#can't form parties without taverns

[nepja]

First female Clavat of this file—Juliet—has been getting alllll the boss wins, and otherwise always does full exploration for that day. Second girl Flora does decently but sometimes comes back early, being the weakest at 2 levels below Juliet, but both male Clavats…

Aside from the very first two days, Gawain just isn't doing well, always coming back early. Leopold either flees or gets wiped out. They're both 1 level above Flora, but 1 below Juliet.

I'm not sending them to areas above their level. I go by Juliet's level, so most of them are at least 1 or 2 levels above the recommended for whatever area they're currently exploring.

[jimblejamblewritings]

Okay, but picture the party finally makes it to Baldur's Gate and they go to confront Gortash first and maybe stop the coronation (if they can do so without bloodshed or at least without killing Wyll's dad accidentally). Gortash of course spills the beans all about Resist!Durge and the companions are upset. Honestly, this might be a hot take but I think they should be even more upset.

There's something so deliciously angsty (and human) about the companions being upset despite knowing that Durge has no memories of who they were before the tadpole and has actively been working to be a better person. They should try to help them and work through this revelation together but they just can't shake the betrayal long enough to see past themselves. Maybe the character they're romancing (I always feel like Halsin and Astarion work best for Durge so they'll be my placeholders for the rest of this but use whoever you romance) is less irrational. But instead of being fully on their side, they're trying to convince Durge to just give the others time and space to come back.

Maybe even Jaheira and Minsc are struggling because to be a Bhaalspawn is one thing but Durge created this entire trouble they're in now.

Durge is feeling utterly alone as they are avoided at camp like the plague. Even when the group moves into Elfsong Tavern, nothing has changed. Karlach who is normally this wonderful bubbly person is the worst of all. Gortash fucked her over majorly and not only was Durge his ally but was clearly involved with him. She can't find it in her to be reasonable.

(more under the cut)

This leads to Durge still being their leader but with essentially no real respect past how they work... until Haarlep. Durge is actively still trying to be a good person although it's getting harder. But that means they don't want to fight and kill at every inconvenience. When Haarlep gives the ultimatum, they choose to give themselves to the incubus to save everyone from getting hurt. It doesn't work and they still have to fight after all is said and done but at least they got the hammer and Raphael is dead. But now, Durge has no respect.

The first time Haarlep uses their form, the companions are disgusted and making jokes at their expense (kind of in line with game dialogue). And Durge is just going through the motions at this point. Now, this kind of needs Yenna in the camp to work but Orin takes Yenna and confronts Durge when they are alone buying supplies to bring back to camp.

Durge decides to go to the Temple of Bhaal alone. A final show of bravado if you will and a final attempt at keeping everyone safe. They defeat Orin. They say no to Bhaal. And they die on the cold stone floor of the temple all alone with nothing but the random Bhaalist member walking about on the upper floors.

Withers shows up but he can't do anything. Not here. If he plays around with Durge's death in this domain then Bhaal might swoop in and take their soul again. Or worse Bane or Myrkul. Durge has to be in a safer place away from the temple. So he summons a hireling to grab the only alliance member Durge truly has at the moment.

One of Gortash's Steel Watch collects Durge's body and takes it all the way to Gortash's mansion in the upper city. The instructions the hireling delivers from Withers are clear: Do not bury the body. Do not tamper with the body in a harmful way. Leave Durge in a safe room until he returns with what he needs. Collect the party.

Obviously, the party is on edge when a steel watcher shows up with Yenna but they aren't being arrested and the alliance is real even if they don't like it. The watcher doesn't say much in case others are around. The message is cryptic but sounds urgent. They arrive in the upper city and Gortash is completely stripped of all the bravado from earlier.

He's stressing how he isn't responsible for this and "that bone man" left them these messages. Feeling like his life won't be in immediate danger anymore, Gortash finally takes them to Durge's bedroom — his master bedroom and the one they used to share many moons ago. All hell breaks loose.

They try everything. Shadowheart's healing. Any spell Wyll has in his repertoire. Halsin's druid magic. Weird githyanki potions from Lae'zel that they've never heard about before. Karlach using up every soul coin she's got to try and just do something. Astarion stays at the foot of the bed just listening. Everyone keeps watching his face and hopes he'll hear a heartbeat or the faintest of breaths but his facial expression never changes. The revivify scrolls don't work. Gale figures this sacrifice is worth it and uses his scroll of true resurrection. It doesn't work.

Jaheira has to pull them away and say there is still work to be done. The alliance with Gortash is now at its peak with everyone bonded through this tragedy. No one even objects when he takes all three Netherstones. It subdues the brain for now, allows them to plan accordingly. Karlach pushes aside all her pain and lets Gortash know loud and clear that Durge is the only reason she doesn't murder him where he stands. He doesn't even have a quip for that, just nods before getting back to work.

Everyone is concerned about Astarion the most. They all shed tears, screamed, were right messes. He's been void of any visible sadness. It's strange how he's acting like nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

They all keep checking on Durge, late apologies always spilling from their lips. Withers finally returns. They abandon all missions and plans and huddle in Durge's room. But it isn't dramatic. There's no roaring back to life, no huge gasps of breath, no sitting up or calling out. It's like nothing has changed. But Withers did everything. Yet there isn't a difference. Until Astarion sees it. Not a heartbeat to be heard yet but blood begins to warm Durge up. Withers encourages them all to return to work and leave his Chosen to rest. Durge has to stitch themselves back together before their soul can settle in and they can rise.

Halsin and Astarion are the worst at following his instructions. They only half pay attention to plans and never leave for missions at the same time even if the party would benefit from both being there. Halsin refuses to let a steel watcher continue to take care of Durge. He can clean them up from any sweat or dust that acquires on their resting form. He'll change their sleepwear every other night. Astarion is the one to watch them all night, needing the least amount of sleep out of everyone.

The companions start thinking of how to apologize to Durge's face once they finally awaken. It could be any day now. A tray of food and a pitcher of water are left on the nightstand and switched out daily in case Durge awakens while no one is home. Clothes that get washed more frequently than needed are folded neatly and placed on a chair right by the bed. Every garment belongs to Astarion and Halsin even though they know where Durge's wardrobe is.

Astarion actually starts thanking whatever gods are listening when Durge's heartbeat finally reaches his ears. It's not as strong as before but it's there. Everything might be alright he thinks as he calls everyone in. Then the tadpoles connect. Durge isn't even truly awake but the parasite is already back in business. And everyone sees what Durge is going through as they try to wake. Everyone relives the temple, Haarlep, Kressa, every vulnerable moment of Durge. They see the horror of when the urge first appeared. And then a realization that while the others are nightmares and memories resurfacing, Haarlep is now. Durge's form is still being used because why would an incubus care.

It's not an apology by a longshot but the companions decide they can at least take out Haarlep. They've killed a devil. An incubus isn't a threat. For once, both Astarion and Halsin leave.

Breakfast the next day is a lighter affair. Not pleasant, not with them having to tolerate Gortash, but light. And then in Durge's room, they finally awaken. It still isn't dramatic. Maybe because no one is there to make it feel so. Durge gets up, changes into what was folded up in the chair, and shakily exits their room.

The dramatics finally start once they make their way downstairs and into the dining room. Before Durge has a chance to process what all is happening, they are being seated and having a plate set in front of them. Without question, Gortash hands over Orin and Ketheric's Netherstones. Maybe in some fancy accessory or weapon for ease of wielding. Withers appears to look upon his Chosen, happy (as happy as he likes to let on) that they seem to be relatively healthy already.

Karlach begins to apologize first. It's heartfelt and profuse and completely cut off by Durge. That's fine, anger is to be expected. But Durge isn't angry. They aren't even addressing Karlach. Instead, they wearily ask Withers why. Why couldn't he just let them enjoy death in peace. Everyone is shook to their core because they heard Withers' entire resurrection speech. Durge wasn't in the heavens or hells. They were walking in purgatory forever yet somehow that was peace to them.

It's obvious now that Durge isn't tired from having to crawl back to life essentially. They're fatigued from everything, life itself and the cards they were dealt. Durge doesn't even eat the breakfast laid out in front of them. They don't want to hear any plans about anything and especially not about elder brains. All they want is quiet. So they ask Gortash if he still has that garden and that's where they go.

The party takes their time so as to give their leader space but eventually make their way into the garden too. Durge is just sitting there. And they stay there until the sun sets. When they finally do come inside, they only address Astarion and if he needs to feed. He's thrown off guard as he says no. Durge retreats back into their new shell at those words, only going to their lovers' room after being asked.

In the middle of the night, Durge wakes up to find Halsin's arms protectively around them. They turn their head to see Astarion awake and just staring at them. His processing was delayed, a gift of years of disassociation at the hands of Cazador. But now he feels it in full effect and has to make sure Durge is actually alive. He has to hear their heartbeat and watch their chest rise and fall.

Him trying to murmur sweet nothings so Durge can go back to sleep only wakes Halsin whose arms get tighter around Durge before relaxing as he finally comes to his senses. In the dead of the night, Halsin and Astarion are the first to apologize to a living Durge and be heard out. Quietly, Durge accepts it. For a moment, they think they might have been dreaming that something was said. But Durge repeats themselves just a tad bit louder before falling back into deep slumber.

[podcastenthusiast]

I find it really compelling that Astarion appears to have had hobbies when he was enslaved by Cazador.

Things Astarion probably did in between the horrors:

Embroidered and patched up things for himself (and, reluctantly, his siblings). We know this. Practical--I don't get the feeling Cazador was buying them clothes any more than strictly necessary--and a good way to stay sane.

Got really good at picking locks. Also canon. I've seen the interpretation this was to escape shackles, which is possible. But I dunno...he says himself he gave up on escape. More likely I think he was just very bored, and also such a skill offers some comfort should he ever be locked up again for another year.

Learning languages, including Orcish. Canon as well and honestly I'm dying to know how/when he managed this. Did he find a Orcish-Common dictionary? Did he know a half-Orc? Either way I can see him relishing the chance to insult Cazador or his siblings without them knowing.

Reading, as he does all the time at camp. If you can't escape physically, a good story can be a decent distraction for a while. Astarion is intelligent and seems to know a fair bit of history and such. I imagine it wasn't an activity Cazador encouraged. But that wouldn't stop him and Dal, and later maybe Leon if he's feeling brave, forming a secret book club, reading anything at all they could get their hands on, from awful erotica to dry religious texts.

There must have been a brief period where he tried to befriend and train some rats to do his bidding. But he was bad at it and also very hungry. Violet claims to have succeeded.

Music. He hears it everywhere--in the dingy taverns he's sent to, at Cazador's damn parties, on the street--it's too intense for a while after that infamous year of silence. But it also reminds him that he isn't there anymore. Astarion has no gift for musical instruments himself, but he grows to appreciate hearing a good song.

Drinking wine and pretending it doesn't all taste terrible to him now. Sometimes, alone or with Aurelia, he would pretend it's fresh blood instead. Sometimes he would pretend to just be anyone else.

Stealing his siblings' makeup and anything else he wants. None of them really "own" anything after all, he'll say, but will get incredibly annoyed if they in turn take something of his.

Between fights and torments, of which there were so many, I bet he played stupid little games with his siblings. Trying to convince them he died a very cool death or something. Or enlisting Violet's expertise to prank Petras.

One time Yousen finds like a choose your own adventure book (since I dunno if a form of D&D exists in BG3 and if it did they don't have the supplies). Anyway he reads it to the other spawn and by the end of the night Astarion and Petras both have new black eyes and bite marks.

Not saying it was a good time by any means. It wasn't. But it was a very long time not to carve out an occasional diversion. You'd just lose it otherwise.

[alliskit]

The Grand Design

TW: 18+.THIS CHAPTER addresses sexual abuse themes and includes explicit sexual content.

CONTENT WARNING: Sexual Coercion via Drug Use Sexual Content (graphic) Sexual Abuse Themes (talked about)

TLDR: This chapter has sex. Smut is the wrong word because despite the positive feelings brought on by essentially narcotics, neither of these guys would have chosen this for themselves. Smut to me is something to be enjoyed as consensual and even though there is a semblance of that, please note, it is short lived.

If you would prefer to skip this chapter, next week's will address the fallout, so you don't need to read it. The first portion before the sex is just addressing of the psychological and physiological effects of sexual abuse.

Song for the chapter:

On AO3.

CH. 10: Day Two ... And A Half.

- the choice (Abigail POV) - the result (Astarion POV)

After the chat in my living room, we found a balance of wills as we talked mind to mind. We tested our limits as we learned to mold the world around us psionically. We were surprisingly good at it. We sat and ate cannolis, my favorite dessert, while he explained Toril to me, watching boats come into Grey Harbor for the night. He walked me around what he casually named his 'hunting grounds' while I dressed us in modern Earth clothing, explaining jeans. He loved how he looked in black and kept eyeing my legs in the short linen dress. We danced dressed as patriars at a keg party. We played some of my favorite songs over a jukebox at the Elfsong Tavern. We smoked on a bench in Amsterdam, one of my favorite cities on Earth. We listened to an elven choir sing in a park as he translated. It felt like living out days in a matter of hours. I hadn't had this much fun in years. I could tell, neither had he.

When we finally awoke, I was extremely dehydrated. We were out of time. 

A sing-song laugh burst from his chest as I cringed through my migraine. I turned toward him, trying to laugh a little too, but my throat was hoarse. 

The red eyes watching me weren't full of laughter anymore. "Abigail?" 

I grinned through the ache throbbing at the base of my skull. "Yeah?"

He propped himself up onto his elbow. "You need water."

I shut my eyes and sighed, "Don't remind me."

"Time's up," he whispered.

I shook my head.

I felt his cool fingers around my jaw, turning me to face him. Invisible screws were twisting into my skull. I could barely think. The mushrooms had exacerbated the dehydration. 

"You need water. Your heartbeat has become more erratic."

I gave a pathetic laugh, "It's called a heart murmur on Earth." I tried to lick my chapped lips. "When my body is stressed, my heart skips beats. It was barely discernible before I gave birth to Sylas, but got much worse after."

He pondered me carefully, "You really are a useless thing." Though, when he said it this time, there was no cut to it, just concern.

"Utterly useless, darling," I teased.

He released me, stood, and made his way across the cave to stand before the tray of food. I sat up to seem him slouched, hands stuffed into his pants' pockets. 

As if he could feel my gaze, he turned his head to look back at me. His defeated face telling me everything without saying a word. 

"You win the bet, I guess," I said from the cot.

He looked out the gash in wall, "I don't feel much like a winner."

My head spun as I stood. I really needed water. I hadn't had any form of liquids or food in over a day. My stomach cramped, my muscles ached, and my head felt like it was being split in half. But, I made my way over, holding myself together with what little scraps I could. I felt my heart skipping in my chest.

He looked me up when I stopped next to him. His face now placid and unfeeling."You know, it's just sex." 

I flattened my lips. "We both know it's not."

He straightened. "And why not? Why can't you just get it over with?"

I faced him, trying not to seem unnerved by his sudden change in attitude. "You saw why. What you didn't see was the complete lack of agency I had in my marriage. I hopped from one abuser to another. I didn't even know it. I went from being crammed on one man's couch to locked to other's man's bed. My feelings be damned."

He ticked a little, his eyes glinting a hint of understanding, but I watched it blink out as his default arrogance replaced it. "If you didn't want to be locked into a man's bed, you should have never married."

He found the trigger. "If you didn't want to be a spawn for two hundred years, you should have never agreed to be a vampire."

I knew it was too far. His lips peeled back in a snarl as he stepped forward to stand over me. "You think your paltry experience can compare?" he growled. "I was on death's door. It was either bleed out on the street or live for eternity. I wasn't aware it would come at the cost of all of my freedoms. You could have left. I was a puppet. A slave. For as long as I can remember, I have been nothing but a toy for others to play with. I could never say no. It wasn't a word my mouth could physically utter." His wild eyes bore into mine. 

I had no reply. He was right.

My life had been primary school bullying while his was the prison yard.

I would have been broke and alone, but I could have left Brian. Even when I felt like the only exit I had was death, I could have called it quits. It would have taken every penny I had to my name and maybe more. It would have burned my relationships with my friends, my community, and my family, but I would have been free. 

Astarion died and still couldn't leave.

Now, he had escaped and deserved to live. He deserved to see what joys eternity could bring. He deserved to taste all the freedoms he was denied for more than quadruple the amount of time I had been alive.

I hung my head, humbled, then turned around and walked back to the cot.

"What are you doing?" he called.

I took a deep breath as I sat. "Setting you free."

He shook his head, "What does that mean?"

"You're right, by the way. My experience pales in comparison."

He cocked his head as he turned to face me.

I smiled softly, "I'm not afraid of death. And, yeah, Sylas is out there. But," I shook my head. The reality of my situation was beginning to dawn. I was probably not walking out of here alive, with child or not. "There's really no telling if I ever make it out of this cave, let alone Faerun. He's in safe hands. He is surrounded by friends." I met his concerned gaze. I wanted to cry, but my tears had dried up with the dehydration. "He will be loved," I whispered.

Silence answered.

I smiled, "You will live. Dehydration sucks. But, I will just fall asleep." I patted the spot next to me. "Bring me another mushroom and we can talk until I can't anymore. Distract me."

His eyes widened and his jaw tightened. He marched over and stood above me, a bundle of nerves and ticks. Then, he dropped to his knees before me. "No."

"No?"

"No," he said firmly. 

I kept my face kind. My eyes darting between both of his, "I want you to live. If I die, you get the chance to do it. You're a vampire for fucks sake." I huffed a laugh. "Go find the rest of our friends and get that bug out of your head and..." I put my hands on his shoulders, "Be free."

He pushed my hands off. "You're a hypocrite, you know," he glared. "That you would be willing to leave me behind. Unbelievable."

I pulled in my lips. We were a little too good at call backs to older conversations. It was an odd proof that he listened. And that did something to me. But, now wasn't the time to mention it.

I looked down at the hands that were now in my lap. "Why me?"

"What?"

I clarified. "Why did you try to kill me?"

He sat back onto his heels. His face pinched and moved, considering what to say. He glanced at his hands for a moment, then when he finally turned me, shame looked back. "I had been waiting since the moment I laid eyes on you... To have you."

These words sounded like they were meant for a lover, but he had chosen me for death. 

He glanced away, his posture defeated. "I decided you were going to be my first. My first mark. Ever since the Nautiloid. And I was willing to wait, but then... Gandrel."

"It fast tracked the plan."

He cringed a little, but kept going. "I lost control... of everything. After Wyll and I traded places for watch, I got into my head and started drinking. I fell asleep only to end up in a nightmare with Cazador. When I awoke, I panicked. I decided to hunt the Gur. But, when I got to his camp, he was gone. When I smelled you, I just... shut it all off. I didn't want to be afraid anymore."

We watched each other for a moment. I felt like a priest, he at confession.

I should have been angry. I should have been lashing out. But, I knew that feeling. The craving for safety so potent, you were willing to go to near any length to find it. Instead of retaliation, all I wanted was to show him he was safe. Despite him pushing me to the edge of life, the complete removal of all safety, I realized he was the only one who could get me to the place to overcome that primal fear. I thought I didn't fear death, but I had, hadn't I, when my life was in his hands and in his mouth?

"Tell me how."

A question crossed his face.

I leaned forward a little, the distance between us going from feet to inches. "Tell me how to shut it all off."

His face flattened. "Do you remember how you felt when you dreamed of killing that boy?"

I nodded.

"Describe it to me."

"I walked him through the woods, I felt nothing but peace as we talked as if nothing was wrong. Then when he saw the hole, he was surprised. I just turned and pushed him in. It was like watching someone else do it. Like throwing a rock in a stream. Throwing trash in a bin. I saw his body crumble and snap and heard him calling back to me for help. I just watched him, then turned and walked off, not a care in the world as he screamed. I felt complete peace."

"Peace is still a feeling."

I focused on the image. The feeling in that moment. "I felt nothing. I felt free. I felt relief."

A small grin met me as that same peace, for lack of a better word, came to the surface, rising from the deep. His eyes looked between mine, "There you are, darling. There is nothing left to hurt you anymore. Only I can do that, and I won't. Even the hag will lay mangled in a hole at your hands."

I realized what was so concerning to me on that hill outside of the grove. I hesitated because I had noticed just how little I felt. The quiet inside me as I pulled the trigger. I didn't have claws or teeth, but as I looked upon the beautiful beast before me, I would grow them if I had to. I would bite and scratch and kill my way home. 

I stared at him as he stared at me. His eyes were soft, open, like the time I caught him watching me with Durge. It's an odd sensation when two souls collide. There's no warning, no telltale sign. It's just two people deciding simultaneously that they would do anything for the other. A silent agreement to trust and hope. A tying of souls. As our eyes searched the other's, finding purchase, we knew the path before us would be walked together.

"Before we do this, I need to know why she chose you. She could have had an archmage, a warlock, or a dragon, even. Why a vampire? Did she know?"

He grinned softly, "She knew as soon as I walked through her door that first time. Hags are some of the strongest magic wielders and they are ancient. They grow their covens by eating children."

My face filled with horror.

He held up a hand, "They essentially impregnate themselves by 'eating' the child. They vomit the child back up after several months, their hag magic embedding itself, thus a new hag."

He waited as I took in the information before continuing. "She chose me because I can sire what are called dhampyr. They are living vampires, conceived by a vampire and a child bearing mortal. They are powerful. They are the equivalent to spawn without being controlled and they don't need blood to access their vampiric nature. They do crave blood and it does make them more powerful, but they can also walk in the sunlight, be full on food, and swim."

My mind started connecting the dots. I was the child bearing mortal, he the vampire, and our offspring the one who would become the hag. "A vampire hag."

"A new creation, the most powerful among hag kind."

My eyes widened at the prospect. What kind of fresh hell had I been thrust into? But, even if the hag had taken into account his vampiric nature and the fact that I already had a son, she missed on an important factor: the timeline. 

"She's never going to get what she wants," I said more to myself.

"I'll make sure of it." 

I took in his seriousness. "What do you mean?"

He sighed, "I have nothing in this world. If you are with child, there is nothing I won't do to keep what's mine."

Chills spread from my head to my toes. "You know, it's unlikely it will happen. First, I'm bleeding right now, so my window isn't for another week or so, and I've not been able to bear children. Not to mention you've got a ticking time bomb in your head. She's going to be severely disappointed when she comes to find you're a mind flayer."

He rolled his eyes, "It would be just my luck. Speaking of the passenger in my head, I woke to a spectral voice last night."

I perked a brow, "A voice?"

"Calling me to join my apparent brethren at some temple. Probably the one we were looking for until we landed here," he glanced around the cave. "No matter." He placed a hand on my knee, pulling us back on topic. "You need to understand that magic can subjugate the natural here. There is no telling what else she has put in the food besides what I can smell. As an elf, I could turn off my ability to bear children until I was ready, but vampires are a mockery to life. Despite being undead, we are designed to create more unlife. It takes one drop of blood at near death from a true vampire to become a spawn, but they must be even more vigilant with their bedfellows. It's one of the few things they share with their spawn. Spawn must be more careful since we cannot change another with our bites, but we can procreate easily when well fed.”

"So, you're saying you have magic sperm?" I teased.

He didn't take the bait. "We need to expect the worst." 

"And hope for the best."

He sat and watched me a moment. "It's hope that kills."

Silence settled between us. Our souls searching for something to hold onto as we watched one another. There was only one path before us now.

"This will change our relationship forever," I added.

"I know, but we can have a little fun," he teased.

"Do you fuck your friends?" I asked.

He continued to watch me. "I don't have any. So, I wouldn't know."

"Well, I don't fuck my friends."

"Then we're not friends."

I paused. "Then what are we?"

"I... You're not a victim or a target." He swallowed, "Not a night that's better to forget..." 

I smiled a little, "If I'm not something that's worth forgetting, then... whatever could I be?"

He stood up, eyes still on me as he held out his hand, "Let's go find out."

I put mine in his and let him walk me across the room to the tray of food. We both stood staring down at it, our fates decided. 

"I hate this," I said. "All I have ever wanted is to have the ability to choose, to feel safe, to feel like I'm not just there to just please someone else. Sex has, somehow, become something I dread and crave at the same time. When Brian wanted to have sex, the idea of it made me sick. And yet, I wanted it so badly, just not with him. No matter how often it happened. That's the curse."

He looked over at me.

"When you're abused, your body craves the thing it hates the most. It wants it corrected, healed. Sex drops all kinds of good chemicals into our brains, even when it's being forced on us. You become terrified of it, while wanting it like a narcotic. Sex is supposed to be connecting. It's one of the pinnacles of a relationship and one of the strongest bodily needs. But, all those good chemicals get mixed up with the bad ones when sex is forced on you. You simultaneously never want to be touched for all eternity while needing to be touched with every fiber of your being. It doesn't help that affection starts to feel like manipulation... If you get any affection at all."

His face hung. "I guess we're more alike than I thought."

I pursed my lips, "Two hundred years of what I saw Cazador doing to you would mess most people up to the point of never being able to properly touch another person again. I won't be surprised or offended if you want to put space between us after this."

He sighed through his nose, "Darling, the drugged food will keep us close for as long as we are eating it. There will be no more space between us."

It should have alarmed me, but the idea of being close to him didn't scare me anymore. "You don't think we have the strength of mind to stay at least a little coherent about this? You can’t pull out when it’s time?”

He shook his head, "That is one upside: we will enjoy ourselves, at least until it's over. We will be far from our right minds."

"I guess ignorance is bliss."

He snorted. "I don't know if you will agree to the sentiment when the high fades."

"We can cross that bridge when we get to it." I glanced down at the stew and water.

"That is, if the bridge doesn't collapse first."

I turned from the food. "I trust you to catch me if I fall."

"A truly stupid idea."

I smirked. "Got any better ones?"

He shook his head, "No."

I sighed, "This better be the best damn stew in all of Faerun."

I would like to forewarn all of the readers, when under the influence of any magical substance, it makes one an unreliable narrator. But, it makes for a good story. (Volo would be proud.)

It didn’t hit us immediately as I ate the food and he drank the blood, lounging on the cave floor. Apparently, he could tell what kind of blood it was just by taste and smell. Every race and even class had distinctions. Magical blood smelled different, and now that he had tasted Durge's, he could confirm it was different too. He could tell the bottles were full of some kind of drow. He called it 'earthy'. 

His eyes had dilated after a few swigs. The red rimmed the black like perfect rings. Blood stained the inside of his lips like wine. I realized the drugs were kicking in when he made a snarky comment about me staring.

I had been. I'd been imagining myself licking his lips clean, our mouths melding and meeting as my tongue licked his fangs. I shook my head clear, but my body was already responding.

The succubi spit was potent. The cave glittered with blue, yellow, and pink lights. Everything seemed to thrum. I could breathe deeper and felt my blood coursing through my veins. I felt so epically alive. I wanted to dance, to feel the tips of fingers run down my skin until it pebbled. I wanted to eat the most decadent foods, feeling it sit low in my stomach, the pressure heating my core. I wanted to fuck. 

He smirked, "I kind of want to know what you were picturing there for a moment."

"It's not fair you can hear my heartbeat change and probably smell my pheromones." He giggled. "It's like cheating."

A vicious smile spread his lips, "Darling, cheaters do have a tendency to win."

I chuckled, my head shaking, "We have a phrase back where I'm from: 'cheaters never win'. It's supposed to be some kind of karmic warning."

"I'm all for karmic justice, but it doesn't make it true. Sounds like something a loser would say."

I laughed, "You're not wrong."

"I rarely am, my darling."

I caught the change. Darling had been a mock, but this was new. It wasn't in jest either. The delivery gave it away. It was a joke, but also an endearment. I sat back and really looked at him. 

He truly was a sight. His silver curls were clipped in white, the colored light in the cavern lit them like a crown of ice and glass. His cheekbones drew delicate lines that were followed by his sharp ears. It was as if a sculptor had cut him from marble. The only evidence to his tangibility were the lines of aging, ones that would never deepen with time. Sitting across from me, his embroidered jacket hung on him, casually open over his perfect body. He was a little skinny, but it made him all the more ethereal. A fairy prince, barefoot and lounging among the moss and mushrooms. The bottles of blood had brought some pink to his nose, cheeks, and ears. I could almost picture the mortal elf he once was. 

He was always beautiful. 

He always would be.

"They all tell you you're beautiful, don't they?" I whispered. I couldn't stop the words from forming on my lips. And all I wanted was to tell him more. 

"Yes," he replied. He set his bottle down, leaning forward as he climbed onto his hands and knees, closing the distance between us. "It's all they ever say."

"Then I don't need to." He began to crawl over my folded legs. I could see his eclipsed eyes watching me. I wanted to be blinded by them.

He glanced down at my lips, breathing heavily. "I told you, you could tell me whatever I wanted to hear and I would protect you in trade."

"Do you want me to tell you I think you're beautiful? You want shallow praise?" I teased.

He smile softly, "I love shallow praise. It's the only praise I've gotten for two hundred years."

The words put an ache in my chest. He looked down to where my heart was past the laces and ruffles of his shirt. He sighed through his nose, shaking his head. "I told myself I wouldn't kiss you."

"Why would you do that?" I asked.

His eyes bore into mine, "It's how they were all willing to be victims. It's how everyone I've ever kissed was willing to come to bed with a killer. It's how they walked off with a greater monster, like lambs to a slaughter. It's how I knew none of it was ever real with anyone."

I hesitated, panting, "Do you want something real with me?"

I saw his pain and desire, "It can never be real."

I touched his face, my thumb lightly brushing his bottom lip as he leaned into the touch. "Then we can pretend it is, even for a night."

"It won't be just one night. It will be all the nights." He kissed my thumb. "But, your heart is still broken and I'm the cure."

"How do you know?" I asked, letting my hand brush the side of his face.

He smiled, sadly, "Let me show you." His nose brushed mine as the inches closed between us. I felt him breathe in as his lips made contact. The impact felt like gravity. His kisses brushing my earth.

They came on like rain before a storm, sprinkling as the heavy wall of water inched forward. They came down stronger, a warning of what was to come. Then, the wall hit and they poured. I wanted nothing but to be drenched in them.

His cool softness pushed into me, our lips tasting one another as if we'd never tasted anything better. Better than stew and water. Better than cannolis. Better than wine. 

"Better than blood," he breathed.

I gasped, my breath taking his.

He pushed his weight forward, guiding us to the moss floor. My legs came up on either side of his, our hips uniting between them. He belonged here.

"Do you feel it?" his voice whispered over my lips. "Do you feel your heart calming at my touch?" He held my head in his strong hands.

I didn't get the chance to answer as his kisses drew us deeper. I wanted to lick all those other people off of his lips, off of his tongue and teeth. I wanted to be all that was left. I wanted him to have a reason to forget as I was starting to forget. 

I could feel his breaths against my face. I wanted to take them all. As he let one out, I took it in. We were mirrors of each other. I didn't know who was the beginning and who was the end. We just were. I could've fallen into his mouth forever. 

A sudden pinch. A taste of metal. We both pulled back, his body still rested between mine. He watched with rapt attention as I dabbed the blood now escaping my bottom lip. 

He threw himself off of me and stepped back. 

I looked up at him confused. "It's blood."

"It's not just blood," he said, breathily. "Your blood... it's different... than all the rest."

I pushed myself to standing. "Because it makes you feel mortal?"

He was staring at the place he nicked me. "It doesn't taste like the rest." He panted. "It's how blood should taste. And I... don't want to go too far."

I noted his desire pushing to get free of his pants. "Will it hurt you if you drink some?"

His eyes flashed to mine. "It made me nauseous. But, it made me crave... everything."

In that moment, I wanted to give him everything. Anything he was denied for two hundred years, if he had asked it of me, I would have moved Toril and the Astral planes to give it to him. But, all I had to offer was myself.

"I... I want to give you whatever you want. But, I have nothing," I cried.

He laughed, it was beautiful, as everything about him. "I have nothing to give you in return. So, I guess that makes us even."

"What do you want?" I asked quietly.

"Everything," he whispered. "But, I'll take you. Which, I guess, is the same thing at the moment."

There was no thinking, just my hands on the hem of his blouse, lifting it over my head and it landing in a quiet heap on the ground. I felt the blood on my lip drip a small line down to my chin from his bite. I unlaced my leather pants, until they were loose enough to step out of. I managed it gracefully. As they fell, I felt blood drip from between my legs. The rags in the pants had been damming it up, but it was free now. 

He whimpered.

My core clenched. 

I took a step toward him as he took a step back. His eyes painting my naked body. They finally crashed into mine again. "Gods, you're beautiful."

"You can have everything, just keep me alive."

He sighed, "I will keep you alive for as long as you'll let me. Which, may just be forever."

"Don't say what you don't mean," I chided softly.

He smiled, "Oh, my darling, that's not how succubi spit works. They use it for interrogation, to get information. You can't lie to a succubus."

The truth pulled me down like a weight on my ankles, and now, I was drowning. 

Astarion POV:

As soon as her leathers fell to the floor, I knew I was lost. The scent of her blood was overwhelming. She could have been a faceless thing and I would have still craved her. I hated it. I hated feeling this way.

After we clawed ourselves out of the ground, Cazador fed us spawn spiked wine constantly so we would be malleable and compliant to his mind control; always at his beck and call. We would be ever willing to find him marks so we could get our fix, at least in the beginning. The unfortunate thing about vampires is our ability to process substances quickly causes us to adjust to them over time. 

Even as she stood effervescent before me, I knew it would be short lived. I wanted to swallow her whole and push her off the edge of the cliff all the same. She was right, when one was forced, it was the worst dichotomy of needs. The need to be free and the need to be loved. But, this was not love. This was a spell. This was as unreal as all the kisses I ever received after all the wonderful nights I gave to his victims. The kisses of the damned. 

She was damned, but not for Cazador. The song was in a different prose, but it was the same nonetheless. A new master, but a master all the same. 

I wanted to call her stupid, pathetic, an embarrassment. I wanted her to feel shame as she put her bloody clothes back on. How could she think I wanted this? How could she think I wanted to lick every line of blood that dripped down her legs and past her lips? How could she think I wanted to be wrapped in her warmth as I pumped myself through her blood and slick? How could she think I wanted? 

But, I did want. I wanted it all. Everything. I hadn't even tasted her yet. The ghost of what was played on my tongue, filled my lungs, and ached behind my pants. 

I would have it all. I would see her the way I had only dreamed a day and a night ago, splayed before me. Her blood, just for me. 

I shrugged off the jacket, tossing it to the side. My eyes bore into hers as I felt my head spin, as I closed the distance between us. We crashed together, all tongue and teeth. There was no softness anymore, just want. Her body and hair, soft under my hands as I gripped them, her nipples hardening against my cool skin. 

I pulled back, her face flushed and needy. I needed. I needed control. I needed her. I glanced between both of her amber eyes. "Get on all fours," I said softly. Softer than I anticipated.

She stepped back, eyes never leaving mine as she made her way to the floor. I could have fallen into them. I was. I needed to catch myself before I couldn't climb back out. 

"Chest to the floor, my darling," I said as I walked around her. When did she become mine? Was she ever? 

As my gaze met her bloody and slick cunt, I knew what was mine: everything.

I was the king in this land as I knelt to brush my thumbs along either side of her folds. She gasped for me. They all gasped for me. But this time, she would never gasp for him. 

I couldn't wait any longer. I unclipped the waistband and let myself out. 

An odd familiarity fell over me. Another body, my so called sister, laid bare before me, our Master waiting. He wanted me to show him I had learned what he had taught me. He wanted to know I could do it quickly and effectively. 

No.

I ran my hand lightly up her spine, not Violet's, Abigail's. 

Abigail. Warm Abigail. She was waiting, so patiently, for me. The one with the broken heart with room to spare. The one whose eyes held me close as if she could touch me with them. The same eyes looking back at me in anticipation and trepidation. 

I pulled my pants all the way off. We were in this together, now. 

She let out a sigh as our hips became flush against each other's. I sighed as the heat enveloped me at our meeting place. My body leaned over her as I placed my hands next to her shoulders. I rolled into her, her slick covering me as I slid through her folds. Her heart picked up, her bodily scent meshing with the smell of her blood. It was sweet and metallic. I placed kisses along her spine from her neck to her hips as she started to buck lightly against me, craving the friction. 

I straightened up, rubbing circles with my thumbs into the dips at her waist. She moaned quietly, as if she were scared to break the silence. She bucked harder. I gripped her hips.

"Careful, dear. I don't want you to cum too fast."

She was panting as she stared back at me over her shoulder. Such want. Such a needy thing. 

We were so alike. I hated it and I craved it, just like she had said. I wanted to fight all her demons and never see her face again for making me feel that way. I had fought my own demons, no one else coming to save me. I could only save myself. Why should I have to save another?

I thought of her face, lips chapped, as she gave her hollow laugh, offering up her life to set me free. Offering to save me. I was the stronger of us both. I could have downed the blood and bore through the high, getting myself off. I could have challenged the hag. She had said her son would be cared for. 

"Ready for me, my darling?" I asked as I teased at her entrance.

Her reply was foreign. The necklace must have been in her pant's pocket. She laughed as she propped up and pulled the pants toward her, digging for the pouch. She held it up proudly, wrapping the small straps around her wrist, gripping the leather bag in her fist.

She laid back down and smiled at me, panting. A moment of quiet passing between us. Gods, she truly was a beautiful thing.

"I need you," she whispered.

I slid home. A gasp escaped my lips as her life warmed me. I watched myself pull back out, covered in her blood. It was better than I imagined.

I had fucked others during their bleedings before, but I had never fucked someone whose blood I had already tasted. I had never fucked someone while full on thinking blood. I slammed back in. She cried out. I was reeling. I could hear her make that sound again and again.

"Careful there, cowboy, I'm a great ride, but I do have a cervix in there too," she laughed.

"Do you always talk this much to your lovers?" I teased as I started a slow pace in and out.

She mouthed an 'oh' as she squeezed her eyes and her inner walls, then smiled, mouth open. "I've only ever had one. Well, one that I chose for myself. And we talked a lot." 

She was referring to that scene on the couch. She didn't count it. Good for her, she shouldn't. That boy didn't deserved to be called a lover. 

I gave her a seductive look as I gripped her hips, holding her closer to me as I started to grind us together, "Only one? You're going to have to tell me how you kept all those other hands off of you. Your husband was a lucky man indeed."

"I wish you could tell him yourself," she teased through curled lips.

"I would tell him about all the noises you make for me that you never uttered for him." I pushed in harder. She gasped again. I rubbed my thumbs up her lower spine. She quivered and hummed. "I would tell him how I touched you in ways he never could."

She panted, "He would have hated you."

"Good. I would have killed him." She watched me carefully. "If you let me, of course."

"I don't want to talk about killing him. He's already dead," she sighed.

"I'm dead too, darling. And yet I'm still ravishing you."

She made that same careful face again. I needed to keep her from thinking. She needed to focus on our bodies. Her heart was calm, thanks to my kisses down her spine, but it wouldn't stay there for long. I laid over her, leaning onto my left hand as I pulled my other leg up for leverage, threading my right hand into her hair for a careful grip. I kept my eyes on hers as she held mine. My rhythm picked up, pushing our connection deeper. My eyes shuttered as a wave of pleasure poured through me. She was panting and gasping. I was getting close to release. 

She closed her eyes and I felt her fingers brush my base as she began to move circles over her swollen bud.

Something snapped. I wasn't doing enough. I needed to do better. Quick and effective. I needed to be more than a beautiful pathetic boy. 

I felt myself start to soften, not enough for her to catch it, I hoped. But, it was enough to alarm me. The spit was wearing off. What she didn't know - what I never told her, was that as an undead, drugs like succubi spit couldn't kill us even if it could affect us.

It would kill her if she didn't find her own release.

I glanced across the cavern at the tray. It was too far. If I left to drink more, it would interrupt everything.

I needed to be effective. This was failing. I was failing. 

A pathetic boy with a soft penis, never meeting expectations, always having to do better, do more. 

I looked down at amber eyes watching me. 

"I need to taste you," I uttered. 

She nodded.

I pulled out, gazing at the glory that was her red stained cunt. She let out another slow and audible 'oh' as I ran two fingers through it slowly, rubbing her clit and entrance in a twisted loop. Finally, I slid the same two fingers into her, rubbing along the edges of her warmth. She gave another gasp as I pumped them inside her slowly and repeatedly, lightly brushing up toward her cervix. 

I drug the tips along her walls, hitting just the right spot as she clenched down on them. Her toes curling. Those same fingers exited her and entered me. I kept any spare drips from being lost as I sucked them dry of her slick and blood. 

I felt my core heat, need and hunger beginning to rise in me as my stomach turned slightly, but not enough to stop. 

I got down on my elbows, holding her hips in my hands as I licked her clean from clit to entrance. Nothing wasted. I would take every drop given like a dog with crumbs. I would make her body beg to give me more. And it did.

I lapped up all I could, teasing her bud as she squirmed in my hands. I felt like a beggar let to sit at the high table. Her blood was... exactly as it should be. No undertones of magic or species. It was stripped bare as she was. Metallic, warm, filling. She said only humans inhabited her planet. If vampires found their way to her home, no one would be left. Though, it seemed her blood was the source of her ability to turn off magic, and vampires were made from magic. Her kind would turn us all mortal again. 

It's all I ever wanted for two hundred years. 

What grand irony that my curse cured her body, while hers cured mine.

"Astarion..." she pleaded. She was close. I was close. 

I needed her. She needed me. We needed and needed and needed, never to be satisfied for long. But, it was enough to be satisfied for now.

I pulled back, gasping in her scent that covered my face. I had inhaled her. She sat back on her heels in a crouched position, knees weak. I laid beside her on the moss floor, beholding her blooming face as it grinned down at mine. Then I pulled her onto me, settling her over my waist, pulling my legs up behind her. She didn't hesitate, sitting back as I pulled forward, our bodies locking together. 

She gasped again, laying a hand where my heart once beat and another on my stomach for support. I gripped her legs as she ground her hips into mine. The light lit around her like a halo of some kind of god's chosen. Maybe, some god of her planes sent her to save me. None of the gods here heard my cries. 

Her heart beat harder as her body came closer to release. I placed a hand over the spot where it beat for me. I could hear it like it was my own in my dead chest. 

Her warm eyes were fixed to mine, an endless chasm to fall into, a safe place to land. She was panting, tense, so very close. I had grown harder and tighter as she rolled into me. Her hand pushing into my chest. Did she know my heart never beat? Did she hope to find something awake there? She wanted to die for me, but she would be the one to live for me. 

"Come to me... my darling," I whispered. 

And she did, gasping and crying out her pleasure and release as she pushed me deeply inside her.

I sighed, no breath left, as mine overtook me. I felt all of me flood all of her, as if I could fill her with any more warmth than she already offered.

Pathetic, careless boy. 

I should have pulled out, but I wanted everything. I wanted and wanted and wanted. And I got. 

I pushed myself up, my hand on her heart now pulling her back down to me as I filled my mouth with hers. Her heart calmed down again. She wrapped her arms around my neck and shoulders, pulling me up in kind, until we were locked together in every way, every inch held close. Her hand ran through my curls, mine cupped her neck. Her mouth lapped at mine, my tongue tasted hers. My body was still enveloped within hers, warm.

She pulled away just enough to see me. I could feel the pouch on her wrist between my shoulder blades where her arm rest at my back. Her other hand now tracing my features. 

"When does it fade?" she asked quietly as she studied me. 

I drew my finger tips up her back, using my other arm to hold us together at her waist. "Soon. We should get some rest."

She nodded absently, then her eyes locked with mine, that deep feeling of being held by them causing my breath to catch. It felt like I had finally come home. Maybe, I had never known home to begin with.

An odd feeling of loss spread through me when she broke our connection to glance toward the piles of our clothes and the cot. I wanted to grip her jaw and force them back to me. The only place they belonged. 

No one looked at me like that. 

Like they could see my soul.

The emptiness deepened as she began to separate us. The separation had been a blessing with the others. I didn't want to be there to begin with, and I thought I had felt the same here too. But, now I longed for her warmth.

What was wrong with me?

As if she could read my thoughts, she squat down over me, pulling me in for a soft kiss. 

"We're definitely not friends," she murmured before standing fully, quickly putting hand under herself, laughing awkwardly as she caught a clot of blood and cum streaking down her leg. "The worst part," she laughed louder, making her way to the rags across the room. 

What she said was true, but I hated to hear it. We weren't friends. But, we weren't rivals or siblings or camp mates or... Were we lovers? 

No. 

As I told her before, this was all manufactured by magic and alchemy. Magical spit from a succubus and a vampire. 

What if she was pregnant? The question came from the ether depths of my mind. I had never once considered the possibility of fatherhood. Never desired it. I was a young thing when I was taken and then was under the thrall of a master for the rest of my years. Leon was a terrible father. Victoria was living in a hell of his making. I would never put my own through it. 

But, wasn't I here preparing to do just that?

She relieved herself over the side of the gap, apologizing for whatever reason, as if we hadn't abandoned all decorum for the last... however long we just spent inside one another. 

"How's your stomach?" she asked.

I hadn't even noticed. "I..." I was a little queasy, but nothing like the night I bit her. "It's better. I think drinking other blood beforehand helps settle it. Though, I doubt I had nearly as much as last time."

Last time. Her bite marks were small pink scabs on her shoulder. My mark. 

She threw me a warm towel, I caught it mid flight. 

"Gosh, I'm thirsty again, but I'm definitely not ready for round two. The high's not as bad as it was, but I can still feel it in my system."

I held the rag in my hands, knowing I needed to clean up, but the casual nature of the scene felt awkward. I didn't know quite what to do with myself. Godey or Antwun would always be sent in to retrieve me for cleaning. I watched her walk over to the pile, setting her dirty one back. 

I stood, turning slightly away, squashing the rising shame of the mess on my body, as I wiped it away. It was just blood and wet. I noted the clumps of white from my own release. A small heat of anger lit in me, anger over what I was, what I couldn't change. Anger over the fact that even when only slightly more fed, and still unable to access any useful vampiric power, I could produce children. The base primal instinct of continuing life being the first thing my fed body could do. Preserving the continuation of the species. 

Pathetic. 

I had gotten so lost in my head, I had gone temporarily deaf. I nearly jumped when I spotted her next to me, staring at me, waiting. 

"Did you not hear me?" she teased.

"Clearly not," I snapped.

She pulled back a little at my tone. She put her hand out to me, "I can take that for you, is what I said."

I paused, watching her face, then handed the rag over. I watched her return it to the pile, still fully naked. She was beautiful. Lighter skin, with an olive tone. Tawny hair that draped down her mid back in soft waves. She looked healthy, fed. I was a wraith in comparison. A ghost of pale white, haunting her in this cave. She was just lonely enough to indulge me. 

She turned and our eyes locked together again. It was like she could see into my depths and read my every fear and desire. It felt like I could see hers too, like I wanted her to know it. She made her way back to me.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Oh, uhm, I... Yes," I stuttered. 

Pathetic.

She made no remark, just held me with her eyes. Then, smiled at me softly, "I'm getting tired. Are you?" We stood so close, but we didn't touch. It was as if the spell was finally waning. 

I needed to never touch her again and hold her until the sun burnt out. I needed and needed and needed. Did she?

I pasted on a smile of my own, "Shall we lay down then?"

She followed me back to the cot, stopping once to throw my blouse back on. I took the hint and grabbed my pants, taking a moment to step into them. I turned to take her in. Something about her in only my shirt did something to me, but I had done enough self-reflection in the last day to make up for the last two hundred years. I would table that feeling for another time. I needed us to... Well, I didn't know what to do now. What were we? What were we even doing? I had never been this far, at least not for a long time. 

We laid down, pulling up some of the blankets as we lay next to one another. I could have stayed there, but it didn't feel like I was supposed to. I pat my chest as I gave her a look, then pulled her in with my other arm, wrapping it around her. She was surprised, but willing. She settled in against me, my body soaking in her warmth once again as she draped one leg over mine. 

"Was it alright?" she asked cautiously.

I grinned, even if she couldn't see it. I leaned my face on her hair as I threaded my hand through the smooth strands. "Yes, it was alright."

"Do you feel gross? Like a knot in your stomach?"

I paused, still playing with her hair. "Do you?" I inquired.

"Oddly... Right now I don't. Though, everything is still light and shiny, so I think I'm still high."

I hummed, "I am too." I lied. She didn't need to know the experience was singular.

I felt her fingers trace over my chest. "You didn't answer my question."

I attempted to look at her, but all I saw was her delicate nose and brow line. "I'm not wishing you away, if that's what you want to know. I'm feeling... comfortable."

She laughed, it was light and charming. "That's probably the best I could hope for right now. That you are, at the very least, comfortable. And that you don't want to push me off."

"I could still get to that point," I teased.

She looked up at me, her eyes finally meeting mine again. We both smiled. 

"You should try to sleep," I urged.

She nodded, facing away from me again. The emptiness of the loss doing something to me once more. I hated the feeling and hoped for it all the same. 

"One last thing," she added. "Were you serious about doing anything to protect what's yours?"

"As the dead, my darling."

I felt her quiet sigh. A breath of relief. Maybe she was right. Maybe, I could hope for the best. I was free, in a way. Or rather, I was no longer alone. So far, the bridge hadn't collapsed from beneath me, yet.

[Astarion note: Your eyes still feel like home to me.]

IRL Author's Note: I almost wrote an "Escah-pey. Spelled like 'escape'..." moment (for this who don't know the reference or forgot, it's Dory from Finding Nemo lol), but I thought about how Astarion's romance starts with sex, sex he is on the fence about. He knows it will cement the player to him (hopefully), but it's also a test for himself in his own agency and curiosity. Consider this Abbi and Astarion's "wood's scene". It's definitely messy and messed up they were forced into this, but knowing them, they would have never come to really see one another truly and deeply without this. They are facing the darkest pains of themselves, together. Also: I know it's probably more likely to be harder for vamps to procreate, but for the necessity of narrative, I've changed it. LOL It still makes logical sense, though...

[r3d-f0xs-blog]

Began making profiles for Baldur's Gate 3 OCs now as I can't resist storytelling.

OC: Torlen Mistastri 🍂

Basic Info

Name: Torlen Mistastri

Gender: Non-binary

Race: Wood elf

Sexuality: Pansexual

Age: Approx 175 years

Appearance

Height: 5’9

Build: Slim/athletic

Hair: Ginger

Eyes: Amber reddish brown in their right eye and green in their left eye

Distinguishing features: freckles all over face and body, face and neck tattoo of vines and leaves. Scar on right cheek and bridge of nose. Scars on body; one on their chest from a Drow blade, another on their stomach. Welt scars on their back. Greenish tan tinged skin colour characteristic of wood elves.

Background

Father: Ranger, killed in the Drow raid

Mother: Druid, killed in the Drow raid

Class: Ranger – Beast Master & Druid - Circle of the Land

Weapons: Long bow, short bow, long sword, shield, daggers

Torlen was born to parents who would logically be natural enemies but they’ve grown up where rangers were close to the Druid grove. Rangers, where Torlen grew up, worked with the Druids to keep a watch over the forest, protect it and the Druids from those who would do harm and to scout for any disturbances to nature. Rangers there also hunted in a way that was mindful and respectful of the animals they killed and made sure nothing went to waste.

Torlen then ended up with a foot in both worlds. They learned some simple Druid skills and spells from their mother and they learned the skills needed to be a ranger from their father.

The problem came when it was found that the grove was above a place of power which Drow from the Underdark sought to claim for themselves. They arrived one night and slaughtered or took those who survived, as prisoners. They burned the whole forest and pulled down everything that had belonged to the Druids.

Torlen was taken prisoner and enslaved in the Underdark. They remained a slave for 15 years and suffered under the slavers' lash as Torlen was maliciously compliant or outright defiant in the early days.

They longed for the world above, of sunlight, forest, open sky. They escaped while being moved to another Underdark city thanks to an attack upon the caravan that was transporting slaves, by other denizes of the Underdark. In the chaos, Torlen made their escape and emerged to the surface.

Torlen had nothing left so they survived by making their way to Baldur’s Gate where they got by at first by petty thievery, then over time holding victims to knife point demanding valuables, and then finding their hunting skills to a new purpose in tracking down and killing people for reward. It was a tough and unforgiving world but better than the one they had left.

Torlen sometimes got out of the city to try and reconnect with their roots and make their connection to the natural world stronger as it had been. Torlen was slowly gaining the trust of a Druid grove they knew of from finding a fellow survivor in one of the taverns. At the time of the Mindflayer ship, Torlen was fully away from their criminal life and had managed to find a quiet place in the forest where they could be left alone and begin settling back to their old ways. But on a trip to resupply in the city, they were taken. Torlen’s peace was shattered and the harsh life they’d been put under still colours their decisions.

Torlen is pragmatic, deep down is good natured but isn't above manipulation, persuasion, intimidation, trickery and deceit to get things in a way that benefits them as well as that of those they are working for. So asking for material rewards for their time, twisting unfavourable situations to their benefit etc was part of survival after their escape from the Drow. That's the simple version, but it's all a balancing act on what is going to be of most benefit to them, keeps them from forming too many enemies and punishing those who deserve it without being the hero.

Towards their fellow party members however, Torlen isn't this way. The risk of becoming a Mindflayer and the process that entails is one Torlen doesn't want them to suffer as they see them as unnatural monstrosities. Torlen is also perceptive enough to see how the past of each companion has affected them, just as it has for them, so they are more understanding of each predicament their companions find themselves in and will help. Having them around rapidly become more about genuine caring than simply being useful to have around.

Torlen has a fox companion who returns to them in act 1. Tirae also appears just as they return from the goblin war camp before the party. Torlen ends up romancing Astarion.

[bluewhispersandabsinth]

FAvorite Fics?!

Tagged by @writingmyownhappyending to make a list of my five favourite fics. Thank you for the tag!

No specific order as it changes depending on my mood. It's difficult enough to choose five. I love all my ugly children, I just sometimes need more one-on-one time with one over the others for a bit.

Even those stories that sound a little darker will all eventually have a happy end.

1. Future/Null [have to simplify the name because some sites can't handle the pseudo-code lol] - krtsk; Mature (nsfw, violence, depressing themes); a cyberpunk AU with slowburn enemies to frenemies to lovers and sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. I have fun with the world and with the character dynamics between Tsukki who just hit rock bottom in his life and Kuroo who's so perfectly caring and suave that you want to smash him face-first against a wall sometimes. Also, Kenma & Aone friendship wasn't something I knew I needed in my life until I started writing it.

2. The Devil's Lap - krtsk; Mature (nsfw, violence); a low fantasy AU with some gritty elements incl. trauma and several forms of abuse. Kei lived his teenage years as the King's spoiled plaything until the new queen wanted him gone. Brutally. Prince Shoyou and his bodyguard Kageyama save him from a dehumanising fate as the town's whore and hide him at the tavern called The Devil's Lap, owned by former General Tanaka. Kuroo, a good-for-nothing playboy flirts with a witch and is turned into an ugly crooked cat.

3. Orchid Manor - krtsk; Mature (nsfw in the future, themes like death, loss, and depression); an urban fantasy AU and ghost story. At 19, Tsukki lost his mother and brother in a plane crash, leaving him without any close family. He inheritase an old manor, a place that's considered bad luck. On top of dealing with the loss, he has to deal with new friends, an odd older couple living by a graveyard, and a ghost that seems to be smitten with him, disregards personal space, but also saves his life more than once.

4. Backwater Fall - krtsk; Mature (nsfw, violence); a grim western AU with demons. The small isolated village Backwater Fall attend a regular Sunday sermon when the door of their church opens and a naked, wounded stranger walks in and stabs their priest, Father Kuroo. Only Dr. Iwaizumi instantly recognises something is very off and that this youth might help him with putting an end to the autrocities his hometown commits in the name of god. A god that demands a fresh sacrifice soon if the good people of Backwater Fall want the devestating draught to come to an end.

5. A Taste of the Future - krtsk; Mature (nsfw); a slightly naughty oneshot. Tsukki can only roll his eyes at the self-important and patronizing speeches from his boyfriend Oikawa. He can't deal with this toxic relationship anymore but he knows just the right person who'll help him. Kuroo, who runs a rather peculiar breakup-business, happily takes the case - for a fee and the fun of it. It's short, it's a little naughty, it's fun, and it's a delight to write a goofy dork like Oikawa as a controlling, smug bad guy.

I'm late to the party, the people I know as fic writers already have been tagged :')

[summer-in-florence]

Choices

Dungeon Meshi OC: Daylily Mills x Oakwell Ferns (mine) Side characters written all belong to WAREG

When all comes down to it, people have two choices. Yes, or no. Alternatives are foreign concepts made by people with too much pride—sadly myself too have been—and as you repeat enough cycles around the sun, even those with too much hubris will eventually learn that this world is made out of compromise.

Isn't it funny? That I spent years trying to run and still get caught midway? And in the form of someone I don't despise, someone I had buried incomplete hatchets of.

Oak sits in the far corner of my tavern. He's not alone, there's a kobold with him that's probably his guide through the terrain. He's enjoying his meal that Iris made, in his fancy clothes from fancy imported textile, shiny hydrophobic leather boots that's far more useful worn at sea than these caverns. He looks out of place.

The only half-foots around these areas of the dungeon are the scrawny guides and young trafficked lures. While him and his kobold exudes the opposite vibe, him the master and kobold the servant; there aren't many half-foots that are masters in general. Mickbell and Kuro, was it, would fare the same as he does and his companion, but the former two hail to another leader of their own—and are obviously not as lavishly dressed as Oak Fernbys and his roan-coloured companion.

He smiles and waves at me occassionally. I ignore him. I continue to ignore him.

"Hey, Lily? You're going to crack that mug if you keep wiping it like that." Iris' face comes into periphery. She tries to steal the glass from my hands.

"My bad," I say, too strained to sound apologetic. "Raku, take over cleaning these for me."

Thank Raku and their casual obedience, they immediately move back into the counters and do as I wanted them. All while I find something to distract myself, like the cashier, so his piercing eyes won't bother me for the next hour or so. I still have a business to run. I simply can't let the semantics of Oak's presence disturb me.

That, only lasts for ten minutes. Because Raku notices Oak staring at me, and knowing Raku, they won't zip it. "Am I crazy or is that guy staring at you?"

"You know what? I think he does," Iris pitches in. "Lily, you know that guy?"

Headaches, swirling. "Which guy." My eyes haven't left the bag of coins I'm counting.

"Half-foot, actually really tall for a half-foot. As tall as that Mr. Tims guy that you said is running the union. Locs for hair... I think it's tied to the back? Can't see it from here."

"An exotic red-fur kobold with him, though I'm not sure if they're with him or just sitting on the same table."

I sigh. These two... they're allowed to gossip on the job, but I'd prefer them talking discreetly. Is subtlety a rare skill in ogres? Oak is still a half-foot. He's sure to hear them, these two hulking ogres whispering to me over the cashier with their normal inside voice.

"He is. Don't pay him any attention." Iris gets a pinch to her elven ears. "Get back to work, please."

"So you do know him!"

"Excuse me." Oh, just great. I can tell Oak's voice from a mile. Even now without me looking, I know he's approaching the cashier.

Iris receives him, smile in her voice and a sing-song cheer, saying, "yes, how can we help you, Sir?"

"I'll get the bill, but is it possible for my party to rest here for a while? My kobold friend needs to lay down, so I was wondering if there's a room available for the night."

Raku leaves the station, whistling tunes and away from the awkward pause left hanging in the air. I think they're fetching Oak's finished plates from the corner. I didn't ask them to, but it's better than have their nose in the space when I don't need it. I can handle situations by myself. And sometimes, Raku loves butting in.

Iris purses her lips, because she can't give any say about the state of our rooms' availability. Any rooming orders must go through me, the owner. Out from the corner of my eyes I can see her going back and forth from tentatively trying to ask me, to Oak smiling knowingly across the booth, to Oak's kobold partner afar.

Chiquita isn't home, so there's a spare room open for Oak to rest himself. But I don't think that's what he's getting on. I don't think it's all that simple, it's Oak.

I look down. At him. Pissed. "I charge triple for each rooms."

"Lily!" Iris squeaks.

"No problem. But I was hoping that it includes a conversation with the owner." His grin is sly. He may come off unorthodox for a half-foot, but he's still one to his core.

Sly, cunning, cheat.

"You're welcome to wait until after hours," then, I tug on Iris' apron, defeatedly. "Iris, can you help me show the hound his lodging?"

Gold coins jingle on the counter. He spends it as easily as kicking rocks. If my senses ever deceives me, his own behaviour is unmistakable. And when he touches my hand in between, he knows that I understand what his arrival means.

-

Team meeting. Iris, Raku, and Rufus who had just returned from delivering to the orcs, huddling together in the pantry because I said so. Their larger bodies cover the threshold so that no sound may leave the tight space. It’s convenient, but it also means that I only have several minutes to explain the situation before suffocating from the lack of air. “I do not want any misunderstanding while that guy is here, okay?”

Raku bumps their head on the ceiling, groaning.

“Who are we talking about?”

Rufus groans too. The back of his head slapped by Raku and their giant palms. They murmur, “the guy in red, bro! Get on with it!”

“Shit, I just got back! You don’t have to hit me like that!”

Iris pinches both of the boys’ tummies. “Pipe down, you two! Let Lily speak!”

“Thank you.” Now that the two have settled down, I clear my throat. On normal days, I wouldn’t have ever told them, but his appearance in this island itself is abnormal to its extent, let alone here out of all places. I begin, “that man in red there, his name is Oakwell Ferns. You three should refer to him as Ferns—by half-foot honorific custom. Even if I call him Oak, you three are not privy to calling him Oak, okay?”

Rufus tilts his head. “And that means what, exactly?”

“He’s, um,” how do I even say this. How do I even say this without freaking them out, exactly. I raise up a finger, square to the front of my lips, as my other hand waves to get the three’s attention. “Oak is my… fiancé.”

The next minute is spent with falling boxes and dustbunnies flying up the air. Because of course, these three of my friends are not to be trusted with such information without coughing up a storm. They bump and hit each other whilst their heads struggle to stay inside the small storage. And then they hack their lungs out from inhaling cobwebs, and need to take a small water break before I continue.

“If you three are done, yes he is my fiancé. I’m trying to tell you the whole story here.”

Iris protests, “but! But I thought we’re sharing crushes on Kabru!”

Rufus chokes.

“I’m sorry?” 

Before I know it, I’m already blushing. The warmth seeps upon my face and making this tight space a little more airless. “It’s… the same situation. I need refreshments too, you know? Same reason why I collect Himmel’s pictures from Chiquita.” 

“But you sound so serious about him…”

I mean I guess I understand why Iris would be upset about it. Rolling the words on my tongue a little bit, it does sound like this whole bond we have from admiring the same man was made up, like it was a lie I forged just to get closer to her, as sisters. Regrettably, I should have told her about this sooner.

I take her soft, manicured hands, caressing the knuckles in reassurance. “Trust me, I would be serious about him if I’m not haunted by this Oak situation. Just as you would.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Lily. I trust you.”

“Am I the only one that’s losing the plot here?” Followed by a grunt; Raku elbows him by the gut.

I clear my throat again. “Anyways. Oak and I got engaged by our parents back in Kahka Brud, right before I ran away to this island. You guys know the story. I tried to become a singer here, then failed, then found the dungeon and here I am.” It’s hard to not shrug telling a story like this. I always prefer to keep private lives private, as it would burden people with the knowledge. “But I was only able to run away because I made a deal with Oakwell Ferns, my fiancé.”

Their first noise from the minute is all but a sympathetic croon. Raku mumbles, “yikes, Lils.”

“Yeah, yikes. You see, Oak is a shipman, so he’s rarely on-land anyway.” Details like how a half-foot like him was even able to become a shipman is best left behind for their own thoughts—in all honesty, I do have every sense of respect and awe for that fact about him itself. I sit criss-cross atop of a crate. “So I told him if he lets me leave, I’ll go back to him when the time is right.”

The realisation dawns on the three. First excited, now staring at me with giant watery eyes like kicked-up puppies on the side of the road. Their sunken faces make me feel just as terrible as the reality is.

I know the things they might be thinking. That I’ve given them a home. That I’ve given them a purpose. A place to stay. Things to do. An atonement for their past. ‘What about Chiquita? She’s not here to hear the news’ they might throw at me, and they would be correct. ‘You’re just going to leave this life behind?’

I’m fairly mature now for a half-foot. I grew up exponentially faster than Raku, Iris, and Rufus had, because not only that I, by age, are several years older than them, I was also groomed into surviving for myself.

I know, very intimately, that when all comes down to it, life only gives you choices spanning around yeses and nos. And they might not be able to savour either sensibilities yet, but they will come to learn. Myself, in particular, I’m just happy to have spent time with them. It’s a comfort that I want them to understand too.

But perhaps not now. Not yet. Chiquita isn’t home and she should be when it comes.

Reaching up, I try to pat their giant heads. “This isn’t the ‘right time’, if that’s what you guys are worried about. He’s just here to remind me. Oak is still going to be really busy, honestly. There’s no shortage of merchants to assist with exporting goods across the ocean any time soon.”

“Lily!”

Three messes of hair assault me in an instant. I don’t know how they did it, but somehow they all managed to hug me. Folding limbs and bruising sides just to nuzzle on this short half-foot sitting on a low stack of crates on the floor.

“Ah! Please! That’s why, I want you guys to let me handle things with him! Ah, get off!”

-

It’s not strange for me to bring him a pint of beer—in the standard half-foot serving, but big enough to make a lightweight go tipsy. This brings back memories, sort of. I used to serve him his drinks too back then, when I was younger.

What is definitely strange about this is the backdrop of it all. Kahka Brud is a relatively big place, with its townscape bright and illuminated by the reflections of its coastal perimeter. Back then, there would be stars when I brought him his liquor, and on the bottom of our sandals would be reminiscent with sands from a long day by the sea. Dry sandy hair wafting on the warm pelagic breeze.

This tavern is nothing like that.

Dark, and cold, mouldy by the corners. There isn’t any light here if not for Iris’ spells. When I first got this quarter, I was making do with makeshift candelabras from pieces of metal ingots dropped by passing miner dwarfs. It’s quiet here, and there isn’t a sense of safety like being on the surface gives you. It’s quiet, and there are monsters lurking somewhere.

The fact that I still get into this routine with him even now is tugging on my heartstrings. Unnecessary sentiments.

“So, is that a new partner?”

Oak laughs. “Who? Alpine? No, he’s a friend I met from the west. He said he’s willing to be my guide here, so we came together.”

“Hmm. Figures.” I try to drown myself in the beer—impossible, because he knows that I’m just as a heavy drinker as he is. All these possible solutions and not enough doors.

He gulps his own pint as well. From the eavesdroppers’, it’d look like we’re sharing a moment. However I can’t even ascertain what it is that we share in common nowadays. I haven’t seen him for so long, and he’s still carrying the load of that silly little lie I told him years ago, while I’ve looked forward too far to be told that I haven’t moved on.

Have I? I would be lying if I stopped expecting it. Somewhere along the way I dug up holes to leave old possessions behind, but his hand stuck out from the uneven mud. I just tried to forget it, but never fully ready to bury it down.

Oak shuffles in his seat, reclining just a little deeper for him to get comfier. It’s a trait I still recognise from him; all that height gave him a bad back. He breathes better as he’s settled. “What? You know I don’t like breaking promises.”

And I do? I can only glance at him for that comment. “I never asked you to hold it this long. You’re free to do whatever, honestly.”

“Well, I want to. I still kept your mother’s heirloom ring. That’s how I tracked you, by the way, thanks to my friend Alpine upstairs.” Another swing on the beer. He nearly finished the whole glass. His voice drops, saying, “just ‘whatever’ isn’t going to work on me, Daylily.”

“Oh, please. You’re saying like there aren’t any other youth out there. I know what mariners are known for, hello, my useless father was one.”

I roll my eyes at him, then clink my glass with his. Really, he makes me nervous when he gets serious, so I try to lighten the mood. It really was meant to be a sombre joke. Oak, however, isn’t having it.

He frowns, only for a split second, just to reprimand me to not drive the conversation that way. Then he starts again, “nice place you have here. I thought you wanted to be in a troupe?”

“C’est la vie,” I shrug. “That plan backfired so I tried building a career from odd jobs. The dungeon in this floor is pretty docile, so I tried doing what I could. Half-foot girls are better appreciated as beer maids than performers.”

“What’s so different from Kahka Brud then?” Or in other words, ‘you can just do this at home if this is what you end up being.’ Which is logical. Oak is always logical.

I pull my legs up and hug them, curling into a ball. A ball of a not-quite-drunk halfling girl, desperately trying to appeal to someone who wouldn’t get it.

“Difference is I get to make my own choices here.”

My own place, my own path. My own chosen people. My own family.

Is it so bad for one to want freedom like that? I want to tell him, ‘you live in the sea, you can’t even begin to fathom how life is like on land.’ Society and all of its unwritten rules, aren’t we all just running from it? Him, to the oceans, and me, underground. We both chose things we wanted.

“You’ll make more doing this in Kahka Brud.”

Then the tears just… run. Bursting out of its seams. I can’t stop it. I reach across the table and grab him by his fancy woollen shirt, water dripping into its fabric, drawing dark patches of me on his stomach. “I don’t care about money! I have people to shelter now, okay? I have sisters, and siblings, and there are people that depend on this place to continue their journey and that’s all I want! It’s something that I want!

“If, if you’re going to berate me, on how I’m an avoidant liar, fine,” my sobs overtake the air. “But don’t compare this place to Kahka Brud. There was a reason I ran away, Oakwell, I’m trying to run away. Why do you keep catching up? Why does this stupid ‘Kahka Brud‘ keep catching up?”

Oakwell lets me soak his shirt, pulling me into his lap while I ride the waves of grief that materialises in the form of his face. He pats my back, not unlike how a big brother would console his baby sister. It’s comforting. I’ve grown too used to being the responsible one here that such simple solace makes me yield.

See, I never hated him. I have never in my life resented Oakwell Ferns. Through the matchmaking, through the engagement, he’s simply just a victim of the same circumstance. One that because of chances, got off more easily than I did. We had a bond to share because of that.

It was always more to our parents. Oakwell was never home, so I had to deal with this soon-to-be joint family’s wiles more than he did. They were the ones who decided everything, blindsiding the both of us with news too big to process for two youth that just started having a life.

I called him unfair for making me the punching bag of this relationship, and he said I could ask him anything to make us even.

“Still calling off the thing?” Oak cackles to the state that I am now. Foetal on his lap, drenching his clothes into one giant puddle. I hit him weakly.

“It’s never off,” I sob, sitting up to gaze at the man. “I just don’t want to settle down with what I don’t like.”

He wipes my face with his thumb, and I instinctively lean into it. “Something tells me you don’t like me enough yet. Who is this ‘Kabru’ guy I heard?”

Wonder is, laughing is easy now. I tell him, “nobody. Your competition is not him.” Gesturing to the supposedly empty tavern, I know the lot are listening in to our conversation. “It’s actually those guys.”

-

“Say bye to Mr. Ferns, guys.” I wave at him, and the gesture is followed by Chiquita who stands next to me—she just got home, so she’s plenty confused. Iris offers the leaving men her eastern sensibilities, and the two others just stand to accompany me.

Oak shouts, “I’ll visit again next year!”

“Please don’t!” And the both of us laugh.

The tavern is closed for the day because I can’t handle it, outbursts like yesterday demands from me a proper sleep before I can continue running this whole thing.

Once we’re back inside, it’s Rufus’ turn to talk. “You’re engaged engaged to him, huh, boss.”

“Huh? So why aren’t you married, Lily?” Chiquita yelps.

I tell her, “just made a choice. That’s all.”

[narcissisticmf]

tavern dance | loki x fem!reader

description: loki and y/n share a dance.

trigger warnings: mentions of anxiety, some crude humor, seductive behavior, etc. read at your own risk.

word count: 1k

Strands of hair stuck to your lips as you bounced against the cement floor in your bare feet. The beating of your heart palpitated faster than your breath could catch up as you swiftly moved with the beat of the music. You could feel your legs grow tired, but that wouldn't stop you.

Surrounding yourself with a group of strangers, you danced the evening away. As you pranced, you felt a hand against your back to showcase someone's presence. You turned to look, without stopping your dance and saw Loki's light eyes gazing happily into your own.

"Mind if I join in?" He suggested with a growing smile.

You laughed gleefully in response and took his hands into your own, beginning to spin him around as he yelped. Without losing the rhythm to the music, you and Loki began to dance together, prancing around in circles with stupid smiles against your lips.

As the song ended, you laughed helplessly and clapped your hands, standing close to Loki as he did the same. Despite the cheers to the band finishing their song, another gradually began.

"Another!" Gravely voices were heard at the tables as glasses were smashed against the ground in Asgard's Tavern.

You breathlessly laughed and locked your arm with Loki's, prancing round and round to the second song. His face lit up as the two of you continued to dance. Any weight that was against your shoulders was lifted as you moved with the happy sounding music.

"I can't believe you're not tired! You've been dancing for hours, Lady Y/N!" Thor called out as he watched you and Loki spinning around.

"Who's to say I'm not tired?!" You laughed through your heavy breathing.

Loki smiled and snuck his arms around your waist, lifting you up to spin you around. You laughed happily as your dress moved with the wind. You draped your arms around his shoulders as he began to place you down upon your feet again.

"I wouldn't have guessed you had so much energy," You looked up to him, resting your hands in his.

"Oh?" His eyes displayed a mischievous glint as a smirk arose upon the corners of his lips. You laughed again as he held his hands in yours, beginning to dance again. You spun around with him across the cement, for sure to leave a dark stain upon the bottom of your feet.

Your dress flowed with the brisk wind as you pranced with the God of Mischief. He snuck his arms around your waist and lifted you again, spinning around as you clung to him, fearful that you would fall, but happy to be so close.

.

Fingers entwined, you walked along the bridge that overlooked the lake beside the garden of Asgard. You smiled as the stars lit up the night. Your feet were still bare as you moved across the flimsy wood.

"I had no conception you were able to dance like that," Loki commented as his lips curved into a small smile, his dimples caved in.

"It's liberating," You smiled and pulled you hand from his as you walked against the edge of the bridge, eyeing the way the water looked in reflection to the stars. Loki stopped in his tracks and formed a crooked grin as he watched you admiring the way the lake moved so gently in the night.

You could hear the muffled sounds of stomping feet and fiddles playing from the tavern as you released a soft, happy breath. The reflection of the water glistened within your eyes as you held onto the rail. The guttural laughter from the partying Asgardians brought a soft smile to your face.

"Tonight was the first time in such a long while where I felt truly happy," You turned to see Loki walking towards you. His hands gripped the rail as he stood about an inch or two beside you.

"It'd be promiscuous of me to think it was because of our dance, my dear," Loki spoke quietly, almost intimately.

You laughed sweetly and turned your gaze to the water again, "You're not entirely wrong."

"Oh?" Loki's lips were pressed together as he formed a smile, of which one he tried to suppress.

"I adore the moments I spend with you, Loki," You admitted with a smile to your face, "Tonight reminded me of that."

Loki grinned and slowly moved closer to you as his eyes were locked with your profile. You were admiring the water and the moon as the frogs croaked and the owls sung. The thumping from the dancing tavern guests was such a comforting sound in the moment.

"Thank you," You broke the stillness between you and Loki, turning your head to face him as he was closer than you had anticipated, but it was comfortable.

"For what, darling?" Loki cocked a brow.

Your lips curved into a soft grin, "For allowing me to let go of my anxieties even for one night."

Loki's lips slowly formed a smile as his light eyes gazed into your own. He raised his hand to gently hold your jawline as he tilted your head back. You smiled with your lips enclosed together, taking in his beauty. He leaned his head forward and pressed his lips to yours, creating the utmost glorious sentiment within your veins. You fluttered your eyes closed, as did he and rested your fingertips against his forearms.

The moment, unfortunately, didn't last forever as you felt him pull back. You gazed at him with a happy glisten in your eyes. He smiled with his dimples deepening amongst his cheeks.

"Shall we have one last dance before the evening ends, my dear?" Loki questioned as he ran his fingers through the roots of your hair.

You grinned and slowly nodded your head as Loki stepped back, holding out his hand for you. You eased your fingers into his large hand as the two of you made your way back inside the tavern.

.

a/n: hi, my lovelies!! i absolutely loved writing this! i just recently got a new job and have been under a lot of stress lately so i apologize for not posting as much as i normally would! i'm so close to 1k, guys!! i can't believe it! thank you so so much for supporting me and my work 🥹 you're all so amazing! i hope you have a great day/night and be sure to take care of yourself. i love you all so much! mwah! — angelina.

[wistfulwatcher]

I love your Leverage commentary! Can you expand a little more on how Harry and Breanna's introductions feel like introing characters to an established d&d party as opposed to introing new characters? I find the distinction fascinating, and I imagine that you are quite right as John Rogers is so into that kind of thing.

Thank you! And absolutely, I'd love to 😊

So I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this on here before, but the best D&D player advice I've ever seen is that when you start making your character, you don't design "a character"—rather, you design a party member. That distinction is so important in D&D because it's a game where you—both the player and the character—are working toward the same goal with the others—players and characters—at the table. Each player's goal is (or should be) the same: work with your friends to tell a collaborative story.

But each character's goal can be different, as long as it allows for the story to progress. Characters will always have conflicts, but party members have to prioritize the health of the party over those individual conflicts. So designing a party member is really about designing a character who will work with others to the extent required by the story. In some cases this can be an external motivator (like each individual being hired to work on the same quest), but in many cases (e.g., the classic "meet at a tavern" start) it will require a more internal motivation. That is, your character will need to have some reason(s) that they will choose to work with a group of people.

And not only will they need to make that choice the first time, they will need to continue to choose to work with the party over and over and over again. They will need to choose to work with them when it may not be the most convenient, and they need to choose to work with them when there is conflict between party members. To me, this advice really means that you start making a character by answering the question, "Why does this person want to work with a team?" Because if you can't answer that question, why on earth would your character make the difficult choice to stay when it's easier to leave?

That can be a really difficult aspect of crafting a character. In D&D (and storytelling in general) it can often require the player (or author) to simply make that choice to stay for the character. Which can be fine in a game of D&D (we're all there to have fun, after all), but it's so much more rewarding when you can give your character a reason to want to be with a party, even before an emotional bond has been made with one or multiple other characters. And in traditional storytelling, if your character doesn't have internal motivation to stay with a group of strangers (and very low or no external motivation) it's very hard to buy into a the story being told.

Now, all of that is to preface the fact that the Leverage crew (original and Redemption edition) do this so well. I've probably said this before, but Leverage reminds me so much of a strong D&D party, because of how well crafted the team is, and how much sense it makes for all of them to work together. Part of why I think Leverage does found family so well is because they didn't start with five characters, they started with a team. The pilot begins with external motivation bringing three loner criminals together with a loner honest man, but by the end of the episode there are five people who choose to work together, without that external motivation. A lesser show could have stuck with the formula of people hiring them as a team a few times before they started to bond out of forced socialization (similar to how a lot of procedural found families form), but Leverage doesn't! They even go so far as to show just how unnecessary it is for any of them to work in general ever again, considering how much money they make.

Instead, they give each one of them something they personally gain out of forming the crew: Eliot needs someone to protect, Hardison wants a leader and structure, Parker does it out of the joy she gets from her craft and being challenged, Sophie wants to spend time with Nate and get to know him again, and Nate needs to do something positive in the world. Their motivations are all a bit more complex than that (or become more complex as the first season progresses), but that is the internal motivation presented for each of them by the pilot, and it's enough. By the end of that pilot, you buy into the premise of them as a team because you can understand that there is something each of them will gain from working together, even when it's messy and difficult.

The writers did the same thing when they introduced Harry and Breanna. In each case, they designed a party member to be introduced to a specific party, instead of designing a character. (They also needed to address the more mechanical aspect of the D&D advice—i.e., how their skills could enhance or add to the existing skills on the crew—but I won't go into that since it's pretty clear how they were designed that way in the text of the show.)

In Harry's case, he is a man primed for change, with virtually no tools to do so. He has realized he's unhappy with who he has become, he knows he wants to do something about it, he's accepted that the something won't be legal. But it becomes very clear after the crew brings him back to Sophie's house that while he was trying to do something, he was very lost. Probably most similar to Hardison's original reason, Harry needed guidance and structure. (With a touch of Nate, needing to put something good into the world, though that gets an asterisk after The Muddy Waters Job.) He needed people to show him how to accomplish what he wanted to accomplish. And he is so ready to take this action to make amends, that he latches onto a group of kidnappers strangers that happen to be in the very unexpected situation of being able to give him the exact guidance he needs. (I'll add on a barely-related note that his introduction scene was about the most D&D introduction I've ever seen on television and it was incredible.)

Both similarly and not, Breanna is a bit lost. She isn't happy with what she's currently doing and she wants to do something positive, too, but it's implied that she has some tools to do things similar to what the Leverage crew is doing since she has Hardison's skills and a good heart. However, what she's lacking is hope. She's grown up in a world on fire, and she's already exhausted. She wants to help but she feels impotent to make any real difference. She tells Harry in The Rollin' on a River Job that she's giving Leverage a shot because she's desperate. And so when the crew has their first success, Breanna sees it. She's a part of it. She wants to do something positive (like Nate), and she wants to protect people (like Eliot). And by the end of her second job, she's gotten to see the impact of her efforts on both fronts! This girl whose actions have all (presumably) occurred in cyberspace, in a very intangible way, suddenly gets to see the difference she can make. She sees a reason to hope for something better.

And, not only did the writers give both of these new characters such rich motivation to want to work with the crew, but they also had to give the original characters motivation to want to accept them (and choose to accept them over and over and over again). Hardison feels responsible for Breanna, both as her big brother and a fellow hacker who had been heading down the wrong path. He sees a chance to help her avoid some of his mistakes, and he wants to help her do that. Parker, Eliot, and Sophie all want to help him by helping her, and help her because they can relate on their own, as well. And Harry is Sophie's distraction. Her project. And both Parker and Eliot (and Hardison, though he's gone) want to help Sophie through her grief, however that presents itself.

And I think that mixture of personal motivation and "do it for someone you love" motivation is also part of what makes it feel like a D&D established party introduction, because that's something you can only really do once a party has bonded and become family.

[dailyadventureprompts]

maybe an odd question: my game has been on hiatus for a long time, so as we resume online soon i'm worried my players will be disoriented if we jump right back in where we left off. do you have tips for recaps? I can't very well go over Everything that happened before, and anyway if i talk for too long without engaging everyone, half of my players stop paying attention. and then i'll have to repeat myself ad infinitum. how do i engage people in a recap??

Drafting the Adventure: The Last-Time Tavern

The simple answer to your problem (a break in momentum, players that will tune out during a lore dump) is to prove instant engagement while slowly refreshing your players on what's going on.  To manage that, may I suggest using a bit of storytelling magic and running a small, bitesize adventure as a kind of “sidestory”, rather than trying to plunge right back into the middle of where you left off? 

Express your concerns to your players, explain why suddenly we're cutting away from where we were, and they we're going to be running a low stakes adventure as a way to get everyone used to playing online. 

Then, when this "appetizer" adventure is finished, you use it as a slringboard for your a more active form of recap that'll take the form of your paty coming together to decide what to do next. 

For this example, we're going to use "the Last-Time tavern" as our appetizer, its a cheery little inn just outside your plot relevant town or city that's recently run into some supernatural trouble that’ll be a delightful refresher for your adventure starved party.  When you first run this adventure, don’t worry about filling your party in on the meta-plot or renewing crucial plot details, you’ve got plenty of time to wind back up to those in the future. 

Adventure Hooks: 

Not long before (Major plot event earlier in the campaign), your party was tired from traveling and each sorely in need of a hot meal and a soft bed. To that end, they stop in at the Last-Time Tavern. Their mission is simple: Get in, get fed, arrange some rooms for the night, and maybe have a bit of fun chatting and drinking with the tavern’s patrons, a friendly lot who are eager to swap stories of the road (worldbuilding refresher) and share a few toasts. 

When the party ask about about rooms, they get a muddled response. The rooms upstairs are booked solid thanks to ( campaign event), and while some of the serving staff mention there also being rooms downstairs, the proprietor says there are no rooms in the cellar, and the party will need to lay out their bedrolls in the common room and try to get some sleep after the tavern finally calms down in the late evening. Likewise, some of the tavern regulars report having strange dreams while staying overnight, often involving a hazy figure silently watching them. 

As a bonus, one of the other travelers staying at the tavern is an influential NPC the party may expect to meet later on in their adventures. While not a grand mover and shaker in the grand scope of the campaign, this character may provide an important contact for your key adventure, or may extend an offer of work if the party seeks them out later ( such as when the campaign resumes proper) 

Setup:  In actuality, the cellar rooms are unavailable due to a grisly discovery made by the proprietor some months ago.  While attempting to repair some leaky foundations, they discovered a concealed cache within the walls, containing the mold covered bones and a selection of talismans and trinkets. More avaricious than superstitious, the proprietor took the bones and buried them out by the edge of the forest, and added the trinkets to their personal supply.  Unbeknownsed to them, that cache was the remnants of a pagan altar, hastily hidden and later forgotten after a violent witchhunt swept the countryside and ensured the altar’s original constructor would never return. Now a ghost haunts the Tavern, creeping through at night looking for its lost possessions, unsettled from the rites that kept it bound to the altar.  It dwells silent and unseen in the cellars most days, emerging only to look through the dreams of the sleeping to try to find the location of what was taken from it, and will do so as long as the possessions are not returned to its new grave. 

Future Adventures: 

NOW we get into the recap, after your players have finished dealing with the ghost and finish the “side story”, we start back up with the main story.  We retcon that the trail went cold, and the party split up for a couple weeks/months to pursue leads, deciding to meet back up at a predetermined time at the Last-Time Tavern.   

Things have changed from the party since then, and the patrons and staff are eager to hear of their continuing adventures ( again, letting you swap worldbuilding for , but this time you players can “ pay” for it with what they remember going on from their previous sessions). 

Ask each party member what they think they’d have investigated in their time apart. Work with them there at the table till you can agree upon some stuff that happened, dropping in exposition and recap as you see fit. By giving each player exposition in the form of a “lead” they’ll be more personally interested in seeing it through and picking up where they left off before the break. also be sure to throw in some personal details about their character’s time away, perhaps throwing in some snippets of their own backstory. 

Once everyone’s time away has been explained, ask the party what they want to pursue next. There’ll be as many options on the table as there are players ( plus one more now, thanks to the NPC you introduced earlier). Once they’re done discussing what to do next ( giving you a hint of where to aim your prep for the next few sessions), have something dramatic happen! The guards bust in and try to arrest someone! A scream radiates out through the forest! The rafters creek in strain as some massive flying creature makes a roost of the building they’re in.   This can either be a completely random encounter, or serve as an intro to your greater A Plot, either way, it’s something to round out the session’s runtime that doesn’t’t require you to act on any of the split decisions your players just made. 

Hope that Helps friend, it’s always tough to stop or start a story in the middle, and it takes some practice to know how to get your narrative train back on tracks. Let me know if this helps!

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[browzerhistory]

i've acquired one encouragement (thank you @fleshy-reblogs)

ok so her name is menura and she's a human artificer. since it's kind of a silly campaign i didn't go too hard on her backstory; she has a guild artisan background and her thing is that her parents are both master locksmiths and wanted to raise her in the family business, and she was really gifted, but she used her talent for Evil and mostly just stole shit. eventually her parents got fed up, cut her off and kicked her out, with the instructions to make an honest living or never come back, so she decided to try her hand at adventuring.

i wanted her to be an artificer because our campaign concept is that there's a rift in reality that's allowing a sci-fi, futuristic world to leak into the usual medieval fantasy dnd world we start in. i'm hoping as the story progresses she can learn about the insane future weapons and tech and use them. plus i haven't played an artificer before so yknow, broadening my horizons and such.

unfortunately she is also the most unlucky character i have ever had the misfortune to create. our first session we have a classic "party meets in a tavern" and our 'bard' badly fails at singing a nice song, which makes everyone in the bar mad at him. menura is just hanging out nearby and watching it go down but like three people start beefing with HER for NO REASON. only because another member of our party caused a ruckus outside did she escape without a fight.

shortly after we're going into the fields outside town to check on the local wizard, whose tower has been diagonal and whom nobody has heard from for a week or so. menura opens the door and peeks in to make sure he's not dead, and from behind a kitchen table, he THROWS LIGHTNING AT HER and barely misses. he's on guard because a missile from the rift knocked over his tower despite his enchantments.

the rest of the first session passes without major issue. shortly into our second session though, we find a small structure that came from the rift and investigate. however theres goblins Also investigating and for some goddamn reason our 'bard' uses color spray and overrolls SO HARD that he turns one of the goblins to RED MIST.

immediately we get scared bc theres still like seven goblins and we are all level 2 (and our gnome is Incapacitated due to drinking, amd 2 of our other players couldnt make it). then i think: hey, menura can speak goblin, maybe she can diffuse the situation!

reader. i rolled a 1.

one of the goblins immediately jumps for a stab, but she dodges and lands a hit while their back is turned. another goblin attacks and fucking one taps her and she goes down.

our 'bard' manages to handle the rest of the fight all by himself and at one point uses thunder wave, causing menura's poor carcass to be launched into several more goblins and knock them over. she gets revived once the rest of the goblins retreat but it's not a great way to start a campaign huh.

one long rest later and our wizard is cooking some breakfast on a mysterious box he got from the structure. the main issue here being that it's steadily getting hotter and hotter and the wizard can't stop it (it's a bomb he was cooking breakfast on a BOMB).

a big crack forms in one of the sides and everyone dives behind trees. dm has us roll for how lucky we get (a worrying sentence to jear from a dm in any situation).

reader. i rolled a 3.

thankfully, this time, menura was Not onehit, but she failed to get her arm behind the tree and it was straight in the blast.

there was no visible damage, but she can feel something deeper than her skin, deeper even than her bones, taking hold. we try cure wounds and it works at first, but as the spell finishes, not only does the feeling return but it starts spreading up her arm with her pulse. weird little spots start appearing on the back of her hand too.

and then we had to end session because it was 7 pm!! so she's probably irradiated or something now :(

i dont have any art of her on hand but i will make a shitty little drawing in a moment so you can put a face to the suffering

would anyone like to hear about my dnd character.

[elisaphoenix13-cullrian]

Trust Again (Ch.8)

Elation.

That's what he felt for the following week after their kiss. It even helped him forget about his pain to some extent. Which only lasted another couple of days until the elfroot finished what healing it could do. It left behind some very obvious scars that Dorian would likely carry for the rest of his life, but he was lucky to be alive.

When he was well enough to walk around and return to his research without keeling over every ten steps, Dorian returned to his alcove in high spirits. And with a smile he couldn't seem to quite get rid of. Any attempts failed miserably whenever Cullen took a moment out of his busy schedule to stop by the library and see how Dorian was doing. The man was still somewhat concerned about his injuries, but Dorian would reassure him that he was perfectly fine.

It took more reassurance from Trevelyan that he wouldn't be taking Dorian out until the mage was fully recovered and fit to travel again for Cullen to relax. Not that Dorian would have let the Inquisitor drag him around Thedas anyway. Even he knew he had his limits and he knew he could still become a hindrance until he was back in peak form.

So his days were spent as they usually were whenever he was in Skyhold. Researching, caring for his fennec, spending time in the tavern for food and drink, and of course, making himself at home in Cullen's tower whenever the commander lost himself in his work.

There was also the fittings for their uniform for the upcoming ball at the Winter Palace. Dorian happened to walk into Cullen's office when it was the commander's turn and he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Dorian could tell that he was itching to get back to work. The man was eyeing his ever growing stack of missives and he only sighed when a runner came through to add to the pile.

"I don't understand why I can't just go as I usually dress," Cullen bemoans.

"Oh, don't let Josephine hear you say that." Dorian finally laughs as he walks over. "She'll lecture you."

"If it were up to me, I wouldn't go. We wouldn't even be going if it weren't for that future you and the Inquisitor saw." Cullen huffs and Dorian's face falls a bit.

That had been an experience. Thinking back on it, Dorian was rather glad he hadn't seen or heard of what had befallen the commander. Knowing Cullen's struggle with kicking his lyrium addiction, he would have likely succumbed to the red lyrium's song. Against his will. Dorian had a feeling he would have been tortured in some way with it as a last minute attempt to get Cullen to join the Red Templars...and in turn Corypheus.

"It's just for one night Commander. Perhaps you'll even enjoy yourself." Dorian plucks a loose string from the blonde's shirt while he scowls.

"There is nothing to enjoy about playing the Game. Those Orlesian parties are not my idea of fun." Cullen looked down at the floor where Niko had taken an interest in a spool of thread and was starting to bat at it with his paw. "Niko, enough." He says firmly.

"Let's go help with the pile of paperwork on his desk." Dorian offers the kit.

At the very least, it would help the poor seamstress finish her job quicker when Cullen stopped squirming, and if there was something to toss, Dorian could crumple it up and give it to Niko to play with. When the commander didn't protest, Dorian walked over to the desk and picked up the pile, leafing through it for anything that looked remotely important. Anything that looked boring anyway. He would read those out and Cullen would give his response for Dorian to write down.

"...the trebuchet on the north wall -- do they really send you paperwork for that nonsense?" Dorian asks, crumpling the paper and throwing it to the floor after skimming through it and deeming it unnecessary.

"When I can't leave my office."

"Seems a waste of paper." Dorian mumbles as he looks through the shrinking pile. "Oh? What's this? 'Dear Mia, I'm still alive, your loving brother, Cullen. Honestly, is it so diffi-'" At Cullen's groan, Dorian smiles widely. "I didn't know you had a sister! I like her already! It's nice to know I'm not the only one that sasses you."

"I have two...and a brother." Cullen says. "I admit I'm not good at writing them when I should."

"Well she's already done half of it for you. Where's your quill? I'll even write back on your behalf." Dorian rounds the desk to search for the elusive quill, finding it and a blank piece of paper to write on. "Dear Mia, Commander Cullen is still very much alive much to my pleasure--"

"Dorian." Cullen sighs. "Alright, I'll respond to her letter as soon as I'm done here. Please don't write anymore. She's the type to read into everything and will use every little detail she can to use against me if I make her angry."

Dorian laughs. "Younger or older?"

"She's the oldest. I'm second. Then Branson, and Rosalie is the youngest." Cullen answers, sighing with relief when the seamstress finally finishes with his measurements and releases him. He walks over to take Mia's letter from Dorian to read for himself, cringing a little. "I haven't written to her since before Haven fell."

"Commander, that was months ago."

"Cullen."

Dorian blinks and looks at Cullen. "Excuse me?"

Cullen sighs as he sets the letter down on his desk. "Call me Cullen... please. Having you call me by my title after…" His brows furrow and he looks at Dorian uncertainly. "Where exactly do we stand?"

Cullen may have been bold and confident when he kissed Dorian just a week ago, but he was still unsure of where that left their relationship. Considering Dorian's experience, he couldn't say he blamed Cullen. It was nice of him to consider that in a way.

"Where do you want this to go?" Dorian asks softly.

"I would like to court you." Cullen answers immediately and with no hint of hesitation to Dorian's surprise. Well, he was a little surprised. Cullen was the type to take things seriously. "This...isn't a passing fancy for me."

Dorian couldn't help the smile that returned to his lips as he looked back down at the letter he started to pen. He dabbed the quill in more ink before writing some more. "--and has started a committed relationship with yours truly--"

"I'm not sending that you know."

"Well you're no fun." Dorian sets the quill down. "Write her back, you buffoon."

Cullen chuckles and walks around the desk to join Dorian. "In just a moment. But first…"

He reaches out to turn the mage's face toward his and leans in to kiss Dorian. It wasn't desperate and borderline animalistic like their first one had been. Rather chaste actually. Leaving Dorian wanting more when Cullen pulled away. But there had been a promise for more in that kiss. It left him feeling treasured...wanted. If they were in Tevinter, he would have laughed at how gently Cullen was treating him because that wasn't how things worked there. In Tevinter, they had their fun and moved on.

It was even like that with…

But this was not Tevinter, and Dorian had to remind himself of that. There were no expectations of either of them to carry on their family name or produce an heir here. Cullen truly cared about him, and Dorian knew he was in it for the long haul. That he wasn't going to cast him aside.

"I haven't had the chance to do that again." Cullen mumbles, just a hairbreadth away from Dorian's lips.

"Hmm...I wouldn't mind if you did it again." Dorian pulls him back into another kiss by the front of his shirt, and is indeed rewarded with another kiss. This time a little more wanton.

He could have kissed Cullen all day, but he was the commander and it had only been a matter of time before they were interrupted. "Commander, I have the list of supplies --"

The runner looks up from the paper in his hands and freezes when the commander turns to level him with a glare. Dorian never thought a glare could be so attractive...but then Cullen even growled when the runner continued to stand and stare. The poor man probably wasn't sure what to do. Dorian knew he might need to step outside and cool down though before other parts of him became interested in Cullen's aggression.

So Dorian decided to break the tension by gently taking the paper from the runner with a smile. "Thank you, I'm sure you have other deliveries to make, yes?"

That seemed to shake the runner out of his stupor and he nodded. "Yes Ser, excuse me." He hurries out of Cullen's office and Dorian looks back at the commander who had finally sighed and grabbed the letter from his sister.

"I guess you have some work to do. Why don't I grab us some lunch and bring it back here?" He offers, frowning when Cullen rubs his eyes. "Another headache?"

"I don't think it is related to the lyrium." Cullen sighs. "I'm alright."

"Here. Give me your hands. It's been a while since I've checked." The mage requests, holding his hands out. Cullen turned and offered his hands without argument and Dorian immediately started to reach with his magic. The commander didn't even flinch.

Dorian searched for the lyrium core with his magic and felt his brows furrow when he struggled to do so. Then realization hit him. There was nothing. The lyrium in Cullen's body was non-existent and from what he could tell, it had been completely gone for quite a few days now.

"Cullen...when was the last time you used a smite?" Dorian asks.

"Not recently." Cullen answers after some thought. "Things have been hectic so I haven't been able to train the mages. Cassandra has been helping with that. Why do you ask?"

Dorian opens his mouth to answer, but one of the doors once again swings open in interruption, and nearly hits Niko in its trajectory. The kit was able to dodge the door with a startled squeak as another runner came in looking extremely nervous.

"Commander!"

"What is it?" Cullen sighs.

"There is a man here. He claims to be from Tevinter and that he's come for Lord Pavus." She answers.

For a moment, Dorian let fear take over. Had his father come to retrieve him and take him back to Tevinter to pick up where he left off? If so, Halward was a fool if he thought Dorian would go quietly. He had something good here. He had a purpose that wasn't marrying a woman he despised, and he had someone that cared about him. Despite the cold and mud, Dorian was actually starting to like the south...not that he would ever admit that out loud. It did have its charm.

But then Cullen reached by him to grab his sword and Dorian saw a glimpse of the fury in the commander's eyes. He knew then that Cullen had every intention to make Halward leave if the man refused to do so quietly...and Dorian knew his father. If he came all the way to Skyhold to retrieve Dorian, he would not be going without a fight. Whether it was verbal or physical...or both.

"Cullen." Dorian calls as the man leaves the tower in quick strides, following after him. They descend the stairs leading to the gate, and he manages to get in front of the commander and stop him. "While I appreciate your willingness to be my knight in shining armor, I can fight my own battles."

"Of course you can, but you are still recovering!" Cullen growls and moves to continue his prowl to the front gate before Dorian stops him with a hand on his chest.

"I'm well enough to defend myself if need be. I will talk to him and send him on his way." Dorian says carefully and relaxes a little when Cullen clenches his jaw but doesn't plow through him. "Besides, you're just as exposed as I am. You're not back in your armor."

Cullen didn't seem to care about his armor and that was a good indication of how angry he was. Dorian knew he always liked to be prepared for battle, but the fact that he would risk confronting a mage without it or his shield? He obviously wasn't thinking clearly.

Dorian led the rest of the way down to the gate once Cullen calmed down enough, and he found a group of people already there. Indeed, Halward had come himself, all the way to Skyhold, and the Inquisitor was standing so that he couldn't enter any further without his permission. Or Dorian's. Not that he would get it.

"Father. What a surprise to see you all the way out here." Dorian says cooly as he approaches Halward.

"I've come to take you home." His father says immediately and Dorian could hear Cullen tightening his hand around his sword behind him.

"You've wasted your time. I'm not going. I'm helping the Inquisition because it is the right thing to do. I've already told you all of this." Dorian says. "As it stands, I have no intention of returning when this is all over."

Halward sneers. "The Inquisition will not miss you. They have plenty of help."

"You're wrong Magister." Trevelyan interrupts. "Dorian is very important to us and our cause. He has earned his place here and we would all notice if he had gone missing. If you try to take him against his wishes, we will come after you, and we will bring him back."

"Dorian has responsibilities back home." Halward says and Dorian stiffens when some other mages join Halward. So he planned to take Dorian from the start. There would be no talking to him.

"Like turning me into a drooling vegetable?!" Dorian bites out and his father frowns.

"I only want what's best for you."

"You mean what's best for you, and your fucking legacy." Dorian snaps as lightning sparks at his fingertips. "Go home father. I won't tell you again."

"I've had enough of your disobedience, Dorian."

That was enough warning for Dorian to conjure an orb of lightning in his hands just as the other mages started their spells...but they never had a chance to cast anything. Halward and his mages suddenly crumpled to their knees with cries of shock, and they weren't the only ones. The Inquisition mages around them had fallen too. Dorian was the only one who seemed unaffected by the smite that was used, and he had a feeling he knew why. He dispels his own magic and turns to look at Cullen, finding the raw fury in his eyes again. Before he could say anything to calm the commander though, Cullen had stepped past him to stand in front of Halward and point his sword at his throat.

"You are not welcome here. You will go back to Tevinter without Dorian and you will not bother him any longer." Cullen snarls.

Halward eyes the blonde with disdain and looks past him at Dorian. "A Ferelden dog lord? A templar?"

"No. The commander of the Inquisition." Dorian corrects. "Go home, Father. I will not change my mind and you will not be dragging me back to Tevinter."

With that, Dorian carefully places his hand on Cullen's arm and gently tugs on it to pull the commander away. To his relief, Cullen responded by sheathing his sword and barking orders at some soldiers to escort Halward and the mages away from Skyhold, and left with Dorian to return to his office. They remained silent until they were back in the tower where Cullen walks over to his desk and places his hands on it to release the tension in his shoulders. Considering he lifted a hand to rub his eyes hard enough that Dorian was sure he would poke them out, Cullen's headache was probably flaring up with a vengeance.

"Sit down. I'll take care of that." Dorian says softly.

"I... apologize." Cullen finally says after dropping his hand. "I almost lost you once. I won't let it happen again when I can do something about it."

"He deserved it. Sit." Dorian pushes his arm to persuade him to his chair, and when Cullen finally sits, he rubs his hands to warm them up before massaging his shoulders. He was definitely stressed. Cullen felt wound up and Dorian made a mental note to make sure he had a day to wind down.

"I suppose there's still some lyrium left." Cullen says.

"...there is none." When Cullen tries to look back at him, Dorian tsks and moves it back. "You were right to call lyrium a leash. Not only is it addictive to non-mages, but it appears to dampen the full potential of a templar's abilities. You didn't just smite my father and his followers...I believe you affected all the mages of Skyhold."

"But you weren't affected?" Cullen asks with mixture of surprise and confusion.

"I think you didn't want it to." Dorian answers.

"No. I didn't." Cullen admits. "I wanted to stop them. I didn't care about anyone else." The commander groans softly and bows his head as Dorian moves his hands up to his neck. "I suppose this is the headache that comes with the title."

"It's a sign that you are overworking yourself." Dorian huffs. "You really should let someone like Rylen take care of the smaller issues. Let them worry about the trebuchets."

"...but I like calibrating them."

Dorian snorts. "Of course you do. I'm just suggesting you find something you can trust them to take care of."

"Perhaps I should." Cullen mumbles.

Dorian continues his gentle massage, applying heat, ice, or storm magic when needed and Cullen relaxes from his touch with every passing moment. The smite probably took a lot out of him and he was already tired to begin with, and they still haven't had lunch. He didn't know about Cullen, but he was hungry...and Niko must of had the same idea because he was slowly inching toward the door they had come through just minutes ago.

His thoughts were pulled back to what Cullen had said though.

I almost lost you once. I won't let that happen again.

Dorian was very capable of fighting his own battles like he had told the commander, but it was refreshing to have someone ready to defend him. Cullen didn't do it because he thought Dorian weak. He did it because they were friends… because he cared about him. He couldn't be irritated because he knew he would do the same for Cullen. He hoped neither of them would have to go that far but he knew that would take a miracle. They were at war after all.

He snaps out of his inner musings when Cullen's head starts to Bob and he chuckles softly as he leans forward to drape his arms across the blonde's chest and rests his chin on his shoulder.

"Feeling better?" Dorian whispers.

"Mmm? Yes...thank you." Cullen lifts his head and tilts it back before closing his eyes again. "Are you alright?"

"I had a very handsome commander come to my rescue. I'm better than alright," Dorian teases making Cullen huff. "Come on. Let us go get something to eat before you take that nap you're desperate to have."

Cullen grunts and blinks his eyes open again, sitting up when Dorian moves away. "That smite helped with my appetite, that's for sure."

"Being lyrium free helps too, I'm willing to bet."

"Part of me still can't believe it." Cullen admits as he stands and grabs his armor. "I'm still waiting for the pain...the craving."

Dorian smiles. "How are the nightmares?"

Cullen remains quiet as he fastens the buckles of his breastplate, and then looks at Dorian. "They're not gone, but there are fewer."

"Then I think this calls for another night of drinking!" Dorian exclaims and walks over to the door to scoop up Niko and hand him to Cullen. "Here, take our fennec. He's hungry as well."

"Why don't you hold him?"

"Because he likes your fur. Don't argue with me amatus."

Dorian walks out the door, leaving Cullen to look after him in confusion before he calls out, "what does that mean?"

[bottledemotion]

Our Dance Beneath the Moonlight (Diluc X Fatui reader)

- Gender neutral reader

- 1.9k+ words

- warning/s: a tiny bit suggestive but only stated/seen through words not action

- spoiler from one of the quest which is from the “Darknight Hero”

Their first meeting started with the click of their weapons together.

It was in the dead of the night where it all began. It was peaceful, not a single citizen can be seen on the usually busy street of Mondstadt, even the guards who was supposed to be on patrol in the night cannot be seen nor find on the street, all busy and occupied from the sudden slime attack on the docks, leaving the city unprotected for the night. No cicadas and frogs are singing together to fill up the silence of the night, nor the usual muffled loud, boisterous noises from each tavern. All are asleep and oblivious of the danger they're under on, too preoccupied with their own little world behind closed doors.

So it was peaceful and quiet, too quiet in fact.

Perfect for the people on the night to strike. 

Or so they thought, for they forget that there's a hero that roams around in the dead of night from Mondstadt, someone who others call them the "Darknight Hero".

Which is why there were no eyes to witness the fight between a Fatui member, face hidden to the hood from their black coat, and a certain hero of the night from Mondstadt.

The hero took a leap back after their weapons- claymore and sword -connected to one another, his untamed red locks tied up to a low ponytail followed his quite graceful movements, like he was very used to it. Once the distance between them widens, he prepared his stance. He lowered his body like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. His hold from his claymore tightened as he raised its weight above and placed it behind him, ready to swing it to their way at any given moment which he will do without hesitation.

He watched them. His narrowed red ruby eyes never left the figure in front of him. He watched the slight subtle movements they make, the breath they each take, the swing of their sword that managed to take the brute force of his claymore danced from their black-gloved fingertips and air with a nonchalant grace. From the way they smirk at his way, he can tell with full conviction that they're doing those on purpose, mocking him, teasing him.

He gritted his teeth.

His enemy's smirk widens.

And to that, both immediately move forward. Their distance lessened, and both parties met each other halfway. The click of their weapons clashed to the dead silence, creating a loud echo between them. Their silent steps from the tiled roof under them and the clash of their weapons together are in sync like they're dancing together, both reciprocating the raw passion to fight and dominate the other give back to every slash of their weapon that met the other.

One could say this is how rivals truly show their hate to the other. A fight in a form of a dance. Both started on different sides, making them wary to one another, making their distance between them widen, vast and bumpy like an ocean. Despite the distance, both are willing to cross the bumpy waves of the ocean to meet each other halfway with the clash of their weapons and eyes boring to the other, eyes full of loathe and hate they didn't bother to hide.

The full moon and stars above them watched the scene unfold, being the only witness of their dance. It's moonlight cast its light beneath them, making their weapon and half of their face facing the moon be lighten and clearly be seen at night.

As their distance lessened with the collision of their weapon once again, both finally saw the other's face clearly, or what they could see and identify to the other. 

Both are wearing a masquerade mask that covers the upper part of their face. One holds the symbol of a Fatui member proudly holds while the other bore a plain black one with golden patterns whirled and curled around forming different patterns on both sides of his mask. His ruby red eyes can still be seen under his mask, while the other has been covered from the dark transparent silk that every Fatui member holds, hiding their eyes from prying eyes. The hero's stare changes its course. From the mask they wore, went to their (S/c) cheeks, then to their nose and slowly descended to their soft looking lips that looks oh so tempting to caress if only it has not been formed into a smirk that shockingly and annoyingly reminds him of a certain captain from the Knights that he didn't want to remember at all.

His thoughts interrupted when the person in front of him whistled.

"My my, checking me out in the middle of the fight? Are you like this to every person you fought with?" They asked. Their voice is soft, a whisper but full of teasing in it. Making his nose scrunched up, eyebrows creased, mouth twisted into a frown.

Even the way they talk reminds him of the annoying bastard.

The hero leaps away from them again, making his enemy laugh. 

He gritted his teeth and prepared his stance again. "Time to end this." He sneered at them.

The enemy chuckled and readied their stance as well. "I'd like to see you try Darknight Hero~" they taunted.

His eyes immediately turned into a glare that's so cold yet hot at the same time. He can feel his elemental skill dance on the tip of his fingertips, brushing its way there until it wrapped itself to his weapon, covering it to flames. His eyes never left his target who remained unfazed to the deadly flames directed to their way. 

He didn't give them a chance to catch up nor think. One moment they're far away from each other, the next he's standing in front of them with his claymore full of flames swinging in their way.

He can feel the caress of their breath from the soft gasp escaped from their lips before colliding his weapon to them.

Or so he thought.

Because as soon as he slung his claymore, he immediately stopped, almost colliding it to the tiled roof which he now realized they're stepping on all this time. He immediately stood up straight to look for his enemy, which he saw, distance immediately widens between them in a blink of an eye, literally.

His enemy clicked their tongue. "As much as I'd like to be beaten up by you in other ways rather than that." Their words cut off from a sudden laugh came out from their mouth when they noticed the scrunched up look of the Darknight Hero it made from their comment. "I have to go now."

They turn their back on him, making their cloak do a dramatic wind effect from their movements.

They turn their face to their side to face him, but not properly. "My work here is done, so long, pretty boy. Let our faith cross path again~." 

And from that, they ran away from their dance like Cinderella who's wish starts to disappear now that it struck 12 am.

Like from Cinderella’s story, he chased after them but for different reasons, and none of it are good.

"Hey!" He shouted and reached his gloved hand on them. His gloved fingertips managed to caress the edges of their hood but didn't reach enough to pull it. Instead, the wind did the job for him as they jumped their way to another building, blowing the hood away to reveal their (H/l) (H/c) hair that dances with the wind from their movements.

His enemy didn't stop running though, nor tried to pull the hood back up. Instead, they kept running, fully intended to escape the scene.

The hero tried to catch up with them, but fatigue started to take its toll on his body after a busy day at work this morning and the lack of sleep on these past few days.

So with a huff, he gave up and watched the Fatui member slowly blurred in the distance until he can't see them anymore. A bitter feeling crawled up to his spine, making him shiver, and hand formed into a fist.

Is this what defeat taste like?

"Master Diluc!" 

The hero clicked his tongue and turn his attention to the person who called him, only to see three new figures approaching him, worry written on their faces.

"We took down all of the monsters. Are you okay though? What happened?" One of them asked, a blond haired traveler whose purpose is to find their other kin.

"Yeah! You're about to beat the monsters up when you immediately run away!" Another one asked, a nosy, high pitched fairy who always float and stick around to the traveler.

"Did you see another enemy approaching the city? Or is it because the Knights of Favonius immediately came from that area to aid us?" Their last companion asked, a cheeky bastard bard who always asks if he can get a taste of his dandelion wine from his tavern which he sometimes always refused.

Diluc huffed. "Both." He simply answered.

"Really?! Where's the body though?" The fairy asked as she turned left and right to look around the scene.

"They manage to escape." Diluc gritted out and crossed his arms to his chest.

"The enemy managed to escape? No wonder you look so worn out as usual. Did the enemy manage to take your brute force? Or is it because of fatigue finally catching up to you?" The bard teased. He can feel his smirk present to his face as he said those.

"Someone managed to take his brute force? No offense Tone-Deaf Bard but Paimon thinks no one will ever manage to take the brute force of his flames." The fairy- Paimon -said.

"Seriously, what happened?" The traveler asked

Diluc remove his stare to them and brings it back to the road that the Fatui member ran off from. He remembered the (S/c) skin, the soft-looking lips and (H/l) (H/c) hair of his enemy. Printing those from his mind so when they meet again, he won't hesitate to attack them no matter the circumstances and area they are on.

"It's just fatigue catching up to me." He replied yet didn't turn his way nor attention to them. The world around him got blurred and drowned, so he didn't see and hear the bard sigh from his reply and the traveler's grow of concern and worry for him that they started talking about something that became static from his ears.

All of his focus turned to the enemy he fought moments ago. The person who manage to hold its stand on the entire fight despite wielding a sword on a fight whose enemy they faced holds a claymore. The person who manage to dodge his elemental skill in a blink of his eyes.

He wonder how they manage to do that. Questions start to whirl around his mind but he brings those thoughts on the back of it when he makes up a goal, a mission, a promise.

To defeat them in a fight. To make them submit to their dance.

He can't call himself strong when he didn't bring down an enemy who's blade is thinner than his.

"Calm down Traveler! Paimon sure he'll get them next time!" He heard the small fairy said.

"Right Master Diluc?"

Diluc turned his attention back to them. His usual stoic expression plastered to his face, the only difference to it is the sudden glow from his eyes, fire full of passion and determination. Making the witnesses of its expressions change, all hold curiosity and questions at the sudden change of it.

"Yeah, I definitely will." 

So with that, he can't wait to see them again.

He can't wait to see their faith cross paths again with the collision of their weapons together beneath the moon and stars.

------------------------------------------------------------

A.N: I just wanna write two individuals having a sword fight under the moonlight while trying not to get love at first sword fight, which in Diluc's case, failing but he's not aware of it cause......it's him sooooooo-.

Sorry if some of the characters came out OOC, still trying to grasp their characterization ^ ^"

Thank you for reading!