how much his arms must be aching as you try and decide if something would look better upstairs or downstairs.

“Phoebe’s coming over later, to help with the tree,” you tell him as you finish up with the last of your latest decor haul, “and I figured we could make dinner and watch a movie, make a whole night out of it.” The holidays are hard for Phoebe, with her mom’s crazy, unpredictable schedule leading the little girl to miss out on all the classic holiday fun, so you and Roy do your best to make the season as magical as possible.

Roy knows all about your own reasons for going all out for every season, but he also knows that Phoebe loves it more than words can say, especially at Christmas time, and he can’t help but wonder if your impromptu shopping trip today was inspired by the little girl’s visit at all. Either way, it seems like each year, you acquire more and more decorations, and soon there won’t be any more room to store them.

It doesn’t really matter, though, because Roy would buy you a whole other house if it meant you would smile at him like you are now, eyes beaming as you unveil your latest purchases. He loves the way you can’t help but smile whenever you pass by your thoughtfully decorated rooms, and despite his tendency to be seen as a bit of a grump, he always ends up smiling too.

#roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #roy kent imagine #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction

[zoe-oneesama]

What did you think of the explanation about the Rooster Miraculous powers in the episode Destruction? In my opinion it was a enlightening explanation (considering that we are talking about ML), but it also have a few incongruences, like the Lucky Charm and the Genesis, that are very similar powers (sure, they're not the same power, but have a lot in common)

"Enlightening" is not the word I would use.

For one, it's just a rehash of all of That Guy's arguments on the subject in real time, so that's kind of funny. That said, it was pretty much given that they HAD to put this in early in the season or people would be all up their ass about "Why doesn't Gabriel do THIS?" with all these new powers.

I think it's good that the Rooster can't disrupt kwami magic: in this case, the ability to give away other holder's identities. Kwamis themselves can't tell you a name because of magic, so it makes sense that the Rooster, channeled through a Kwami, could also not disrupt this magic. It makes me wonder, then, if the Rooster cannot give the ability to disrupt other kwami's abilities - for example, can the Rooster not give the power to get through Shell-ter or Resistance?

I'm a little put out that the Rooster can't copy other Miraculous abilities ONLY because, thanks to the New York Special, we know there are HUNDREDS of Miraculouses and Kwami, so that *technically* would be very limiting. But I also get they needed to get out of the way that the Rooster can't just make up for any reclaimed Miraculouses or the main two, and in the scale of just the show, this is probably fine. (But maybe don't introduce the idea of HUNDREDS OF POTENTIAL POWERS THAT THE ROOSTER CANNOT GIVE YOU?)

"Sublimation: I give myself the power to shoot ice from my hands!" "Sorry, your request is denied: That power belongs to the Kwami of Loneliness."

The reason Orikko can't do this is something about each kwami represents a concept and you can't have duplicates of the same concept (unless the concept is Replication lmao). So even though some kwamis holder's abilities are similar (like the Goat and Ladybug), because they are different concepts (Passion vs Creation) it's technically allowed because they're not stepping in on each other's turf.

This apparently doesn't stop the butterfly or peacock, though, since we've had SentiPace, Volpina, and Copycat~ sucks to suck Orikko.

And then of course the third "explanation": Orikko can grants powers, not wishes. Thing is they STILL DIDN'T PROPERLY EXPLAIN THE DIFFERENCE IN THE CONTEXT OF THIS SHOW! I STILL do not understand what constitutes as a desire vs power.

Gabriel tells Orikko to grant him the power to locate the Ladybug and Chat Miraculous and they explain that's a wish not a power, but their example ala Xuppu does NOT explain whether or not if Gabriel just rephrased the skill (like, grant me the power to summon the Ladybug and Chat Miraculouses to my hand when I snap my fingers) if THAT would ALSO not be allowed.

Xuppu's analogy is If I Ask Santa for Socks, That's a Wish, but If I Ask Santa for the Power to Make Socks, Santa Has to Know How to Knit Socks In the First Place to Teach Me-

Which just implies that the Rooster can only grant powers that Orikko already knows how to do???? Should've just cut out the "Santa has to know how to knit" part because now there's extra steps.

So basically, the Rooster can't override kwami rules, like the inability to give away holder identities, can't copy other kwami's powers, and can only grant ability type powers, not "wishes" (the definition of which is still not clear and feels like it could be worked around).

This Miraculous needs an instruction manual.

#ml salt #writing salt #rooster salt #destruction

[climbthemountain2020]

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 16

Part 17/26 | Ao3

Eris

It had been a week since the worst and best day of their lives thus far, and Eris was fighting every single base urge the mating bond thrust upon him each time he saw his mate and knew she was pregnant with their child. He’d barely let her leave the room since, both because of the sudden protective streak he was experiencing, but also because it had triggered something feral in him that required him to pull her naked body back into their bed every time she tried to depart it. She would giggle and they’d resume right where they left off, touching and laughing and exploring each other again. It was like they were experiencing the frenzy of the bond all over again, but Eris wasn’t complaining. 

He knew this couldn’t last–knew something would disturb this fragile, glorious peace–but gods, he wanted it to.  

That morning, a letter had arrived in their rooms requesting his presence in the throne room at sunrise, and he was regretting his duties every second he spent not in bed with Tilly. She was still sleeping, bordered by dogs on each side, as he kissed her gently and left their rooms. He knew she’d been tired lately, and he wasn’t going to wake her for no reason. He left a note with her breakfast, remembering fondly the first time he’d done so, and tried to make this one a bit sweeter. 

Good morning, beautiful creature 

You simply looked too peaceful to wake, and I hope you’re having wonderful dreams–of me, obviously. I brewed your favorite tea, set to stay heated, as well as procuring more chocolate tarts. I’ll be back in an hour or so. 

All my love, 

E

He tucked it under the pillow when he set her tray on the night table, taking another look at her and wondering how he’d possibly lucked into this. Beron aside, he didn’t know how anyone could have received such fortune in life. Perhaps the universe was finally allowing him a reprieve in exchange for the previous five centuries of torture. 

He walked to the throne room, cracking his neck as he went and preparing mentally for whatever Beron had in mind. He tried to smother the happiness he felt so it wouldn’t show on his face, letting that steel mask slide into place as it always did. He walked in with purpose, sketched a bow, and rose. 

“How may I be of service, father?”

“I need you in Dawn Court to finish brokering the deal for the new adaptive armor we commissioned.” Eris was aware of this deal. Thesan had agreed, after much negotiation, to create armor for the soldiers of Autumn. It had certain specifications in mind, made them stronger, heat resistant, and less likely to melt in the case of an onslaught of fire magic. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, but Eris hadn’t done much with it at this point. It wasn’t a particularly difficult trip, though. They might even be able to stop by Day Court and talk to Helion before returning home. 

“Yes, father. When will we be leaving?” 

“Tomorrow morning. You will need to go alone, and be subtle there. I don’t want to risk anyone seeing you and thinking we’re brokering some type of alliance. That’s the last thing we need.” Eris was immediately uncomfortable with Tilly being left behind, his instincts roaring within him to stay nearby and protect her, protect their baby.

“Understood, father.” 

“I will be off to the mortal lands for meetings with the human queens.” This information did shock Eris, but he kept his expression schooled. 

“The human queens? I did not realize we were still in contact after the mishap with Brialyn.” 

“Yes, I am building contacts with them. More allies can never hurt, especially not when they have a tense relationship with the Night Court.” Beron leered in a way that sent a chill through Eris. At least Beron would be far from Tilly in his absence. “Do not disappoint me, Eris. This is a very simple deal, and I need it to go through without any issues.” Eris simply bowed. 

“Yes, father.” 

On his way back to their rooms to pack, he thought about how he might approach the meeting with Helion. He could send a parchment from Day that was unlikely to be intercepted begging for an audience, then go straight there after Day to speak with him. He could see if Helion would be willing to at least help break the charm preventing Beron from being poisoned so that they could try again. Truly, he knew Helion wouldn’t do anything to compromise Alanna’s sons, as much as he hated Beron. He knew he’d be safe in Day, even if he wasn’t well-liked. He could explain the situation to Helion, and perhaps he would warm more if he knew the details. As a last resort, he could even exchange his knowledge of Lucien. Eris didn’t like it for anyone’s sake, least of all his mother’s, and he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

Tilly had just risen when Eris returned. She was sitting there on the still-ruffled bed, eating her pastries. She smiled at him as he came inside, and Eris thought he’d never seen anything quite so beautiful. Her red hair was tousled, waving lazily in the low light, and she was wearing a silk dressing gown that slipped deliciously off one freckled shoulder. 

“Got your note!” She held it up with a grin. “Thank you for the tea and tarts. I might live off tea and tarts if you let me.” He laughed as he came and sat on the side of the bed, giving her a kiss and tasting the chai and chocolate on her lips. 

“I’m surprised the dogs aren’t here begging.” He’d practically had to pry Hestia away from Tilly this past week. She and Cinder had become incredibly protective, going nearly everywhere she went and growling at anyone else who got too close. 

“I gave them their breakfast a bit ago and I may have given them some sausages to get a little reprieve.” Her smile turned guilty as she said it, but her eyes were filled with mischief. He reached up, letting his hand graze her jaw lightly. 

“I have to go away for a few days.” Her face dropped at the news, worry creasing her brow. 

“Why? I can’t come?” He knew she would worry–he understood. 

“It’s just a few days in Dawn. I need to finish a deal for Beron, who will, blessedly, also be gone from the Forest House.” Tilly breathed a deep sigh of relief. 

“Well, that’s not so terrible. Despite missing you while you’re gone.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. 

“I’ll be missing you every moment I am away. Perhaps you and my mother can spend some time together. I know she blooms when he’s gone, and it’ll keep you company, too.” She smiled and nodded. 

“I’d like that.” 

“And you’re good to keep the glamours up while I’m away?”

“Yes, I can do it. Not like I’d be using any other magic without you here.” She laughed a little, and he relented, kissing her again. A few quick pecks turned slower, more sensual. He could never get enough of her, and he knew that no measure of time would satisfy him. He trailed the kisses down her chest, sending all the love and affection that burned through the pathways of his heart down the bond and into her as she inhaled deeply. 

He pressed a kiss to the spot beneath her navel as she sighed in contentment. He inhaled, loving the mix of flames and oranges that washed over him. It was going to be the longest few days of his life. 

“Are you absolutely sure you’ll be alright while I’m gone? Perhaps I can figure out a way–”

“Eris, it’s fine. I have spent so much of my life by myself. I can manage a few days.” He pouted, putting on a dramatic show for her as she laughed. 

“I am hoping to get a letter to Helion. Perhaps he might be able to help.” Her expression sobered as she sat back up, Eris rising with her to press a kiss to her bare shoulder. 

“Let’s hope he will.” 

Tilly

Tilly rolled stiffly across the bed, bumping the sleeping dogs and earning grumbles as she did. 

“Oh, hush. I can’t help it that I can’t sleep. You’re the ones choosing to be here, anyway.” Eris had been gone for a day now, and she missed him sorely, but it was so much worse at night. She hated sleeping away from him–had grown so used to his warm body curved around hers that she couldn’t sleep without him here. Even with three dogs on the bed, she felt cold and lonely. She rolled again, tugging the bond lovingly and sending sweet thoughts through that mighty ribbon to him. It took barely a moment before she felt it echoing back, his amusement–likely at her still being awake–dancing around with love and devotion. 

At this distance, the bond was so incredibly faint–delayed, even–but she was glad for it only to know he was safe and to have that small bit of comfort. She and Alanna had done tea in the garden that afternoon which had been a nice reprieve, especially with the lack of Beron’s overbearing guard lingering over them like a dark cloud. Tilly loved how much lighter the Lady of Autumn was when she wasn’t being chained down by Beron’s presence, but it made it so much more painful to see her locked back down upon his return. 

They’d discussed flowers and the weather, and Alanna had tentatively mentioned the upcoming solstice, but nothing about the ticking clock hanging over their heads. A part of her wondered if Alanna didn’t sense it, didn’t already know about the grandchild cradled within Tilly’s womb. They would have told her, but they didn’t want to be responsible for giving her a single additional piece of information that Beron could torture out of her or punish her for keeping from him. They’d have to figure out soon how long they planned to hide this before they absolutely couldn’t anymore. She hoped Eris’ meeting with Helion would produce some good leads and keep them from worrying about it altogether. 

Another roll and a frustrated sigh. She was probably only about two months along at most, and the uncomfortable nights would only become more commonplace from here. At least with Eris around, he could provide his warm hands pressed against her back for some relief. She smiled at the thought. Eris was going to be such a wonderful father, and as terrible as the circumstances were, she couldn’t help but feel genuinely excited about the prospect of seeing him in the role. She could imagine him rubbing circles into her back, holding her hands as she brought their baby into the world. She could picture Eris so vividly holding him or her against his chest, tiny tufts of bright red baby curls perfectly puffing up from the blanket. The visual brought tears to her eyes, as most things seemed to these days. 

A frantic pounding on the doors broke through the darkness. 

“Matilda! Matilda, help!” 

Alanna. 

The dogs were barking and snarling, and Tilly shot out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown to wrap tightly around her as she ran to the door. The pounding was growing louder and more hectic. 

“Matilda, please!” She threw up her glamours and waved down the wards in the same breath, swinging the door open in a panic. 

“Alanna, what’s–” 

But it wasn’t Alanna she found on the other side. 

She was greeted with the twisted smile of Aradnus, holding a handkerchief covered in a bright blue powder. The voice had been a trick of magic, and in the seconds it took her to put it all together and try to slam the door on him, he’d gotten his entire arm around her throat and pressed the cloth to her nose and mouth. She could think of nothing as her vision began to blur, her senses dulling rapidly. She struggled wildly against him, the dogs snarling and snapping behind her as he kicked the door closed on them, dragging her out into the hall. 

As the darkness closed in, she tried to reach out through the bond to warn Eris, but the golden thread of flame was nowhere to be found. 

Taglist (lomls): @cauldronblssd@queercontrarian@byyalady@thelovelymadone@clockwork-ashes@lovingkelj @lilah-asteria

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #eris x oc #eris vanserra #eris acotar #vanserra brothers #flame of autumn #arranged marriage #allies to lovers #eris vanserra x oc #acotar smut #Eris smut

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 9: Oliver's Anticipation

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: Imprisonment, mind control, restraints

He was next.

He tried to talk to Emily, to get his mind off of things, but it wasn't working.

Medium course of conditioning.

This could be his last few hours with a mind that was his own.

Obedience and docility.

He had to resist it, but he didn't know how, didn't even know what they were going to do to him. He'd read about hypnotism and mesmerism in pulpy magazines before, but he didn't believe any of that truly worked. This was clearly different -- vampires, with supernatural means. He had no way of knowing what they were going to do to him. It could be anything from the most painful torture to something that was over in an instant. The waitress in the cell next to Emily's certainly wasn't forthcoming with details.

"So, um... when you get back to your bookshop, you were saying you need to fix the shelves in the history section..."

"Yes," said Oliver curtly. He wanted to comfort Emily, but his heart wasn't in playing along with this game right now.

"...I'm sorry," she said.

"I'm sorry, too. After all, you're in the same situation as me."

"I'm not going to let them have their way," she said, voice brimming with determination, determination that Oliver envied.

"I suppose not," he said. He left the rest of it unspoken, the fact that she was still going to be sold to a vampire. "They've been gone with Joe a while now."

"I wonder what they're doing to him. They said they were erasing him. Do you think he'll be like Betty here, unable to talk...?"

"Unfortunately, I think that's a possibility."

The possibility that they would also do the same thing to the two of them hung in the air, unspoken. Cecily had mentioned leaving his mind intact, but who could say what that meant to them?

"I mean it, though," she said. "I'm not going to let those vampires do whatever they please. And you shouldn't either. You're smart and deserve your own life -- we both do. There must be some way to stop them."

"Yeah, there must be," he said, not quite believing it.

"If it's pain they use -- I've been through a lot of pain, I've been beaten plenty before, and --"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm saying that I've been beaten plenty and still never gave in. And if it's fear they're going to use, well, I'm not afraid of them. And if it's magic...? I guess it's magic, then, but I'm still going to fight them as much as I can."

"Right," said Oliver. "We both should. Our minds are precious. They might be all we have left. I don't want to live forever as a mindless servant. If there's a way out, we have to find it."

The sound of the lunch cart startled them out of their conversation. Oliver was surprised by at the meal placed in front of him: a juicy steak already cut, whipped potatoes with butter, a large pile of leafy greens.

"You got a steak?" said Emily. "I got a ham sandwich."

"The vampires said they were changing my diet."

"Oh. Do you think..."

"Do I think this food is meant to make my blood richer and more delicious to them? Yes." He stared down at the meal, determined to enjoy it anyway. If this meal was his last, if he was turned into a vegetable after lunch, he may as well. The steak was perfectly seasoned and served medium rare, the kind of meat that Oliver rarely splurged on, and he savored each bite. 

The delicious food only provided the briefest of respites from Oliver's dark thoughts, as he became increasingly aware that his hour must be approaching. His mouth felt dry and his hands shook, and when he heard footsteps approaching, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was exactly as they had feared. Joe, who had been dragged from his cell screaming, was now following along behind Lily with an empty look on his face. He was trailed by a couple of scrawny looking vampires, people that would be no match for Joe if they didn't have superhuman strength.

"Joe!" Emily called out. "Joe, can you hear me?"

There was no reaction at all, not the slightest twinge of recognition on his face.

"Joe, talk to me. Give me a sign you're still in there," said Oliver, as Joe walked back into his cell. He was met with utter silence.

"Yes, this one," said Lily, pointing Oliver out to the other vampires. "Lot Seven."

It was time.

Oliver shrank back and flattened himself against the wall of his cell, looking for anything sturdier than the faucet to latch onto, as they unlocked his cell and entered it.

"Please don't be afraid." Lily smiled and held out her hand like she was coaxing a small child. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"The hell you aren't! You erased Joe's mind!"

"I'm not going to do that to you. You have nothing to fear."

There was nowhere to run, no chance of escape, but he had to do something, at least make an effort to save himself. He ran for the small opening between the two vampires, but he didn't even make it past Lily, who grabbed him firmly by the arm with an unshakeable grip.

"Take his legs, and I'll support his head," said Lily.

"No, no!" Oliver thrashed in the vampires' grasp, to no avail. They were carrying him away with ease, taking him to his fate. "Emily!" he called out as he passed her cell. 

"Stay strong! Remember what we said!" she said, clutching at the bars of her cell. 

The vampires moved quickly. People in the cells watched fearfully as he went past, and then he was out of the prison area, out into the halls, taken into a sterile looking room with low lighting and a soft leather chair. They made swift work restraining him in the chair with thick cloth straps around his wrists and torso, his fierce struggles barely posing an inconvenience to them. One wrapped a cloth gag around his mouth, ignoring Oliver's desperate attempt to bite him.

Finally, with Oliver helplessly secured, the two vampire helpers left the room, leaving him alone with Lily.

She pulled up a chair opposite him and smiled. "I know you're nervous, but you truly have nothing to worry about. I'm going to help you."

The curses he spat at her were muffled from behind the gag, but he thought she could probably understand them anyway.

Part Eight >> Masterlist >> Part Ten

Thank you for reading this story about a man who is doomed.

Tag list - please note if you'd like to be added

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #mind control #vampire #tw kidnapping #vampire whumper #captivity #rare bookseller #oliver #lily

[letstrythisout4]

Chapter 2: Blaise Zabini and his newly found ability to hate a hat.

Series Masterlist

The second that Blaise steps out on to the platform he is immediately able to locate his mother. With her dark skin, perfect curls and absurdly elegant robes she draws all the attention to her. Causing Blaise to sneer at several people who refuse to stop ogling at his mother, though he quickly hides his expression when his mother notices.

“Be nice.” she pestered.

“But I’m not a nice person.” Blaise mumbles earning him an elbow to the side as his mother observes the crowd. Not being a nice person is something he’s come to accept about himself, he can’t help but notice people's flaws and make quick judgements about people’s character. “But the difference between being not a nice person and being a bad person is that I keep that to myself unlike-”

“There goes the Malfoy’s” his mother states smoothly in Mandarin, interrupting his train of thought.

“Unlike him.” Blaise finishes. 

Blaise doesn’t hate Draco Malfoy…he just harbors a deep disliking for him.

 Over the years of observing him at pureblood events that his mother forces him to attend, for publicity, Blaise has decided that Draco goes against practically every standard that Blaise holds people to. He is pompous, entitled, prejudiced against muggles and muggleborns, is incapable of forming opinions outside of his fathers rhetoric, and refuses to see his own flaws. “That’s another difference, I can admit I’m not the best person while he is convinced that there is no one better than him.” Blaise thinks to himself, shaking his head.

“I know you dislike them but it would make your life easier to at the very least be friendly to Draco. Not friends but friendly.” His mother advised in Mandarin. “Oh there is Theo, you like Theo.” she continues.

Blaise tilts his head at that, all he can think to say is “like is a strong word” focusing on his inflection and pronunciation of every word. Mandarin has always been the language he struggles with, he tried to use this as an excuse to not go to Hogwarts asking his mother to send him abroad to practice and learn about the history of magic there.

She quickly shut that down.

As Theodore Nott stood there next to his father, it was impossible to ignore the similarities. Same deep brown hair and pale skin with just enough pink to avoid looking as dead as the Malfoys. Theo was someone Blaise had formed a quiet alliance with over the years. Alliance not friendship. They don’t hangout, they don’t write to each other. They simply seek each other out during pureblood events and stand next to each other as they people watch, so they don’t look lonely. 

By the time Blaise decides to come back to the present his mother has decided that it is time to abandon him. She kisses both sides of his face and brings him into a tight hug. And switching into English, “You know I love you, right?” she asked uncharacteristically worried.

“Of course I do.” Blasie quickly answered. There were many things he wondered and doubted but never that. “I love you too, Ma.”

“Well so long as you know that I guess it's time for me to go.” leaning in before adding in Mandarin  “ I know you won’t go out of your way to make friends, but please don’t immediately reject anyone who extends kindness towards you.” she asks with the slightest crease in her brow.

Blaise hummed to himself taking in her request. He doesn’t like to lie to his mom…but he really doesn’t want to do that. 

As he prepares himself to confess his thoughts to his mother he sees how serious she is…”Okay, I’ll try.” he agrees reluctantly.

“That's all I ask.” she states with an easy smile, a real smile. 

And with that, she walks towards the fireplaces nodding cordially to those she passes. While Blaise puts his trunk with the others and boards the train. Only to be met immediately with Theodore Nott. Seeing Theo, Blaise resists the urge to sigh ‘Perfect’ he thinks to himself as Theo follows him into a compartment. He can live with this, this same silent agreement to hover around each other as to not be forced to interact with other people.

Blaise is quick to take the window seat that will allow him to see the most outside the window. But then his ears pick up on that annoying posh drawl that Blaise so desperately doesn’t want to hear.

"No no no no no no no, please Universe don’t let him walk in here.” he prays silently, turning his head up towards the sky. Only to hear the compartment door open and the owner of the drawl plop himself down and two mindless snickers following its every statement. 

He forces himself to open his eyes and face Draco Malfoy and his two lackeys. Blaise takes in Malfoys appearance one feature at a time to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret. New polished black dress shoes, clothes that aren’t wrinkled per say but not ironed to the degree that the Zabini’s ensured their clothes consistently were. Facial features so point Blaise was sure Draco was made up entirely of right angles…and not in a good way. Blaise couldn’t help but think to himself ‘his forehead is MASSIVE’ as he takes in how gelled back Malfoy’s hair is. 

As soon as the intrusive thought was processed, Blaise couldn’t stop his shoulders from shaking and the laugh that escaped him.

“What’s so funny, Zabini?” Draco antagonized.

Fortunately Blaise was saved from responding when Pansy Parkinson burst through the doors taking up the last spot next to Draco.

Parkinson was…honestly someone Blaise pitied. Younger sister to an older brother, it's clear she’s being trained to be a perfect pureblood woman rather than anything of actual importance to her family legacy. Which is rather stupid considering Blaise has seen how quick she can be in social situations, something that could make her a great head of house. ‘Especially since her brother is so damn lazy’ Blaise reflects.

Blaise sits back and observes the nonsense surrounding him. Draco is busy dominating the conversation bragging about how he spent the last couple months in Paris visiting family and “learning complex magic”. While Pansy dutifully asks just the right amount of questions to get on Draco’s good side and Goyle and Crabbe stare dumbly and nod at Draco. (Theo sits with a book, something Blaise is a bit jealous of). 

As the hours fly by, Blaise jumps at the opportunity to go change into his Hogwarts robes. He heads to the bathroom rather than switch out in the compartment like the others, just to have a moment to himself. Once changed and having exhausted the amount of time that is reasonable to spend changing in the bathroom. He takes his time walking back to his compartment, contemplating how possible it is for him to apparate home (despite not knowing exactly how) and convince his mother to not send him right back. Accepting that the plan will never work (not because he doesn’t know how to apparate but because his mother will just find some way to leave him at Hogwarts doorstep) he walks back into the compartment, immediately noticing that everyone's robes are at the best wrinkled and at worst -Crabbe and Goyle- completely rumpled. The second hand embarrassment almost makes him walk back out. And it's not necessarily because the clothes are rumpled but rather the fact that they don’t care just how…frumpy they look. It's really not that hard to fold your clothes to make sure they don’t look like a hippogriff trampled over them. 

Resolving himself to mentally complain about their laziness later he imagines what house they will all be in. Which he concludes rather immediately is a stupid topic to ponder because he’d be shocked if they were anything other than Slytherins. Theo has the quiet cunning nature, Parkinson is ambitious enough to prove herself as more than just someone's sister, kissing up to someone has to be a form of self-preservation so there goes Goyle and Crabbe and Malfoy… Malfoy is Malfoy. His father raised him to be exactly what Blaise pictures Salazar wanted when he established who should be in his house. As for Blaise himself… well he’s nothing if not resourceful.

Eventually mercy comes in the form of the train slowing down. They file out and hop into boats at the command of the gamekeeper. But apparently mercy has an expiration date because somehow Malfoy sits right in front of Blaise and talks at him all about how he’s sure that he’s going to be in Slytherin. By the end of the ride Blaise has no doubt that Malfoy wanted to convince himself that he’s going to be in Slytherin more than he wanted to convince Blaise. They meet Professor McGonagall and Blaise absorbs as much as his tired brain can of what she is saying. The sorting begins and Blaise just decides to wholeheartedly zone out.

 “I’m going to be the last called anyway”, he reasons.

Later rather than sooner hears his name called and sits on the four legged stool in front of the whole school and lets McGonagall place the hat on his head.

“Very very intriguing. Incredibly intelligent and perceptive, that is not even a question. Bravery, tch, maybe under the right circumstance but that's nothing special” he heard a small voice say  Rude, Blaise couldn’t help but think. “Plenty of confidence. But more than anything else is loyalty, you’d do anything for your mother, huh?”-Blaise squirms, the house isn’t actually considering putting him in Hufflepuff is it- “But this loyalty doesn’t extend beyond her does it? I guess this could grow. No matter, sorting is based off values, not character. Sometimes even I forget that.”, confesses the hat. How many people have you miss-sorted because of that? “Hush child, that is none of your concern. Now make your way over to SLYTHERIN!” the hat yelled out the last word to the entire hall. Generating applause from the Slytherin table. 

“Wait wait all that and you’re not going to tell me why you put me in Slytherin, what specific traits I have?!” Blaise questions instantly as McGonagall urges him away. 

“You’ll figure it out someday.” it had the audacity to say ominously.

And from the moment Blaise walked away from the hat to when he finally rested in bed after his nightly routine, all that filled his head was ways to kill that damn hat.

Author’s notes: thanks for reading, appreciate yall.

#blaise zabini #theo nott #theodore nott #pansy parkinson #draco malfoy #slytherin #harry potter

[astrolavas]

Here's an ask for you to talk about any Hunter thing you want to talk about

THIS IS A PERFECT ASK THANK U LMAO i'm gonna use it up now..

been thinking abt all the instances where hunter's shown almost crying but never actually lets himself cry

just. growing up in the emperor's oven and being raised by belos and, in general, going through everything that he went through, he HAD to learn how to completely hide and mask his negative emotions. and it's not sth u can just.. UNLEARN at once.

showing vulnerability in the emperor's coven...... was definitely not sth you could just do, and definitely not a good idea. like, especially in belos' presence, hunter had to learn how to school his emotions and very carefully choose how he presented himself, for his own safety.

and even the coven members themselves; i can't imagine most scouts would react positively if any saw him cry. or even if USUALLY someone crying wouldn't be such a big deal, hunter definitely wouldn't have let himself do that. growing up powerless, he already had to struggle with being seen as less just for not having magic and he had to work twice as hard to be even a little respected. and, as we see in asias, he still isn't treated seriously by most covenheads; part of it COULD be his age but his lack of magic definitely played a big role in how he's perceived as well. in his situation he just.. couldn't afford to let himself appear as vulnerable, at all; even if others had that luxury. he'd rather mask that with anger than show sadness.

just, he was always kept to an impossibly high standard by belos and by his own need to be as helpful as he could, making himself appear as perfectly capable, a-okay, confident and just doing GREAT. which.... we all know he usually isn't doing as well as he likes to pretend he is.

but even if he didn't try to appear as such anymore and wanted to fully open up, after years of having to endure lots and lots of stuff, he just... most likely got used to a lot of it as well. after YEARS of the same bad things happening to you, you just become numb to some of it. dealing with belos, being the golden guard, working at the emperor's coven, having no support or friends, and every other thing he had to go through everyday throughout his entire life; after dealing with so much stuff for so long, you have to cope with it somehow.

numbness/being more resistant to certain things happening and just generally.. having a hard time acknowledging that you're not doing okay, not crying easily, not wanting ppl to pity you, the tendency to avoid confronting your feelings....... all of that can be seen as hunter's trauma response as well as a self-defense mechanism. and now that he's NOT in the emperor's coven anymore, even though he technically SHOULD be able to open up as he realizes he's safe around his friends, it's not gonna come easily to him.

because deep down he feels a LOT, many things constantly, but he's learnt how to deal with that in his own ways and he's been living in this state of having to act like nothing's wrong for Years; so those small moments in which he willingly opens up.. are a lot for him for sure

i can say with full certainty that he DID cry after hollow mind, once he got to hexside and let himself feel everything he felt and process everything he found out. he COULD because he ran away, hid, and was safely stored away from everyone's prying eyes. he cried it all out and THEN he could buuuury all those negative emotions deep down and pretend everything's fine once again, and appear totally "fine" (not fooling anyone though) when he stumbled across gus.

nevertheless, there were SO many moments in which his eyes teared up and he definitely wanted to cry, but he didn't. he's locked all those sad feelings away and it just makes me wonder whether the dam is eventually going to break, and once it all accumulates, once something becomes his last straw and EVERYTHING he's kept hidden for so long finally spills out of him, and the tears come again but this time don't get stopped in time. this would be a BIG moment for him; a sad one but also.. quite cathartic, in a way.

just............ thinking, y'know

#finished the the thread on twitter and ran to use this ask 💀 #anyway............... haha silly little guy right.. ha #nicole answers #hunter toh #Anonymous #my toh talk