#And I recalled very well that God did heal me (again and again)

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 7, Unburdened - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, a lot of sexual discussions, promises that will not be kept.

Word Count: 1.3k

Previously On...: You and Bucky fucking finally admitted your feelings to one another. About damned time, geez, you two. Anyway, just as you're about to celebrate your newly declared love in a, uh, physical manor, you're summoned back to the common room by Tony.

A/N: I have no excuses-- I was fucking high AF when I wrote this part, which is why it may come across as a little... unhinged. But once I was sober and re-read what I wrote, I thought "screw this, I love it; it stays!" I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321

Presentable once again, you left your room, Bucky taking your hand in his as you headed up to the common room and whispering all of the filthy things he was going to do to you when you both officially retired for the evening. By the time you entered the common room, you were leaning into him in a fit of flustered giggles.

"Good. Looks like you finally got it out of your systems," Tony said once you'd walked through the doors. "What the 'F' Was It?"

You and Bucky exchanged confused glances before looking back to Tony. Tony's eyes cast down to where your hands were entwined. "Looks like the 'fuck's have it!" he called out to the rest of the gathered group. "Everyone who bet "fight," pay up!"

"Boss, did ya'll seriously bet on whether we were fucking or fighting?" you asked, horrified, but still a little amused.

"That's why the game is called "What the 'F'?," Pocket," Tony said with a smirk and playfully exaggerated eye roll. "Try to keep up."

"Well," began Bucky with a smile, "technically, we didn't do either, so you should all be paying us."

"Nope," said Tony, "Cap had 'Firm up their Friendship,' so I guess he's the winner."

"'Firm up their Friendship'?" you asked, raising an eyebrow in Steve's direction. The super soldier shrugged and averted his eyes, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

"It had to begin with an 'F,' otherwise it would not fit the parameters of the game," Thor offered helpfully. "It was very humorous."

"Alright, everyone, pay out to Cap," Tony said, reaching for his wallet.

"Not so fast," Natasha interrupted. "I believe you'll recall that I put money on 'frottage,' so if we could get confirmation on that, I'd appreciate it," she gave you both a knowing grin, and you instantly regretted confessing to her how turned on dry humping made you.

"Oh my God," you muttered, putting your face in your hand, now fully horrified.

Bucky looked down at you, face confused. "What the hell's 'frottage?'" he asked cautiously. You whispered the definition in his ear and his entire face turned a crimson red as he furiously rubbed the back of his neck.

"Ha! I knew it!" Nat shouted, raising a fist in the air. "Pay up, bitches!"

There was a chorus of groans as your friends all begrudgingly passed Natasha one-hundred dollar bills.

"...eight, nine, -- hey, who didn't pay up? There should be a thousand bucks here!" Nat looked around the room. "Where did Steve go? Dirty cheat owes me a hundred dollars!" Everyone looked around, but the Captain had vanished from the room. You felt Bucky heave a heavy sigh next to you, and when you turned up to look at him, you noticed the distraught expression on his face.

"What's up, Buck?" you asked, concerned. "Do you know where Steve went?"

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning back up as he looked down at you. "I'll tell you later," he promised before kissing the crown of your head.

"So, we're not hiding this anymore?" Sam asked as he walked over to the two of you. "Because I'm so tired of pretending we don't all know you two bumpin' uglies."

You rolled your eyes at Sam, but couldn't hide the smile that was creeping across your face. You wrapped your arms around Bucky's waist, drawing yourself closer to him. "What? You want us to make some kind of official royal proclamation?"

"I, for one, don't really give a shit," said Rhodey from across the room. "I only bet because Romanoff threatened me."

"Thank you for minding your own business at least, Rhodey," you offered, caught somewhere between grateful and insulted. Rolling your eyes at Sam, you turned to Tony. "So, what's so important that you called us back down here, Boss? We were a little... preoccupied."

"Ugh, Pocket, I don't need you to put a picture in my head, thank you," Tony said, waving his hands at you in disgust. "That's a whole new thing to unpack in Virtual Therapy: "How to handle the guy who was brainwashed into murdering your parents repeatedly violating the girl you've come to see as your baby sister."

"Oh my god, Tony," you muttered at the same time Bucky said "It's not violating if she's a willing participant, Stark." You elbowed Bucky gently in his side.

"Don't traumatize him, baby," you murmured. "He's fragile."

"Funny. Very funny," Tony deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest. "Anyway, getting back to very professional Avenger business, you'll notice Ms. Carthage and our SHIELD guests have left for the evening."

Huh. You'd forgotten they'd even been there to begin with, what with all the love declarations and frottage that had taken place with Bucky.

"Yeah, we see that," said Bucky, answering for both of you.

"Which means we have to decide, as a group, if we want to invite Ms. Carthage to join us on a probationary basis. We've already taken a preliminary vote, so we just need you two to cast your ballots. What's it going to be? Yay or Nay?" Tony looked to you first.

You thought back to the tour you'd given her earlier that day, and how unprofessional Jade had been. Even before she'd started her flirtations with Bucky, Jade Carthage had rubbed you the wrong way. You couldn't, in good conscience, agree to invite her onto your team, into your family.

"I vote 'nay,'" you told Tony.

He nodded. "Very well. Barnes? What say you?"

Bucky didn't even hesitate. "If my girl doesn't want her here, then neither do I. I vote 'nay.'"

You looked up at him, your eyes wide as saucers, and you were pretty sure they’d turned heart-shaped. Despite hoping Jade could give him the answers he'd been searching for, Bucky had voted against having her join The Avengers just because she made you uncomfortable.

"Hey," he said, tucking his thumb under your chin and tilting your head up, "I told you, you're the most important person in the world to me, and I want whatever is going to make you happy. If that means not having her around, then I don't want her around."

"Buck," you breathed, standing up on your toes to reach his lips, "I love you."

You did your best to ignore the cheers and goads from your friends as you kissed, and when you pulled apart a short moment later, both your cheeks were red with embarrassment.

"That was disgusting," Tony said, rolling his eyes in that bored Tony way of his. "Too bad it was for nothing. The 'yay's have it, seven to six. We'll be officially extending an invitation of probationary membership to Jade Carthage, AKA: Vixen, first thing tomorrow morning. Class dismissed."

The relief that had washed over you when Bucky had voted 'nay' alongside you evaporated when Tony read out the results. You mumbled half hearted goodnights to your teammates as they trickled out, off to their individual evening pursuits, until it was just you and Bucky left standing in the common room.

"I'm sorry, doll," he murmured softly as he ran his hands gently up and down your arms. "You'll let me know what I can do to help make the next few months with her as easy for you as possible, yeah? Anything you need."

You smiled at him, so grateful that he was being so understanding about this. You put your hands over his as they rested on your arms. "Just love me, okay, Buck?" you asked him. "Just love me and be honest with me; that's all I ask."

He took you in his arms, swaying you back and forth ever so slightly. "That's an easy promise, sweetheart." You felt him rest his chin on the crown of your head. "I give you my word."

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

[ghostofashina]

"An affair from which gold arose and shadow too was born"

This was clearly about Lands Between and Lands of Shadows, how these two places coexist in different aspects. But also, I think it can give us a nice perspective about Godwyn and Messmer births.

This is just a small theory I made while trying to built up a timeline, because these two births tend to blend into the other and I think it's on purpose. And I know, where Melina fits in this? I still think Melina is one of the youngest of the pack, as a secret weapon of Marika recalling Messmer's kindling being out of her reach, but this is another theory for another post. Now, I'd like to bring a small theory about Godwyn being the child born from the seduction and the betrayal.

SOTE SPOILERS ahead.

We know, for certain, Godfrey was Marika's true first Elden Lord. But, even it being a common sense that Godwyn was their firstborn, there's actually no true evidence claiming he was born before the omen twins. Except that now, after one piece of dialogue in the DLC, can shows us this and a little more.

First things first. Messmer's dad still is the great mystery of Shadow of the Erdtree, and again I think this is on purpose, because considering Godfrey's evidence, the game wants to tell us he was already there when Messmer came to life. And I, personally, don't think neither Radagon or Godfrey are Messmer's father. I think, in a parallel to christian God, sacrificing his son for the sins, Marika birthed Messmer alone — and Melina, that's why they both share a vision of fire and are direct siblings.

According to Marika's own words: "[Radagon] Thou'rt yet to become me. Thou'rt yet to become a God. Let us be shattered, both. Mine other self."

Knowing that Marika comes from the Shaman Village, and that her people was "grafted" to each other in seek of the divine, he is a part she divested herself later in the story and Messmer was some sort of manifestation of this, but not necessarily a child of Radagon.

And I guess we can agree Messmer was born in the Lands of Shadow, because he knows very well the sins committed against his mother and her own modus operandi. He was there before her godhood and that's why Godfrey's offspring got the title of first demigods. And Godfrey, too, was there with Marika since the start.

I won't get into the timeline of events, because it's a mish-mash in game, and I don't have the tools to explore assets and files. But, one thing that the DLC gives importance is the act of a vow. And we know Marika and Godfrey did a vow.

Leaving his past of Hoarah Loux, Godfrey took Serosh upon his shoulders to ease his bloodlust and accept the role when he sworned a vow with Marika to become a Lord. Which can reminds us of the Secret Rite Scroll, found in Shadow Keep.

"A lord will usher in a god's return and the lord's soul will require a vessel."

We can argue here about the roles of vessel and soul, because it feels Godfrey became the vessel to the Beast Regent (some sort of lord), which recalls the amount of lion representation in Hornsent culture. So, I tend to think that Serosh was part of the "betrayal" in order to ascend Marika to godhood with Godfrey as her lord consort.

That's when I imagine Godwyn was born. After the vow, to consumate the idea of Godfrey being named a lord of the golden lineage once Marika achieved godhood and started the Age of Erdtree.

If we recall the Minor Erdtree, left to the matriarch at Shaman Village, it's said:

"Secret incantation of Marika Only the kindness of gold, without Order."

I can see this as Miquella divesting himself of St. Trina, his love. Marika bathed her home in gold, knowing there was nothing left to heal. Alongside with her braid, it was a departing gift, because she was leaving for a new era. She is leaving her kindness of gold, to built the order. Godwyn was her last act of kindness of gold before the Order. That's why we have so many evidences he, alongside Messmer, was her beloved child of gold.

Going deeper, once we advance the questline of Hornsent Grandam, she tell us a very specific dialogue line, that can show us why Godwyn was curseless when he was born, different from his siblings.

She spoke of a omen curse. Curse upon her children, each and all. Messmer as her own flesh and blood, which I believe, carried the grafting curse upon her people over and over again, being a vessel to an outer god "grafting" into Marika's child. But Godwyn was curseless, because he was conceived outside cursing eyes, in secret. He was born of a vow that, once came to common knowledge, was called "the seduction and the betrayal" in the eyes of the Hornsent.

The birth of Godwyn was the start of her ascension to godhood. The affair from which gold (golden lineage, golden order, the golden prince) arose and shadow (abyssal serpent "shorn of light", shadow keep, shadow tree) too was born. And everything about them is represented of golden and shadow. From the eclipse to the golden ring in their symbols (as we see in the Death Knight's cloak or battle axes and alongside Messmer's spear and flame). So, I keep thinking they both were born at Lands of Shadows. One to purge her enemies and protect her kingdom, the other to represent a new era and maintain her glory. Godwyn is the Golden and Messmer is the Order.

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

''Fight and Die'' Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader 18+ MDNI PART 6!

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Author's note: It might still be a little darkish but not as dark as usual. I think this is the closest to show aemond I ever got. So he still is not a unicorn yall but he is at least imo he is decent and nice.

🔷Wordcount :3347 

Warnings below the cut

WARNINGS: Gore, mentions of assault (but it doesnt happen, and its not aemond who wants to do it) mentions of blood, gore, and violence as well as miscarriages (oc's mother)

Blood does not scare you. It once did, but not anymore.

It is liquid, water in a way. And there is nothing more natural to you than water.

Just funny coloured water that comes pouring out of your body if you are injured.

You came into this world, covered in blood as your mother bled out on the sheets, according to Fyrand. You were screaming and crying, kicking and alive. Despite Maesters feared the worst, despite your enemies hoping the worst, you came out alive. 

And you did just that.

Time and time and time again.

Whenever you see blood, it brings you back to a distant but fresh memory. Not your birth. You don’t recall what your own mother looked like. You never saw a portrait, or anything. You never dared to ask Fyrand either. Your mother is a wound that never healed.

So, another memory surfaces from the dark instead. A dark memory of you, standing on a ship, during a storm. Your brother close to you, his fingers holding a crown. Your family’s crown.

You recall how badly the ship and the men smelled. Like piss, like beer, like all unpleasant unladylike things. Like hell, if you are being honest. You never had any man eye you with desire, but in that very moment you had. The captain of the pirateship couldn’t keep his eyes off from you.

Fyrand had made a deal, selling the crown for passage to Westeros. But the Captain had decided he wanted more. He wanted you. ‘’Westeros is a boring place. It would be best to have her stay here.’’ You remember the way his crew laughed, that sickening, twisted laughter.

Fyrand has never been kind to you. But he was not stupid either. He would not give up his pawn to a mere pirate. Not when he already offered the crown of his mother.

It is funny how the gods have a sense of humor, as that man that wanted to marry you, too missed an eye. And his teeth were almost falling from his mouth, caused by rotting.

Fyrand huffed, took the crown and left the ship, dragging you with him. But you were denied access and grabbed. The captain placed his dagger against your throat. He hissed that you needed to be quiet and that Fyrand had to make a choice. ‘’Either your sister gives me her hand, or you do.’’ You weren’t sure what you ever did to that man. But you noticed a golden sealion that day. A few weeks after the attack, you found out your house tried to destroy that house. He was taking revenge for a crime none of you were even alive to remember.

You remember how you screamed when Fyrand took a sword of a crewmember and placed it at his left wrist, and just chopped. The flesh teared, blood poured and the captain finally released you as you sobbed on the deck, hearing Fyrand’s roar of pure pain and agony. The hand wasn’t off fully. It remained, tangling by pieces of flesh, as a leaf dancing in the wind. You felt your stomach turn and whatever meal you had would soon come back up. The captain approached Fyrand, grabbed his hand, and just pulled, tearing the flesh fully as Fyrand threw his head in his neck and screamed. 

After that, somehow, you were both allowed to stay. It was a uncomfortable journey for you, but no incidents had happened aside from people calling ‘’doll’’ and smirking whenever you passed. 

You and Fyrand shared one room aboard, and in that room, you stitched close his wound with a needle and ripped threads from one of your dresses. You never had stitched a wound before and Fyrand didn’t have anything to soften the pain. You were afraid at first. But you knew he would die if you didn’t get over it. So you pierced his skin and started stitching, bringing the wound flesh close, and tied it close.

It is strange.

Many years and moons have passed since that night but you can still hear your brother scream and picture his hand, the way the blood sprayed out of his hand, coloring the deck red as the pirates cheered.

Aemond does not seem to notice that you are not there anymore, but your feet become quicker as if you are a dancer that takes the lead and your breath increases. Aemond, Aemond doesn't notice. In truth, Aemond seems happy. Almost dazed, enchanted or drugged. He can't seem to stop smiling as you drag him with you, faster and faster as memories plague your mind.

You think back of the conversation the two of you had earlier. How Ser Criston was allegedly a good sword fighter. How good can he be, if he injured the Prince? “I thought you told me that Ser Criston was an excellent swordsman?” Your voice sounds snappy, angry and furious.

Aemond barely hides his chuckle. You turn around to look at him, so he can see the pain and worry in your face. The moment he sees how much this hurts and worries you, the smile dies. He steps forward. You back away at first but he bumps into you anyway. Clumsily he grabs you gently and kisses your forehead. “He is, Revaera. It was a small cut and my own fault. I got too impatient. I am many things, patient is not one of my qualities.”

You smile, mischievously and play with the pins on his shirt, touching his chest. “Someone should teach you patience. I don't want you injured.” You tell him, kissing his cheeks. 

He breaks into a grin, a stunning bright grin that lights up your entire world. You feel your cheeks warm and are pressed against his body. “Maybe you can teach me.” He whispers, seductively. You like the way he has you where he wants you to. You feel safe and relax, until you see that the wound still drips with blood. You stare at it, as the world seems to fade.

“We need a maester.” You hear Aemond say, but you don’t react. This time, he needs to drag you with him.

You and Aemond soon find the maester in his room. It is nicely decorated and as you assumed, it has dozens of books. You wonder if the Maester himself wrote anything. The maester in question is a bald man, wearing classical robes and a chain, as you suspected. He is reading a big book that lies in front of him on the desk, not paying the two of you any attention. 

That is until you speak, pushing Aemond in his direction, surprising the young prince, who stumbles on his feet, his good eye widened in surprise. ‘’He is hurt. The prince is injured.’’ You speak, your voice clear and calm.

You expect perhaps some urgency. Perhaps a worried glance. You don't expect what happens.

The maester slams his book closed, his eyes full of fear and terror as he looks at Aemond. ‘’What? Where? Show me!’ He cries out. The chair he was sitting on falls on its back and you watch, a bit flustered.

Even Aemond seems shocked.

That was perhaps not a good idea.

You feel terrible when the concerned and dutiful Maester looks at the tiny cut in Aemond’s hands. You really scared the poor man and avoid his eyes for now on. 

Aemond chuckles, smiling at you as if you are his whole world. You don’t understand why, you scared a poor man, and you also made a scene. Yet he seems to appreciate it. 

You think back of his words. Earlier, he mentioned that his father wouldn't even notice if he did not attend the supper you two skipped. What was that supposed to mean? 

The maester allows himself to calm down, sighing with relief as he takes in Aemond's injury. He looks at the cut. ‘’O. A small cut.’’ The maester says, after studying it. “Luckily it looks like a clean one. Did you injure yourself when fighting?” He asks prince Aemond.

Aemond turns his head away, so that is a yes. “It was just a scratch, but Revaera insisted.” Aemond should be annoyed or fed up with your behavior but instead he smiles adoringly at you, holding your hand in his free one as the maester looks closer at the wound.

‘’You have a protective wife, my prince.’’ The maester comments kindly. “It is Princess Revaera, is it not?” He asks you, and you can tell by his piercing glare that he knows all too well who your family is.

You nod. The maester does not say anything but his look says it all. Disapproval.“To have a Marthyralys back in the castle. Your ancestors left a colorful mark on Westeros's history books.” You know he is right. You know your ancestors killed a lot of people. But is it really the time to have that conversation? And is it really up to him to judge you for the crimes of your ancestors? 

Any other day you might have reconsidered: This man has a story, same as you. Maybe he is a family member of someone killed. Or maybe he simply wants to keep the castle and the royal family safe.

But you can't stop the words rolling off your tongue. You can’t stop the fire that burns in your veins. “So did any family worth their salt.”

The maester makes a disapproving grimace. Next to you, Aemond nods approvingly as his wound is cleaned, smirking proudly.

The Maester turns to Aemond, tying the bandage over his cutted hand. “A fierce wife. You do best to muzzle her. I'm not so sure Westeros is ready for such a free spoken woman.” You wonder instantly if the Targaryens knew you were hiding in Pentos. You told Aemond, you assume the court knew but why does a Maester know this? A maester, who knows everything about curing a illness….

And causing one.

You look at Aemond and he seems to know you caught on too, quickly scratching behind his ear and turning his head away once more. You will talk with him about that. But you have another problem. The Maester is right. 

You embarrassed Aemond. You spoke out of line. You threw a tantrum like some little girl. You disappointed him beyond words.

Aemond speaks, and you can't even look at him. You really aren't cut out to be a Princess. “She has become quite fierce. I don't mind it one bit, however. She can speak however she wishes.” He says, fierce and protective. He kisses your knuckles as a token of appreciation and love. Then his gaze hardens when he looks at the Maester. “Westeros might not be ready for her, but she is ready for Westeros. Whether it likes it or not; Here she is and here she'll stay. Am I understood?” You beam, pleased as the Maester visibly cowers, afraid of the temper of the Prince.

You see the Maester gulp and know that Aemond has made his point very clear.  “Yes, my prince.” The maester mutters.

Aemond smiles, barely hiding his pride, that you are his wife. ‘’I am truly blessed. My princess has enough worries on her mind. She does not need this as well.” there is a barely hidden warning there. The maester must not disturb you.

The maester does as he is told, and you and Aemond soon leave his rooms. You walk back with him, your left hand into his injured right one. You try not to think of how your brother lost his own hand. But that is difficult.

You two walk in a peaceful silence and when Aemond speaks, you nearly jump out of your skin. “How has your day been?” You think back of your talk with Fyrand. A baby must soon be made. A child. A heir. And you hate how your memories keep haunting you, whenever you see blood.

And there’s something else.

On your wedding day, Princess Rhaenyra said something that haunts you still. She said she had her ‘’own’’ maesters. Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing? And can you even trust them? And why did she tell you, of all people?

Aemond is unaware your thoughts are gathering and forming a storm in your head. “What hobby did you pick?” He asks Excited to know your answer  as you remain silent.  You freeze. You had forgotten all about that. You would try to find something to entertain yourself. To bring him joy, rest, and so that he doesn’t have to worry when doing his duties.

Some wife you are.

“Uhm, well…I…” You laugh first then you become nervous, as the walls seem to close around you and your breath quickens. 

You laugh, begin to breathe harder and eventually you become dizzy. You sway on your feet and begin crying as the air is taken from your lungs, as you collapse to the ground.

Aemond is shocked at first. He kneels down by you right away however. “Calm, my love. I am not mad. Calm.” He whispers, holding you by your wrists, gently so you may be free any moment you want. He also allows you room to breathe and takes deep breaths with you. You follow his example and soon you feel better and calm and stand back up, with his help.

He kisses you after you have stopped crying too. “I had a change of heart. If it truly makes you that anxious to be outside of my rooms, if it truly upsets you so much…” He swallows and looks at the tiles, clearly ashamed he encouraged you.

That's all he did. Encourage you. To be free. To be happy. To let your trauma go. To live your life. Maybe he is right. “No, maybe you were right. Maybe I need this push.” You speak.

He shakes his head. “I don't want to become someone you fear or worse, hate.” He whispers. 

You could never hate him. “You were only worried for my own wellbeing and safety. You were right, Aemond. I can't stay cooped up in your rooms as some chicken.” No matter how safe you feel there. “No matter how comfortable your bed is.” You add, to jest. He takes it well and laughs, grinning.

Aemond helps you stand, testing if you can remain on your own two feet before letting you go. “How about we try to find something fun to do tomorrow? I never showed you the city. We can do that, should you wish for it.” King's Landing.

You have never seen it. Only heard stories. Stories of fierce men and dangerous dragons and treason and loyalty. “Your ancestors built this city side by side with mine. I know my family wants to erase you from our accomplishments. I know your ancestor was a great traitor. But he is not the only Marthyralys that lived. There are dozens before him that advised and counseled my family…” He is right. You know he is.

But…

Seeing your own history…

You aren’t sure you are ready for that.

Your ancestors might have build this city…

But they build it over the grave of millions.

Is it truly something to be proud of?

But Aemond doesn’t seem to know shame when it comes to history. “So, you could learn your history and ancestry, should you wish it.” He finishes a bit shy, and that makes you understand how important this is to him. He wants to show you the city he grew up in. He wants to spend time with you and to hold your hand as you walk through stinking streets as two ordinary people in love.

“Is that even allowed?” You ask. You doubt his father will approve. The king hates you, you are certain of it. And to have a Marthyralys wonder the streets, learn about Targaryen secrets and plots…

He chuckles. “I'm the Prince. You are the Princess. Asides, how can we learn from our mistakes if we do not acknowledge them?” He asks, and there he makes a good point.

Still, you aren’t sure. “That is true.” You mutter.

He breaks into a grin, victorious at last. “It stands then.” He kisses your cheeks and you are reminded of what you and Fyrand discussed. His baby. Aemond kisses increase as he leaves a trail of kisses on your collarbone, his smile something between a smirk and a smile as he softly pins you against the walls of the hallway, quickly looking around for servants or any other witnesses.

You tremble. And just like that, the spell is broken.

Aemond's good eye closes suspiciously, and the sweet kisses end. “What is it?” It is terrifying how well he can read you already.

You know he wants a baby.

You know so.

And you can’t say that you don’t want that. That you can’t want that. That you are terrified of dying like your mother. “Nothing.” 

He scoffs, concern written all over his face as his body language changes from excited to worry. “There clearly is. Tell me what is the matter? I do wish us to discuss this.” You nod, and Aemond allows you to leave the wall. 

You go to his bedchamber, tears burning in your eyes and you hear his footsteps, never that far behind you.

Aemond closes the door and waits for you to explain yourself. You sit down on his bed, sniffling.  “Fyrand has been pressuring me about a baby.” You admit.

At first he is confused. “A baby?”

You wipe away at your tears, furiously that this makes you so upset. Giving Aemond a child, an heir, making princes and princesses, it should be the highest honor. So why does this terrify and hurt you so deeply? “Yes. A heir for you. For your father too.” You blurt out.

Aemond raises a brow.

“You want to carry my father's heir?”

You would rather die. Disgusted, you shake your head. “No! I meant, I'd give you a son, and him a grandchild. According to Fyrand that will disincrease the hate he has for me.’’

Aemond scoffs, and you can tell he does not agree with that idea. He scoffs at Fyrand, not you. “My brother thought the same thing for a while. But nothing will please that old buffalo.” You keep crying. No matter how eager you are to stop.

Aemond sighs, and he soon joins you on the bed, sitting next to you. He grabs your hands, where you are pulling your skin, to stop just that. “I know it is expected of both of us to soon present our child at court.” You nod at his words.

But he grabs your hands tightly and kisses your knuckles. “But I want us to have that child, when you want to have a child.” You are shocked. 

He continues, storking your belly through your gown. “I want you to glow, beam of pride and joy and to stroke and caress your belly and to love our child. I want you to be ready for it.” He says. 

You can’t believe this.

And so you won’t. “But what of your legacy? The Targargen line? Don't you want my baby?” You ask. You can’t imagine Aemond being fine with his line dying out. You just can’t.

He grins, and you can tell he is hiding something from you. He cares. He cares so badly, about having his legacy, about having this child with you. He is hiding his own darkest desires, his own insidious thoughts. ‘’I want you. I married you. I didn't marry your title. I didn't marry your bloodline. But you, Revaera.’’ You tear up, lips trembling as you wrap your arms around his neck, burying yourself in the safety of his arms. “It's alright, my love. Just let it out.” He whispers, holding you. ‘’We will find a way. I just know we will.’’ You nod, and you wonder just how much he believes his own lies. 

/TRAILER CAME OUT

so uh

IM SCARED xD

[sunnycanvas]

Hi! I'm craving for a little drama here so if i could please request to write about Baldwin choosing between the woman he loves and the woman that was promised to marry him.

The woman he loves stayed with him all this time before and after his leprosy miraculously healed while the one promised to him, refused him at first and come back now that he is healed.

I know this is a long request but this idea has been in my head for days. Thanks and have a nice day😊💕

"Knock" "Knock"

"Who is it?" called an authoritative voice from inside. "It's me (Y/N)" Baldwin felt a smile crept on his face when he heard her voice. "Come in" he spoke in his commanding tone. (Y/N) stepped in in her regal and dignified manner. The servants knowing about their relationship. Took their cue to leave. Baldwin meanwhile had his smile frozen in his face.  "Ma Chérie, what happened?"

(Y/N) POV:

"Ever so smart Baldwin, you immediately caught my sour mood" "Even though no one else could read it" "Perhaps that's why I am so attracted to him". I pondered to myself.

"When were you going to tell me" I asked irefully. Baldwin grew anxious fearing about the possibility of me knowing. "That confirms it" I interrupted his thoughts. Baldwin swallowed and cast down a look on his table feeling guilty. "When were you going to tell me about your engagement?". "Mon amour, please listen" Baldwin pleaded as he attempted to tuck my hair behind my ears a gesture I loved so much. "No" I asserted myself. "Answer my question first, When were you planning on telling on me?" "After the engagement or" I paused deeply contemplating next words. I smirked and said mockingly "After marriage, perhaps your majesty by the grace of god wanted to make me your mistress and dishonor me in front on the entire nobility" I knew I hit a nerve when I saw Baldwin's eyes widen in dismay and anger. "Watch your words my lady" '"You and the entire court knows very well that I don't take disrespect well".

Exhausted I nodded my head and said "Please forgive me your majesty" "As your humble servant I should have known better"

Baldwin was once again overcome with guilt seeing your state. "(Y/N) I would never dishonor you like that, "atleast not intentionally." Tears rolled down my eyes I felt my entire world crumbling down in front me and I was helpless. "It's her, isn't it" "The princess whom you were betrothed during childhood" "Who cancelled her engagement when she found out about your disease" "The very princess who ridiculed you in front of entire court" "The very princess wh-" I stopped and sighed "What's the point of recalling" I thought as I looked at him in pain. "Ma Chérie, please understand Jerusalem needs allies".

"Is it her?" I questioned not bothering to hear his explanation. "Yes" he confirmed. I attempted to leave as Baldwin tried to grab my shoulder. I finally was able to brush of his hands and left the room.

William of Tyre POV:

"Father William may I come in" I was suprised to see my student here. "My king, you need not need permission" "You are always free to visit me as you please". The king entered looking distressed. "You look much better than the last time I saw you". "Lady (Y/N) sure has done excellent job". Seeing the king not in cheerful self made at the mention of his beloved made me realise why he came to visit me. "I do love her but I can't choose her over my crown". I smiled as I sadly recalled my memories of my old friend. "Your father was also in similar situation" "Your father King Amalric I of Jerusalem did not wish to divorce your mother but the high court wouldn't listen to him". "Your father too chose crown over love and ensured that his wife got a dispention that nobody questions her morality" "You were so young almost two" "Your father remarried when you were eight" "He purposefully alienated the patriarch responsible for annulment" "Your majesty your father did genuinely love your mother" "I could tell he was genially upset but helpless just like you" "It did hurt me to see my friend in so much in pain and I couldn't do anything" "Your majesty I don't want to go through same thing" "Those who don't learn mistakes from history are bound to repeat it but if his majesty feels this is the best option so be it".

Baldwin POV:

I became quite as I took careful consideration. I did regret my parents annulment and could tell despite my mother marrying multiple times. She was always unhappy

"(Y/N)" I thought of her beautiful smile and sparkling eyes. I recalled when everybody gave up on me even my physician she stood by my side. Even when I believed like every one else that I was disfavored by God she made me believe otherwise. When I despised my rotten flesh she taught me to love myself. The day and nights she spent awake tirelessly working for me. Fought anyone who bad mouthed me. "How could I leave such a wonderful person" I thought. "I never intented to cause her pain and thought of prolonging the news to tell her. Alas! I was too late. She looked to exhausted. The woman whom I knew as one of mentally strong woman looked defeated. She didn't even beg me to stay. "You are right Father William, I will not repeat the same mistakes my parents did" "I will fight for her just like she fought for me"

(Y/N) POV:

Baldwin came running to me excitedly. "I wonder what it could be". "(Y/N)" Baldwin came over to me excitedly and held out a beautiful ring "I remember how you taught me to fight in tough times" "How god gives toughest fight to his bravest soldier" "(Y/N) please forgive my mistake" "I should have been able to stood up for you" "There has to be a way, we will find" "(Y/N), please make happiest man alive by being wife, queen consort of Jerusalem". "I shall honor and cherish you as long I lived. "I looked at him sadly and said "You are too late I already am betrothed to someone else".

"What!" Baldwin looked at you in anger, shock and pain

I nooded and said "I was so upset at you that I wanted to get back to you so after I left I proposed to someone else" "He immediately agreed to marry me"

"Who!" Baldwin growled angrily as he cluthched the ring. He looked a trembling mess a sight I thought I would never see

"Tiberias"

"Raymond iii, Count of Tripoli"

"Yes"

[tsunael]

part. I -> II

“It’s beautiful here.”  She commented long after the flock of long-tailed tits she entertained had deemed his sudden presence unworthy, and fluttered off home. 

She spoke of the ripe peach of a Sharlayan sunset blazing before them. The Dawn Father being laid to rest, he recalled her once saying, in which she described a tale where He died every day just to let the moon breathe, or some such other romantic notions relating to Auri duality.

He replied, “Agreed.” Although the horizon was much too far when everything and more stood right in front of him. The dropping temperature was not what brought him to her side, for lately he found an uncomfortable need to be close, positively overwhelming in its insistence.

Tsuna turned away from the burning skyline in sensing that his attention had ever been elsewhere. To his surprise, she did not shy away from his sudden proximity. There was a certain delight that a tryst could bring, he knew all too well, and he could feel her basking in the moment in her own reserved way– soaking in the privacy afforded only to them. 

She leaned on the parapet. "I'm setting off to Thavnair on the morrow. I… wanted you to know.” Tsuna finally spoke, and he wished she hadn’t. 

He frowned at the notion. Her wounds were finally healed, yes, but her orders were still to avoid strenuous exertion. Her aether still remained thin-- much like the rest of her in the past few moons.

“So soon?" He bartered. "You’ve only just been given leave.”

“I cannot stay here any longer while my father is out there,” she sighed deeply, tired. “I need to find him. I need to know he’s alive– that he’s not suffering alone.”

Her father, the proud man he had the displeasure of meeting some time after their initial arrival on Hannish soil would have been truly terrifying in his youth for how their first meeting had been. He was withered now, and moreover wounded during the deluge of Blasphemies that descended upon Thavnair. His wounds could have been mortal before they were separated, although Thancred very much doubted a man so stubborn would succumb to something so base without a fight.

Naturally, he kept those acrid thoughts to himself.

Though her tone certainly had changed, for once she would have cursed her father’s name and all he held dear, and now she would risk life and limb to find him again– having no real blood ties of his own, Thancred almost understood it. Almost.

He reached out to gently tug at her arm, and she twisted to better look at him. “I would go with you.”

Her gaze fell beneath her lashes in challenge, though her barb was dull. “Do you not think I can handle it?”

His brow raised, bemused. “Fresh from your sickbed? Not at all.”

“Gods… Please, Thancred.” Tsuna made an exasperated sound. “I won’t suffer you travelling so far for my personal matters. It will be much easier if I go alone.”

He chuffed, incredulous. 

He had gone to the bloody moon for her, to the very ends of the universe and back– attending to her during what would be a quick jaunt to Illsabard paled in comparison, he reasoned. He had made enough trips to and fro that even the aether sickness had dwindled to that of a mild headache. There was nothing stopping him, save for her pride.

“It was my hope that when I said that I would follow you anywhere... that you would believe me.”

He watched in real time as she weighed his word’s worth. The tension slowly but surely released from her shoulders, which eventually led to her concession. He could not help but lose himself when she looked at him so: a gentle smile that bloomed until her eyes creased, twinkling in gratitude. 

"You are kind," she said with an edge of defeat. She drew closer, whispering for his ears only. "Much too kind."

She drew his wry smile. "And it will be the end of me someday, I am sure."

He played the role of lover well.

So well that the lines did so often blur, just as they did when he eased fully into her space, openly caging her against the parapet in hopes of capturing some manner of kiss. It was their worst kept secret: something he knew he must cull before it grew out of both their hands, but she reached up to splay fingers on his chest, and he felt himself pull on the leash of his own longing. He moved forward to meet her, aided by her tiptoes.

“Someone might see,” she chided softly against his cheek, yet she lingered. 

He hummed in consideration, ultimately finding the notion impossible. They hid it well– in plain sight one night say– though ‘love’ did well in dulling all sense and reason whilst sharpening others. He cared not to check his corners in his eagerness to chase the electric feel of her. She craned to meet him, her breath hitching in anticipation as their lips brushed, noses touching.

“Tsuna dear, I wondered where you had wandered off to after supper." A woman’s voice sounded that did not belong to one of theirs, and he felt the rare prickle of embarrassment trail up the back of his neck.

"... It seems I had no reason to worry.” Ameliance stood before them, looking completely and utterly amused at their expense.

In hindsight, considering he had picked her balcony as the stage for his ignominy it was to be expected. Still, he had thought himself grown out of such foolishness.

Tsuna immediately pushed herself into his chest, gasping in terror, then fell to pudding in his arms once terror gave way to the hot knife of shame. 

“Gods– I’m… We weren’t– Lady Ameliance, I–”

Ameliance sidestepped Tsuna’s blathering with grace. “Never did I imagine such an adorable pair of lovebirds would deem it fit to roost.” She looked beside herself with girlish amusement. 

Thancred huffed a self-deprecating laugh in extricating himself from the fretful girl. “We were caught up in a bit of bird watching ourselves,” he began, knowing he could not fully bluff his way to innocence. “Might I say, my lady, that you are looking positively radiant this evening–”

Tsuna shot him a glowering look of disgust for his act, though it was simply comical when her face was as red as the horizon. The humiliation, however, was too much for her to bear. With a respectful bow, Tsuna stole from the balcony, falling into a staggered run to where only the Gods knew. Thancred stepped forward, thinking to give chase, but Ameliance kept him rooted by way of her hand.

“Oh dear,” she tutted. “I suppose that’s my fault.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. No, the fault lies with me, my lady.”

It seemed, however, his words once again were chosen poorly. Ameliance made a sound of distaste “My dear boy. After all these years, how many times must I ask you to simply call me by my name?”

It was his turn to feel the patronized fool. He felt himself founder, jaw wagging in vain until he could think of a clever response. No matter how many times she called him family, he could not help but shy from it. He cleared his throat, and reeled himself back in…

“Aye. Of course. Ameliance,” he opened his arms in concession, though his shoulders sagged for it.

She finally burst into laughter, entirely of his chagrin. “That's better, much better! Though you still think you can simply sweet talk your way out of everything, I see.”

“Lost my touch, you think?” 

“To lose insinuates that you had it from the beginning.”

He winced. Touché. “Then I will speak plain: my sore lapse in judgement notwithstanding, I ask only for your confidence.”

“A secret, is it?” she asked, tapping the corner of her mouth in thought. Her expression suddenly wizened, and he knew it to be the precursor to something he did not wish to hear. Finally, she cocked her head. “I see. You’ve fallen for her.” 

His eyes widened at her assumption. “No. Gods no,” he forced a laugh. “Nothing of the sort.” His unsteady gaze fell instead to the darkening skyline. It was an infatuation-- just one of many.

He could feel her silent judgement, though he did not rise to refute it. Her expression changed slowly into one of concern. “I suppose I could give you my word… however– and you must excuse me for my eavesdropping– but what was all that nonsense about leaving?”

Thancred opened his mouth to apprise her, though he wished he were not the one to parrot it. Tsuna had run off before she could explain, and he only hoped she did not pack up and leave for the Aetheryte without him whilst he was trapped between the proverbial rock and hard place.

“Twelve preserve. You know she is not fully well.” He was gladdened when she reached the self-same conclusion. "See to it that you tend to her."

“I will. If she were to have me... And even if she won't." He was not above tailing her from the shadows if it meant her safe return.

Ameliance hummed, making a curious sound of appraisal whilst also looking fit to spill all sorts of secrets from his past and maybe even some of her own– and he sorely hoped it was the latter.

“You know, Thancred, dear. I believe that’s called love.”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Woven Serpents (Part 4): Namor x Mutant!Reader

synopsis: eyes are opened to the comforts of Talokan. Comforts you take pleasure in giving and receiving.

wc: 1k

tw: smut

previous part 🌊 next part

"Namor, please..."

The sound of your hips connecting with the diety's hips echoes endlessly in the near-empty cave, save the two of you in his hut.

"Ask," Namor pants above you, his deep eyes searching yours. "Ask, and I'll give it to you." He nuzzles your neck and kisses your skin as you climax around his cock, feeling every inch of him sink deeper into you.

And for the moment you're hanging in bliss, you recall exactly how you got here.

You'd worked for a few weeks as the healer - Sanadora - curing diseases, healing injuries, and even saving someone from death. And though the work had been draining, you did it with gladness, seeing the faces of those you had come to know light up with joy or relief. It brought you comfort to see them comforted, just like the K'ul'ulkan had told you it would.

"You seem to be happy here," the feathered god had mentioned one night as you disrobed from the suit, his hands busy with painting the small walls inside his hut. "Are you happy?" The answer that comes to your mind isn't fully realized until you set aside the suit and sigh, frowning. "In my eyes, they needed you," Namor adds, returning to his painting with a shrug. "It seems life is more... complete."

"Complete," you hum, taking a piece of fruit from a bowl perpetually filled with the items. "That's a good word for it."

"Does it fit how you feel?" You don't answer, choosing instead to stare at the portrait of the feather-heeled god on the wall. Namor rises from his crouched position and stands before you, watching you watch him. "You are thinking about something but do not want to say."

"Is life really this simple?" you wonder aloud, and Namor frowns, tilting his head at you.

"Not always," he admits, nodding. "Sometimes it's on me to protect Talokan, and things can get difficult." You look up at him, worry certainly etched all over your face. Namor chuckles and reaches a hand out, squeezing your shoulder. "Don't worry, táankelem," he murmurs. "You're safe here."

"I worry about you sometimes," you reply, quirking your lips. "The first time I saw you, it looked like someone had ripped off your wing."

"Ah." Namor nods, raising his brows. "An... unfortunate incident." Your eyes follow him as he takes his place at the small table in the middle of the hut, resting his hand on his head. "Should not happen again." You approach another panel of paintings, touching the dried ink with tender fingers. The smears portray Namor seemingly in battle with an animal, a black one you've never seen before.

"What is this?"

"A very long story," Namor chuckles. "But it ends well."

"I meant the animal."

"A black panther," he answers simply.

"You fought an animal and won?" Before Namor can answer, you hear someone emerge from the water.

Namora walks into the hut without greeting you, speaking in quick words to Namor, who lets out a sigh and stands. "Y/n, I must go. I will see you later." Without waiting for your response, he leaves, sweeping out of the room regally.

He disappears into the water, and you look for a few seconds after him, the words in your head echoing long after he's gone.

Be safe.

Talokan has good people... and even better wine.

At least, that's what think as you down another glass of the drink brought to you along with your dinner. You're not sure how - or why - a citizen of Talokan would make such a wonderful drink (since they all lived in water), but you're not complaining at all.

The hut feels empty without Namor's presence to annoy and entertain you, but as you stand to your feet, you wander around, touching the walls. Your gentle fingers caress the paintings as you stand in silence, taking in the majesty of the art in awe.

You don't even say a word when you stumble toward the place Namor calls his bed and wrap yourself in the sheets, inhaling his salty scent deeply. And that's how you found yourself falling asleep in Namor's cave. The wine muddles your mind, and for a moment, you swear you hear female voices talking close to the hut's opening. But when your head finally turns to see if someone lingers, you find the space is empty.

"Must be my head," you breathe into the sheets, curling up on your side and closing your eyes.

You suppose that's also how Namor found you - in his hut, alone, sheets pressed against your face - and possibly even why he didn't awaken you upon his arrival. But you find his body crowded against yours in the morning, his back to you.

Your mind - still addled by the wine - registers the presence, but not that you had no reason to turn around and curl into the half-god, half-man before closing your eyes.

And perhaps it was also the wine - though you're not entirely sure - that encouraged you to kiss the still-wet skin of his back and roam your fingers over his muscled skin.

Namor stiffens in more places than one, then turns to face you with his endless eyes.

"Ask," he whispers in the semi-darkness. "And it will be given to you."

"I do not know what to ask for," you respond, fingers twitching on his warm skin.

"Shall I teach you, then?" Namor wonders, his hands coming around your waist. You nod, and he moves forward, inching ever so closer to you, his breath fanning your face. "Close your eyes," he murmurs, and you obey. When you feel his lips on yours, however, it takes no effort not to be startled and pull away as if you were a woman who had never been kissed. (Which is your reality.)

Namor moves against you, his mouth and body beckoning you closer as he turns, so you're underneath him. "Will you let me show you more?" Thick fingers easily run underneath your skirt and course down your parted legs. You nod, but Namor huffs softly. "Ask, Táankelem."

"Please," you beg, eagerly lacing your fingers through his hair. "Show me more, K'ul'ulkan."

And without hesitation, he does.

taglist: @simpingfor-wakasa @lumenseal @lucifers-silhouette @asarcasticcaffeinatedslytherin @batfam-sitcom @weaponb33 @bonnapple @violet-19999 @skyekestis @artaxerxesthegreat @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls

[armandslestat]

Armand and Lestat Quote Masterlist

kinda self indulgent reference for every time lestat and armand think about each other/interact TVL-TVA

The Vampire Lestat:

This as a boy, as I had said, and he had a head of long curly hair, and he walked very straight and very simply through the silvery light and into the church. [...] His clothes were black velvet, once beautiful, and now eaten away by time, and crusted with dirt. But his face was shining white, and perfect, the countenance of a god it seemed, a Cupid out of Caravaggio, seductive yet ethereal, with auburn hair and dark brown eyes. p.200

He was all mystery to me as Magnus had been. Only he was beautiful, indescribably beautiful, and there seemed in him an infinite complexity and depth which Magnus had not possessed. p.201

He said, Come to me. Come to me because only I, and my like, can end the loneliness you feel. It touched a well of inexpressible sadness. It sounded the depth of sadness, and my throat went dry with a powerful little knot where my voice might have been, yet I held fast. p.201

I tried to penetrate his mind. He knew I was doing it and he threw up against me such strange images that I gasped. What was it I'd seen for an instant? I didn't even know. Hell and heaven, or both made one, vampires in a paradise drinking blood from the very flowers that hung, pendulous and throbbing, from the trees.  I felt a wave of disgust. It was as if he had come into my private dreams like a succubus. But he had stopped. He let his eyes pucker slightly and he looked down out of some vague respect. My disgust was withering him. He hadn't anticipated my responce. He hadn't expected... what? Such strength? Yes, and he was letting me know it in an almost courteous way. I returned the courtesy. I let him see me in the tower room with Magnus; I recalled Magnus's words before he went into the fire. I let him know all of it. p.201-202

[...] Yet he was clearly startled when he saw us at his side. And in the very act of being startled, he gave me a glimpse of his greatest weakness, pride. He was humiliated that we had crept up on him, moving so lightly and managing at the same time to conceal our thoughts. But worse was to come. When he realized that I had perceived this... it was revealed for a split second... he was doubly enraged. A withering heat emanated from him that wasn't heat at all. p.202

[...] He was perfectly the god out of Caravaggio, the light playing on the hard whiteness of his innocent-looking face. Then he put his arm around my waist, sliding it under my cloak. His touch was so strange, so sweet and enticing, and the beauty of his face so entrancing that I didn't move away.

"It wasn't that I wanted vengeance," he whispered. His face was stricken, his heart broken. He said, "But you came to be healed, and you did not want me! A century I had waited, and you did not want me!"

Queen of the Damned:

"A real devil among devils." Daniel laughed softly. With a subtle nod, Armand acknowledged the little jest wearily. He even smiled. p.110

[...]"And because you want to be with Lestat." No answer. "You know you do. You want to see him. You want to be there if he needs you. If there's going to be a battle..." No answer. "And if Lestat caused it, maybe he can stop it." Still Armand didn't answer. He appeared confused. "It is simpler than that," he said finally. "I have to go." p.111

Then as the others drew him away now, with embraces and kisses again - and even Armand had come to him with his arms out - p.432

I hadn't guessed Armand had been with him! Hadn't picked up the faintest indication that Armand had been there. And to think, whatever we might have said to each other, it was lost now forever. But then that couldn't be, could it? We would have our time together, Armand and I; all of us. p.436

"I think you should get out and do something," Armand said. "You've been holed up here too long." p.475

Tale of the Body Thief:

Then I envisioned Armand. My old enemy and friend Armand. My old adversary and companion Armand. Armand the angelic child who had created the Night Island, our last home. Where was Armand? Had Armand deliberately left me to my own devices? And why not? p.400

Memnoch the Devil:

"Are those the words Armand used, 'unbashed plea'? I hate Armand." David only smiled and made a quick impatient gesture with both hands. "You don't hate Armand and you know you don't." p.14

But the sight of the other astonished me. This was Armand. He sat on the stone park bench, boylike, casual, with one knee crooked, looking up at me with predictable innocence, dusty all over, naturally, hair a long, tangled mess of auburn curls. Dressed in heavy denim garments, tight pants, and a zippered jacket, he surely passed for human, a street vagabond maybe, though his face was now parchment white, and even smoother than it had been last we met. In a way, he made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes - a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radient than he was. "That's what you always want," he said softly. His voice shocked me. If he had any French or Italian accent left, I couldn't hear it. His tone was melancholy and had no meanness in it al all. "When you found me under Les Innocents," he said, "you wanted to bathe me with perfume and dress me in velvet with great embroidered sleeves." ... "Yes," I said, "and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair." My tone was angry. "You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love." We eyed each other for a moment. And then he surprised me, rising and coming towards me just as I moved to take him in my arms. His gesture wasn't tentative, but it was extremely gentle. I could have backed away. I didn't. We held each other tight for a moment. The cold embracing the cold. The hard embracing the hard. "Cherub child," I said. I did a bold thing, maybe even a defiant thing. I reached out and mussed his snaggled curls. He is smaller than me physically, but he didn't seem to mind this gesture. In fact, he smiled, shook his head, and reclaimed his hair with a few casual strokes of his hand. His cheeks went apple-perfect suddenly, and his mouth softened, and then he lifted his right fist, and teasingly struck me hard on the chest. Really hard. Show-off. Now it was my turn to smile and I did. "I can't remember anything bad between us," I said. "You will," he responded. "And so will I. But what does it matter what we remember?" p.157

I didn't like it that they knew each other at all. David was my David, and Armand was my Armand. p.158

"But the only thing that's brought Armand here is worry for you." ... "Is that so?" I said. I raised my eyebrows. "Well?" ... "You know damned good and well it is," said Armand. His whole posture was casual; he'd learned, beating about the world, I guess. He didn't look so much like a church ornament anymore. He had his hands in his pockets. Little tough guy. "You're looking for trouble again," he went on, in the same slow manner, without anger or meanness. "The whole wide world isn't enough for you and never will be. This time I thought I'd try to speak to you before the wheel turns." ... "Aren't you the most thoughtful of guardian angels?" I said sarcastically. p.158

"Lestat, if you need me - " Armand said. "If this being tries to take you by force!" ... "Why do you care about me?" I asked. "After all the bad things I did to you? Why?" ... "Oh, don't be such a fool," he begged me gently. "You convinced me long ago that the world was a Savage Garden. Remember your old poetry? You said the only laws that were true were aesthetic laws, that was all you could count on." ... "Yes, I remember all that. I fear it's true. I've always feared it was true. I feared it when I was a mortal child. I woke up one morning and I believed in nothing." ... "Well, then, in the Savage Garden," said Armand, 'you shine beautifully, my friend. And in my wanderings, I always return to you. I always return to see the colors of the garden in your shadow, or reflected in your eyes, perhaps, or to hear of your latest follies and mad obsessions. Besides, we are brothers, are we not?" p.164

"Because I hoped and prayed for you, that you would remain in that mortal body and save your soul. I thought you had been granted the greatest gift, that you were human again, my heart ached for your triumph! I couldn't interfere. I couldn't do it." p.164

Armand had once again decked himself out in high-fashion velvet and embroidered lace, the kind of 'romantic new look' one could find at any of the shops in the deep crevasse below us. His auburn hair was free and uncut and hung down in the way it used to do in ages long past, when as Satan's saint of the vampire of Paris, he would not have allowed himself the vanity to cut one lock of it. Only it was clean, shining clean, auburn in the light, and against the dark blood-red of his coat. And there were his sad and always youthful eyes looking at me, the smooth boyish cheeks, the angel's mouth. He sat at the table, reserved, filled with love and curiosity, and even a vague kind of humility which seemed to say: Put aside all our disputes. I am here for you. "Yes," I said aloud. "Thank you." p.370

The Vampire Armand:

And the sadness came over me again, heavily and undeniably, of having come to this forlorn and empty convent where Lestat lay, unable or unwilling to move or speak, none of us knew. p.11

"I suppose I'm glad of it. You guard him. He's never alone." I meant Lestat of course. p.13

"David, I came to see him. I came to find out how it was with him, and why he lies there, unmoving. I came -." I wasn't going to say anymore. p.19

Clad in red velvet it came, the very covering my old Master had so loved, the dream king, Marius. It came swaggering and camping through the lighted streets of Paris as though God had made it. But it was a vampire child, the same as I, son of the seventeen hundreds, as they reckoned the time to be then, a blazing, brash, bumbling, laughing and teasing blood drinker in the guise of a young man, come to stomp out whatever sacred fire yet burnt in the cleft scar tissue of my soul and scatter the ashes. p.352

[...]who became a wild blonde haired celebrity of the boulevard gutter theatricals, a lover of men and women, a laughing happy-go-lucky blindly ambitious self-loving genius of sorts, this Lestat, this blue eyed and infinitely confident Lestat[...] p.353

He destroyed us. He destroyed me. p.353

It was Lestat who gave me the key. Lestat who gave me the place where I could lodge my crazed and pounding heart, where I could bring my followers together for some semblance of newfangled sanity. p.354

There is Lestat first and foremost, the author of four books of his life and his adventures comprising everything you could ever possibly want to know about him and some of us. Lestat, ever the maverick and laughing trickster. Six feet tall, a young man of twenty when made, with huge warm blue eyes and thick flashy blond hair, square of jaw, with a generous beautifully shaped mouth and skin darkened by a sojourn in the sun which would have killed a weaker vampire, a ladies' man, an Oscar Wildean fantasy, the glass of fashion, the most bold and disregarding dusty vagabond on occasion, loner, wanderer, heartbreaker and wise guy, dubbed the 'Brat Prince' by my old Master- yes imagine it, my Marius who did indeed survive the torches of the Roman coven- dubbed by Marius the 'Brat Prince', though in whose Court and by whose Divine Right and whose Royal Blood I should like to know.[...] Lestat, not a bad friend to have, and one for whose love and companionship I have oftentimes begged, one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying, one without whom I could not exist. p.369-370

Now I knew that my hard-won peace of mind might be shattered by the contact with him, but he wanted me to come, so I went. p.381

But as we waited finally in the handsome high-rise apartment above St.Patrick's Cathedral, I had no idea how much more he could stip from me, and I hate him only because I cannot imagine my soul without him now, and, owing him all that I am and know, I can do nothing to make him wake from his frigid sleep. But let me take things one at a time. What good is it to go back down now to the chapel here and lay my hands on him again and beg him to listen to me, when he lives as though all sense has truly left him and will never return. p.387

I wanted to take him in my arms. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him wherever he'd gone and whatever had taken place, he was now safe again with us, but nothing could quiet him. p.389

As I sank down that morning into my own resting place, secure in clean modern darkness, I cried and cried on account of the sight of him. Oh. why had I come to his aid? Why must I see him brought low like this when it had taken so many painful decades to cement my love for him forever? Once before, a hundred years ago, he'd come stumbling into the Theatre des Vampires in the trail of his renegade fledglings, sweet gentle Louis and the doomed child, and I hadn't pitied him then, his skin scored with scars from Claudia's foolish and clumsy attempt to kill him. Loved him, yes, I had [...] But what I'd seen now was a devastation of the soul in his anguished face, and the vision of the one blue eye, shining so vividly in his streaked and wretched face, had been unbearable. p.389-390

"Let me go down into the streets, let me steak from some mortal, some evil being who has wasted every physical gift that God ever gave, an eye for you! Let me put it here in the empty socket. Your blood will rush into it and make it see. You know. You saw this miracle once with the ancient one, Maharet, indeed, with a pair of mortal eyes swimming in her special blood, eyes that could see! I'll do it. It won't take me but a moment, and then I'll have the eye in my hand and be the doctor myself and place it here. Please." He only shook his head. He kissed me quickly on the cheek. p.391

There was no denying the beauty of his smooth poreless sun-darkened skin, and even as the dark slit of the empty eye socket seemed to peer at me with some secret power to relay its vision to his heart. He was handsome and radient, a darkish ruddy glow coming from his face as if he'd seen some powerful mystery. p.391

Lestat, my Lestat - for he was never theirs, was he? - my Lestat was crazed and railing as the result of his awful saga, and held prisoner by the very oldest of our kind on the final decree that if he did not cease to disturb the peace, which meant of course our secrecy, he would be destroyed, as only the oldest could accomplish, and no one could plead for him on any account. No, that could not happen! I writhed and twisted. The pain sent its shocks through me, red and violet and pulsing orange light. I hadn't seen such colors since I'd fallen. My mind was coming back, and coming back for what? Lestat to be destroyed! Lestat to be imprisoned, as I had once been centuries ago under Rome in Santino's catacombs. Oh, God, this is worse than the sun's fire, this is worse than seeing that bastard brother strike the little plumb-cheeked face of Sybelle and knock her away from her piano, this murderous rage I feel. p.429 

I knelt down beside him again. I reached out, and without flinching or hesitating, I brushed his hair back from his face. I could feel the shock in the room. I heard sighs, the gasps from others. But Lestat himself didn't stir. Slowly, I brushed his hair, more tenderly, and saw to my own mute shock one of my tears fall right onto his face. It was red yet watery and transparent and it appeared to vanish as it moved down the curve of his cheekbone and into the natural hollow below. I slipped down closer, turning on my side, facing him, my hand still on his hair. I stretched my legs out behind me, and alongside of him, and I lay there, letting my face rest right on his outstretched arm. p.494

It was not differentiated or defined, this love, but only love, the love I could feel perhaps for one I killed or one I succored, or one whom I passed in the street, or for one whom I knew and valued as much as him. p.495

I climbed up. I rested my weight on my elbow, and I sent my right fingers slipping gently across his neck. Slowly I pressed my lips to his whitened silky skin and breathed in the old unmistakeable taste and scent of him, something sweet and undefinable and utterly personal, something made up from all his physical gifts and those given him afterwards, and I pressed my sharp eyeteeth through his skin to taste his blood. p.495

I knelt down and kissed his hair. He didn't move. He didn't change. I wasn't the slightest bit afraid that he would, or hopeful that he would either. I kissed him one more time on the side of his face, and then I got up, and I wiped my hands on the napkin which I still had, and I went out. p.499

At twilight, I rose, straightened out my clothes and returned to the chapel. I knelt down and gave Lestat a kiss of unreserved affection, just as I had the night before. I took no notice of anyone and did not even know who was there. p.500

At first I thought my eyes had deceived me, but very quickly I realized the identity of the figure who appeared as the gate opened and closed quietly behind his stiff and ungainly arm. He limbered as he approached, or seemed rather the victim a weariness and a loss of practise at the simple act of walking as he came into the light that fell on the grass below our feet. I was astonished. No one knew his intentions. No one moved. It was Lestat, and he was tattered and dusty as he had been on the chapel floor. No thoughts emanated from him his mind as far as I could figure, and his eyes looked vague and full of exhausting wonder. He stood before us, merely staring, and then as I rose to my feet, scrambled in fact, to embrace him; he came near to me, and whispered in my ear. His voice was faltering and weak from lack of use, and he spoke very softly, his breath just touching my flesh. p.519

[suckitsurveys]

Which fictional character can you not stand? Ross Geller from Friends and Andy Bernard from The Office.

What was the one subject in school that frustrated you because you just couldn’t process it? Chemistry.

What’s the weirdest compliment you’ve ever gotten? I don’t recall.

What is an occupation that you would like to do just for one day if you had the chance? Probably like a taste tester or something lol.

What do you think people have an unnecessary stick up their ass about? Ugh don’t get me started.

What common advice do you think never works? "Time heals all wounds.”

What’s the best movie without a happy ending? I’m not sure.

What is something you think is actually better about today’s generation? I feel like they’re a lot more outspoken in some ways.They fight for causes and stick up for themselves and it feels like they’re overall more accepting of people’s differences and advocate for them. 

What movie has a worse love story than Twilight? Romeo and Juliet.

What seems obvious to you that doesn’t seem to be for other people? God this is a loaded question.

If your partner in the zombie apocalypse was the main character of the last movie you watched, would you survive? Well, seeing as Beetlejuice has experience with the dead and undead, I feel like I’d be pretty safe.

What’s the worst episode of your favorite TV show? I've never watched an episode of BoJack Horseman I haven’t loved.

You can pick two artists to do a song together, dead or alive, but they have to be from different genres. Who do you pick and why? Lana Del Rey and Dolly Parton might sound good together.

What is something you would never buy again, even if you were rich? I’m not sure.

What do you do regularly despite it being considered very unhealthy or unsafe? Overeat.

What is something that most people find attractive in a person that you find unattractive? A ton of muscles.

Do you ever use facial masks or scrubs? Yeah.

What do you think of the recent trend of adult coloring books? I don’t mind them, I’ve done it a few times.

Which fictional character do you think you’d be great friends with? Princess Carolyn from BoJack Horseman.

What would you do if you found out your toys came to life similar to Toy Story? I have no idea. I’d probably think it was kinda cool.

Do you own any cook books? Yes. My favorite one is the Bob’s Burgers cook book.

Is there anything that you’d like to eat right now? Sushi, always.

What book are you currently reading? I’m not.

What is something that you believe in, but aren’t very outspoken about? A lot of things.

do you think weird it’s for someone to have never tried soda? WHY ARE SO MANY SURVEYS BEING COMBINED WITH OTHER SURVEYS i wanna jump off a cliff. I’m just gunna cross off the rest of these in case whoever is reading this wants to do the rest but I just did this not that long ago.

is there any foreign film you recommend? Naw.

do you have the same religious beliefs as your parents? There are definitely some overlaps. My dad is Jewish and my mom is what I would call casually spiritual. If you made a Venn Diagram of their truest beliefs, then I would probably fall somewhere in the middle. Then there are my own interpretations and understandings which expand into territory beyond either one of them. Overall, though, I think I have more in common with my dad because he’s a deep diver within his own religion, and religion and spirituality are topics that interest me. We can have some really great discussions on the matter.

which floor of your house/building are you on now? I’m on the second floor.

are there any maps hanging in your room? No.

are you often a third wheel? or is someone a third wheel to you? I felt like that for the longest time at the animal shelter. I knew people generally liked and appreciated me, but I wasn’t really fitting in. However, I don’t feel that way as much now, not with the new batch of workers back in cattery. I’m still kind of third-wheely (because I’m shy/socially awkward and also a good deal older than they are), but not to the same drastic extent. I feel much more included, relevant, and free to be my silly and sarcastic self. I had it in my head that the problem might be me (and admittedly, some of it probably was and I do still have some work to do), but now it’s like…oh. I was likeable the whole time?!?!

what’s the last dvd you bought? I’m not sure.

tell me about your favorite pair of jeans. I don’t have a favorite pair of jeans. I basically don’t even wear them anymore.

would you ride a motorcycle if given the chance? (or have you?) I’ve been on the back of one a few times, but I don’t think I would like to ride one myself. Driving a car is enough responsibility for me.

is your hair healthy? Ehhh.

if a hotel offered free breakfast in bed, what would you order? I’d go all out. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, biscuits, maybe some fruit, coffee…

how often do you take a train? Aside from the kiddie train at the city park, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a train. I might have gone on the one at the Royal Gorge, but I can’t be certain that’s a real memory and not some false recollection I settled on after the fact.

what’s your favorite led zeppelin song? Kashmir.

does your home have a balcony/deck/porch? We have a back deck and a front porch.

what does your closet/wardrobe say about you? That I spend a lot of time at an animal shelter. Probably half of my shit is animal shelter shit.

do you enjoy theatre? I don’t not enjoy it. It’s just not really my thing. I wouldn’t want to be in a play, but I would probably go see one with someone if they wanted me to.

how would you feel about traveling abroad alone? Scared, unprepared, inexperienced, lonely, bored…like I had so much to share and no one to share it with. I’d much rather travel with someone.

who would you call a lyrical genius? Idk.

how do you treat yourself? It’s time to make dinner, so I’m going to pause this here (9.10.24) and resume it sometime tomorrow… Okay. I just arrived home from a trip to the Mountain Park - which is one of the ways I plan on treating myself this autumn. I feel like I’ve spread myself too thin with volunteering, so I’m going to take a step back, take an extra day off here and there, and spend more time in the mountains with my dad. Other ways I treat myself include eating fun/favorite foods (so excited for holiday treats!), making time for art, and curling up in bed with my kitties and some YouTube.

do you have an interesting passport? I don’t have a passport.

are you going to pursue a career according to what you enjoy? Yeah.

what’s your favorite frozen treat? Ice cream. You know what else I’ve been enjoying lately? Otter Pops. They’re not typically something I would think to eat, but they’re great for hot afternoons at the shelter when I need a quick chill out/sugar rush combo.

who supports you financially? Social security and my dad. We share our incomes.

if you wanted to go to the movie cinema, how would you get there? I would drive (or be driven).

how many pillows are on your bed? Two regular pillows, three body pillows, and two decorative pillows.

would you pay more for organic food? I might if I preferred the taste of a certain brand, but otherwise it’s not something I pay much attention to.

do you prefer being awake after everyone goes to bed or before they get up? I don’t really have a preference.

do you know much about feng shui? (do you use it?) I know very little, and no, I don’t use it.

how would you make friends in a quiet class? Make meaningful eye contact? Lmao heck if I know. I’m quiet myself, so if other people are quiet, then it’s just gonna be quiet.

are you generally a quick learner? Yeah.

what’s your favorite spot to read? At my computer desk.

did you know that buddha is not considered a god to buddhists? I was aware of that.

do you save tickets from movies, etc.? Not really.

without looking him up, who was jim morrison? The vocalist for The Doors.

when’s the last time your bedroom was painted/wallpapered? Gosh, idk. As far as painting goes, that would have been years and years ago. It wasn’t even finished. As for the wallpaper, that was put up before we moved in.

teach me something in another language. Naw.

what type of music do you like and why? I’ve developed a fondness for classical over the past couple of years.

if you randomly want to eat something in the house, do you eat it or wait? It depends on what it is, what I’ve already eaten, how close it is to meal/snack time, etc.

who knows the most about you (besides yourself)? My dad.

do you have a nervous habit? (e.g. biting nails, tapping feet, smoking) Picking at my nails.

how’s your favorite pro sports team doing lately? I don’t follow any sports teams.

would you be/are you a good role model to a younger sibling? No.

[stromuprisahat]

We have told the world that Princess Aerea died of a fever, and that is broadly true, but it was a fever such as I have never seen before and hope never to see again. The girl was burning. Her skin was flushed and red and when I laid my hand upon her brow to learn how hot she was, it was as if I had thrust it into a pot of boiling oil. There was scarce an ounce of flesh upon her bones, so gaunt and starved did she appear, but we could observe certain…swellings inside her, as her skin bulged out and then sunk down again, as if…no, not as if, for this was the truth of it…there were things inside her, living things, moving and twisting, mayhaps searching for a way out, and giving her such pain that even the milk of the poppy gave her no surcease. We told the king, as we must surely tell her mother, that Aerea never spoke, but that is a lie. I pray that I shall soon forget some of the things she whispered through her cracked and bleeding lips. I cannot forget how oft she begged for death.  All the maester’s arts were powerless against her fever, if indeed we can call such a horror by such a commonplace name. The simplest way to say it is that the poor child was cooking from within. Her flesh grew darker and darker and then began to crack, until her skin resembled nothing so much, Seven save me, as pork cracklings. Thin tendrils of smoke issued from her mouth, her nose, even, most obscenely, from her nether lips. By then she had ceased to speak, though the things within her continued to move. Her very eyes cooked within her skull and finally burst, like two eggs left in a pot of boiling water for too long.  I thought that was the most hideous thing that I should ever see, but I was quickly disabused of the notion, for a worse horror was awaiting me. That came when Benifer and I lowered the poor child into a tub and covered her with ice. The shock of that immersion stopped her heart at once, I tell myself…if so, that was a mercy, for that was when the things inside her came out… The things…Mother have mercy, I do not know how to speak of them…they were…worms with faces…snakes with hands…twisting, slimy, unspeakable things that seemed to writhe and pulse and squirm as they came bursting from her flesh. Some were no bigger than my little finger, but one at least was as long as my arm…oh, Warrior protect me, the sounds they made… They died, though. I must remember that, cling to that. Whatever they might have been, they were creatures of heat and fire, and they did not love the ice, oh no. One after another they thrashed and writhed and died before my eyes, thank the Seven. I will not presume to give them names…they were horrors. ... The Valyrians were more than dragonlords. They practiced blood magic and other dark arts as well, delving deep into the earth for secrets best left buried and twisting the flesh of beasts and men to fashion monstrous and unnatural chimeras. For these sins the gods in their wroth struck them down. Valyria is accursed, all men agree, and even the boldest sailor steers well clear of its smoking bones…but we would be mistaken to believe that nothing lives there now. The things we found inside Aerea Targaryen live there now, I would submit…along with such other horrors as we cannot even begin to imagine. I have written here at length of how the princess died, but there is something else, something even more frightening, that requires mention:  Balerion had wounds as well. That enormous beast, the Black Dread, the most fearsome dragon ever to soar through the skies of Westeros, returned to King’s Landing with half-healed scars that no man recalled ever having seen before, and a jagged rent down his left side almost nine feet long, a gaping red wound from which his blood still dripped, hot and smoking.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Let’s take a moment to appreciate the horrors the world of Ice and Fire offers. It’s not only Ice corpses, but fiery worms that will cook you from the inside!

[csphire]

Ah yes, as I expected!

I don't recall reading a certain passage in one of the god's history on the Forgotten Realms Wiki before Early Access. Not sure when it was added-probably post-game launch. Others certainly, as well as myself, had our suspicions of who Withers really was, and now just look!

*Warning: Spoilers about our favorite undead buddy below.

It's confirmed under his history! And oh boy, does this tickle my lore nerd heart dearly!

"During the events surrounding the rise of the cult of The Absolute of the Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492 DR, Jergal manifested an avatar called Withers in a temple dedicated to himself that had lain abandoned for over a century - or rather, interred his avatar within the temple at some point in the past so that the True Souls would eventually awaken it. As Withers, Jergal provided magical support to the adventurers, in exchange for a pittance of coin compared to the usual cost of such services. He accompanied the True Soul on their journey, but aside from resurrecting dead allies and summoning additional help when asked for, he did not intervene directly..."

What set me off on these suspicions ages ago was when I played a cleric once in Early Access, I think Patch 8. There was a special cleric-only dialogue observation when speaking with Withers upon his arrival at camp. Basically, the narrator informed the player how Withers had a touch of divinity about him. I think even going so far to say it was diminished. Which would fit Jeral's godhood status perfectly. I've yet to check if the line still exists in the full game because well... clerics are not exactly a popular class to play. I've yet to play one again.

However, I would highly recommend picking up a few levels as a cleric with a few of your companions who have an okay wisdom stat if you like multi-classing to open up a few more dialogue options in the future. Also adjusting your wisdom stat at the beginning a touch higher helps with those saving throws regarding deception, fear, or some other form of mental manipulation. Plus it's nice to have some extra heals, buffs, and radiant damage on more than just Shadowheart. Perhaps we might even gleam a few more interesting tidbits of information by multi-classing as one. So why not give it a try.

And thanks to the avatar of Jergal himself you can always change your mind later on! (Silly me turned Astarion's into one for Lathander after we found the "giggle" pendant. My player character too, after she pinched his very shinny mace and nearly destroyed what was left of his temple. It was the least they could do. ^_^;)

[angeltreasure]

Okay I need to get this off my chest and I figure that since you're so nice and seem easy to ask questions to I'd tell you. About 9 years ago, I think I had a miscarriage. I'd been sexually active at the time and not in the Faith. I was not sure at the time what had happened but upon further research lately I think I did. I wasn't at the time able to go to an obgyn I was like 17 or something and didn't understand what happened. But today while at Church we had a Marian procession and crowning of our Lady. So after Mass and the procession I thanked our Lady and wished her a happy mothers day. Afterwards I recalled the event from years ago, and I felt her wishing me one as well. I asked for clarification, and she confirmed I had a miscarriage. She even named the child Rose. It's making me tear up right now. I just don't know what to do, should I go to confession, should I do something, I'm scared lost and confused. Am I a bad mother if I had a miscarriage? A bad Catholic? If this makes you uncomfortable don't worry about replying.

Do not be afraid. Having a miscarriage is not a sin. It doesn’t make you a bad mom either. For various reasons, a mother might be able to have a miscarriage from how her body is built, to environmental circumstances, perhaps other things etc. Most of the time we cannot control if we have a miscarriage. You can absolutely tell about it in confession, God is there for you and through your priest or bishop He will speak words to comfort you. Having sex outside marriage is considered a sin, which you can bring to confession (if you have never brought it up before), and it is absolutely a forgivable sin. It doesn’t make you a bad Catholic, all of us are sinners except God and Mary. You’re not a bad mom. Your child, Rose, is a saint in Heaven, no longer able to feel any pain or tears. Rose loves you very much and always will, she loves you so much that Our Lady wanted to tell you herself. She walks in Heaven playing with Mary and even holds her hand as she walks covered in the safety of her mantle. I’m so sorry that you lost Rose in this earthly life, but you will be reunited in Heaven. I encourage you to go to confession when you feel ready, you can even talk to your priest anytime about anything. He is our shepherd that will help us to heal and guide us lost lambs to safety close to Jesus. It’s time to also consider taking time to heal yourself and if you want to mourn as well. Make sure to mention to your doctor (if you have one now or in the future), drink some water, eat some healthy good, do gentle exercise even if it’s just walking in a safe place, catch up on sleep, and make time to pray each day even if it’s only a little prayer. It’s ok to reach out for help too beyond confession. Find someone in your life who you can talk about your mental health to, a family member, a good friend, even a professional can help don’t let any stigma prevent you from reaching out and speaking up. I also have some links for you that may khelp:

I’ll keep you and family in my prayers.

God loves you, Our Lady loves you, Rose loves you, and I love you. Don’t be afraid.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

(I want to say that I have no idea how to start a rant lmao)

I absolutely adore the idea of Rex Lapis just using his tail as a seat because sitting on the ground is for peasants- it's so funny yet fitting. And him being under 6 chains from how strong he is, is actually kind of hilarious lolol. His reaction to Gui made me very soft, it was also a little sad. The multiple info dumps from him hurt my brain, I do not have enough brain cells for this lmao. OH AND REX LAPIS HUGGING GUI UGH MY HEART

I really like the idea of Ajax being a descendent of both the Volchiy and the Zvezdochoty, it makes his ease with controlling hydro a lot more understandable and does clear up some details about Ajax. Now that I think about it- I remember that Nadya had hiden the fox trio in the forest, who says that she hadn't done the same in the original timeline and that Ajax' ancestors are one of those three? It would be really interesting and weird lolol.

Aspasia becoming the navigator after Basil dies somehow makes a lot of sense in my head, she just... fits the role? It also makes sense that Sophron would join the mutiny in the original timeline since, from what I understood, it was after(?) the split so Sophron, seeing how they were already thinking that mutiny was probs a good idea in the past celestia when Ajax got there, must've been tired of dealing with everything after the archon war, the cataclysm and then the split. So them joining Basil makes a lot of sense same with Pheynix who, if I recall properly, was on friendlier terms with Vinea then the other shades(I think? It's been a bit since I read that chapter where the two are introduced).

The interaction between older Skirk and Ajax at the start of chapter 48 just killed me, it was so funny seeing Ajax being completely oblivious to his injuries and Skirk just wrestling him into getting healed. And just him being like "Oh hey I got lightning scars on my arms, guess that explains the tingly feeling" like it's nothing-

The other Harbingers just being speechless and confused the entire chapter was so fitting. Morax and Ajax arguing was also just perfect, having Ajax trying so hard to make the things he did look less big then they are and Morax just completely shutting him down- And that part where Morax is like "Who's the martial god, huh? Who is it, God of Annihilation?" like plssss Morax is so sassy I love it.

Morax comparing himself to Rex Lapis just- ugh my little heart can be heard breaking. Don't worry, you'll get there honey-

ok. I think I said all I wanted to say... at least I can't think of anything else off the top of my head...

anyways thanks again for another celestial chapter! It was wonderful! Like always!

Oh and this might just be my personnal opinion but don't worry about the chapter lenght, I don't mind it being, like you said, "stupidly beastly" I actually love it like that, but I don't mind shorter chapters either! Don't force yourself to make longer chapters just for me haha

Anyways, have a great time, thanks again!

-Love, Nera, the 6reeze enthousiast <3

my average chapter lenght is like between 6k and 8k so whenever it exceeds that i'm just like- well i guess this is it hahah;;

the mutiny in the original timeline did come after the split, and yeah, pheynix is by far the shade on 'best terms' w celestia (mostly sophorn and the non-combatants) since she's the gentlest. i don't think i've put this anywhere in the fic yet and i don't think it's a spoiler so here, exclusive tumblr early access content (?): skirk is the god of death and istaroth is the god of time, so by that rule the other two are also gods of important things. i decided at the very start that andromache would be the god of justice (maybe a very specific justice so that it doesn't clash w focalors, just like how skirk is the god of death in battle/god of the slaughtered while istaroth is the god of time but as in moments/kairos), and pheynix would be the god of life (again, something more specific. idk, like- the kind of gentle hopeful life that's like those images of little growing plants in a field of nothing but ashes). that's why she's in charge of the garden, as sophron said; the inteyvat isn't strictly alive but it's the best they could give her to look after since they already had dendro gods in charge of the actual greenery of the island.

oop accidentaly infodumped there- it's the zhongli pfp curse. anyway, all that to say that you're spot on; everything that happened in the og timeline that hasn't yet happened (and won't) in the 'new' timeline kinda built up the idea of mutiny more and more. and so when the split happened, by far the most drastic and shocking event so far, and then asmoday and zagan decided to thanos snap the remaining population in a tantrum, sophron and pheynix n everyone else said "ok yeah fuck this we ball"

anyway uhhhh- thank you;;; <3 <3 <3 <3

[kim-poce]

14. No God In Town: Hesitation

On Patreon (two weeks earlier release)

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I opened my eyes the next morning at exactly eight o'clock, my first thought was: I’m a complete idiot.

The previous day’s memories were making a mess in my mind, but I still recalled most of them, it doesn't matter how much I wished it didn’t. It had been decades since I last got drunk, I knew I didn't have defenses against alcohol and I still decided to drink it anyway. I’m not usually this inconsequential, this only shows how this town must be in my past as soon as possible.

“Did you sleep well, Biggie?” the flower cub asked when I stepped out of my room, her tone was quite threatening to such a friendly question. “After all, you got home wasted last night.”

“I slept well, yes,” I nodded, feeling as if I was in the wrong, but it’s not like I’m the one bringing a follower home.

I felt the traces, five people counting the couchwoman, makes sense; they wouldn’t show the follower to an outsider. I still felt one trail leading outside, one of the cubs must have visited the follower early in the morning in secrecy. Again.

“You are back at your staring habit. Hangover?” the cursing cub raised her eyebrow.

“I don’t get a hangover,” I shook my head, and sat down. There was tea and bread waiting, and it was time to eat.

“Unfair!” the couchwoman grumped, she was resting her head on the table, a warm cup of tea was in front of her. “You drank as much as I did, you should suffer too.”

“She has been like this since she woke up,” the clapping boy clapped his hand once, earning another complaint from the woman. “Sorry sorry~”

“You deserve it,” the flower cub said, “You took Biggie out and made them drink!”

“I didn’t make anything! The very-human-guy is an adult already, I’m the baby here, they are the one at fault.”

The couchwoman was right, but I didn’t want to admit it outloud, something inside me wanted to pick fights with her for no reason. Maybe it was for the habit of it.

“It was free drinks, of course I would drink as much as I could,” she murmured to herself. “And they seemed to need some drinking.”

I recalled how she listened to my rambling without complaint, and how she carried me up the mountain even with how hard the path was. I sighed.

“Couchwoman, look at me.”

She did, showing a confused expression. Her mouth opened to say —or ask— something, but I snapped my fingers before any word could get out.

“What?” she blinked a couple times, stared at me, blinked again and then back at the staring with wide eyes. “Very-human-guy, did you- did you just heal my hangover?”

I nodded. All the humans were staring at me now, even though they complain so often when I am staring.

“Color me fucking surprised,” the cursing cub said, leaning back against the chair and watching me up and down. “I didn’t believe it when Rosemarie said she was your friend but is it true!”

“It’s the first time you use magic in front of us,” the mint cub said, mouth wide open.

Wrong. It’s the first time I let you know I did magic. For obvious reasons I didn’t say this outloud.

“Are you okay?” the flower cub asked with worry in her eyes, she is often worried.

“This much causes no side effects,” I assured her, “It’s a simple trick.”

I would leave that place anyway, at night when no one was looking, or maybe right now. It would be easy to walk out and just never come back again, so there is no issue in letting them witness my power at this point, they already know it. They already brought in a follower.

They kept staring at me as I had my breakfast. It wasn’t the follower-to-god look that I was afraid I would get, it was more like the couchwoman’s expression when she heard me cursing for the first time.

“Thank you,” the couchwoman said finally, breaking the silence. “Anyway, yesterday I was drunker than I thought, I left the house for a second and I swear that I saw a decapitated head on the floor. When I stepped back it was just a wooden cube thing.”

“Oh yeah, that cube does that,” the mint cub said, nodding. “It’s not a decapitated head to me, though.”

“I wish it had shown me something as simple as a head,” the cursing cube added. “That thing doesn’t like me.”

It seems to like you actually. I thought, but there was no use in explaining the cube’s feeling when I didn't get it too, and much less when the cube would leave with me.

“Biggie, where are the clothes you were wearing yesterday?” the clapping cub asked. “You grew too much for their size, I can sew them if you want.”

I tilted my head. I would need to have the clothes on you piece when I —run away— move out, so he has a point. Of course, I could use magic to sew it back together but it would be a temporary solution, also I could sew it myself but since he is offering…

“Flower cub knows,” I explained. I’ll take this service as payment for betraying and lying to me.

Thinking of it, I should leave some silver coins behind. The cubs may need it. I don’t think their family gives them a lot of pocket money, if any.

“Well well well, that was a lovely time,” the couchwoman got up, “but since my head isn’t killing me anymore, and it's the weekend I’ll get some money into my pocket.”

“Stealing?” the cursing cub asked.

“Working,” she hissed. “It was a pleasure to meet you all. Thank you for the food Danny. Alice, I still don’t forgive you about the bath but you make great tea.”

“... thank you?”

“And you are Fern, right?” she waited for the cursing cub to give a wary nod. “They are wanted posters for you. Ten silver if alive.”

The cursing cub clicked the tongue, “And the others?”

“Three silver,” the couchwoman placed her hand on her chin, and looked at the other cubs, “they don’t have a good description on them, though. So unless you guys gang up, the others won’t be noticed.”

“What about everyone else?” the flower cub asked, her hands shaking slightly around her empty tea cup.

“No word,” she choked her head. “Apart from the last notice, you know they are-”

“We know,” all the cubs said at once.

“Thank you,” the cursing cub said, massaging her temper.

“Very-human-guy, no worry I’ll pretend I know nothing like always. See you around. Try not to go down the town often, though.”

“I don’t intend to,” I said. Not thinking about the silver bounty, and whatever trouble the cubs are in, it’s not my job to take care of it and I won’t do anything about it. I would leave this palace and its problems will stay behind too. I don’t care.

“Biggie,” mint cub called with a thoughtful face, “Can you change our appearances?”

Oddly enough the request to use magic didn’t freak me out. It should have. “I can’t, even if I could it would be a temporary measure.”

“Okay, it was worth asking,” he shrugged.

I opened my mouth and almost straight up asked why they brought the follower there, was it for me to change his appearance? What was the reason? Why didn’t they ask me for it already? Why to keep secrets?

I didn’t ask. Humans don’t tend to react well to straight up questions about their secrets, and I was not one to try workaround ways of talking.

“Biggie, I’ll make a new kind of garden today. Want me to teach you?”

“Sure,” I nodded. I had until the clapping cub fixed my clothes anyway, so I should learn some gardening skills if I can. I also need more mint to take with me, I should just dry some.

I wasn’t sad about leaving. Whatever was crushing my core at that moment was not sadness, and the reason I would stay there a couple more days was not hesitation.

“I’ll go down the town,” the mint cub said with a smile, “I’m the least likely to be caught and we need some answers.”

There was a small argument, but in the end the mint cub walked away into the trails and I was not worried. I was not worried at all.

—

@extemporary-username, @the-magpiesystem, @nexfox-art, @kathea, @wolfeyedwitch, @blu-jay-2779, @rose-pinkie, @latenightcupsofcoffee

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

to father-in-law 9/7/23

You said something about having Ben train Fi to sing with his guitar. All three of the kids are able to sing this song together. They all did it at once one time and it sounded like an angel choir. (Link to Goodnight My Angel by Billy Joel.)

Music is a healing thing.

Theo might sing it for you a night he comes over!

This is also one of Theo's favorite songs.

I sing it in the shower every day as a prayer to my own well designed pantheon of divinity. But Venus loved war just as much as she loved beauty and peace. Your son has some outdated software in his subconscious that needs redirection when it comes to how you treat a woman you love and respect.

My Phoebus is now Apollo.

And like Daphne I will make like a tree shake off the mantle of your name that I accepted like the rotting leaves of a dying tree.

I am Andromeda and Perseus is getting too damn close to the sun.

Pegasus has bucked off plenty of Princes.

Raja has eaten their underwear.

Aphrodite was born from the old man of the sea being made into a ennuch. Sea foam.

I'm thinking in mythology these days, Zeus.

I can be the headache you'll never forget.

Or your adoring daughter.

But like Diana I will turn men who scorn me into the stags their dogs devour.

I think I'm telling you this because I love you and your family.

But it hurts too much.

And I've been here too many times.

And part of me is dying.

And I have risen back from the dead far too many times to fear death.

My given name is Mckeag, our motto is to neither dread nor yearn for the final day.

That's not my name either.

I'm still looking for it.

I hate to use a story you trusted me with to... illustrate a negative thing.

That's my broken heart talking.

But you told me when you went deaf, you didn't learn how to read sign language. I can't begin to understand the grief that comes with losing your sense of hearing.

You value music so much.

You're rough, but you're a secret music box like me.

The mother in me, the gypsy in me, the woman who has been fucked by guys your age since I was three (literally and can recall each memory in cold detail, by the way.)

Shirley Temple syndrome.

But my hero was also Gilda.

Anyways, as a woman who has had to fight for every damn good thing in her life....

I heard the man that stands of law in the place of Father

"When I lost my hearing I chose to become blind."

"My wife and children learned a new language to keep me connected to the family, but I chose not to learn it for myself."

And it's a pattern I can't rise above in this relationship with your son.

I don't like bad boys.

And he will regret me forever.

Trust me, I already have one dude who did the same shit finally treating me with respect a decade after bearing his children.

They say Danae, my soul ancestor, was cast out to sea by her father who learned that her son would become more magnificent than he.

Fear of the gods.

But as humans, don't we wish that our legacy be more magnificent?

Maybe not. I don't know. I've always thought differently than everyone else.

And I've paid for it with a body broken by hands that never thought I had value.

So if this is our last convo bc I've been too disrespectful.

(which is valid. I've said nasty things and made even uglier metaphors.)

But I need to express to you everything I feel at this crossroads.

And I promise with all my heart and soul that I had to build myself...

that I will never speak against your family or the members of the name in a public way with this kind of reckless talk.

Even if I'm not under your banner, or your protective shade, I will respect you as Theo's grandfather.

I just think that's important to state things clearly before anything starts getting tense or emotional.

Again, sorry for the unpleasantness. I've been very angry for a few days now and managing it well... but my period is coming.

When I'm bleeding it's more difficult to channel my rage in a polite way and I wanted to express it before gasoline is poured on the fire. Maybe more than you want to know, but I like my sincerity to be detailed.

[anicekidlikeme]

It's cold, but I brought your Spartan's hoodie along.

When you feel terrible for a very long time, the world narrows. Currently (and for an awfully long time), my time is distilled into neat compartments of nonsense: Am I a terrible person? Am I a liar? Am I bad for the people in my life? Am I really not a liar?, one drawer for each.

I have been sitting with my emotions for so long that the real world seems like a whole different place. A world where people have lunch, enjoy a sunny day, have silly fights with stubborn partners, complain about how their back is screwed, exercise, talk about the weather, drink too much wine. I have sought many distractions to postpone admitting to my out-of-touch-ness, so much so that I even spent an evening thinking fondly of my mother. How many times had I looked over at her and thought harshly of her methods? Was it all warranted? Almost each day, and yes, but doubt underscores any and all rationality. This guilt is by design. Once my mother made incisions on my body because she hated it so much. I felt like everyone in the world could see but never said a word, yet still when I recall these memories, my brain shrieks Vaibhavi, you are so full of shit.

The only thing that is helping me keep one foot in the real world is my incredibly grounding Drew. There are instances where the things that happen to him are perfect recreations of my past. I don't know why, but it is so much easier to point out the unfairness of life when it happens to the people you love. Terrible words being said to Drew feel so much more terrible in comparison to when they are said to me. I lived so much of my life just trying to not make things worse that I forgot to go back to myself: my feelings needed me then, so did my body. I cry on behalf of Drew everytime I think about all the things that have gone wrong during this awful month, and I refuse to give up my sentimentality. To me, crying is one of the last genuine and pure act of self expression left, because it is inate. The wonderful people I give my love to deserve all the best things in the world, so yes, I will cry when they are disrespected, put down, and under-estimated. I do not want anyone to feel the way I do. But unfortunately, I crave my outward expressions too. I crave large servings of wine, coffee with my friends, enjoying a donut, laughs with Drew, long naps, looking at the trees move with the breeze, sitting in the park, lovely lovely food. I crave it all, I cannot help it, I wonder if Drew feels the same way.

This month, some very cruel things were said about and to me. I haven't been going to bed on time because of this, I think about things just a little too long, long enough to make my stomach hurt. When she was mad, I remember my mother's face going red with anger as she screamed about how I was just like my father. My stomach always hurt hearing that too. Recently, I heard those exact words, with that exact same fury, said by somebody else to somebody else. I threw up. I wonder how someone can say such things on a sunny day so beautiful that you can see the birds eating out their feeders straight from your porch. I wondered that about mom as well. When winter comes, the soil becomes so dry and ugly. When it passes, the soil still must heal while the frost just carries on and waits for it's next turn. What a cold thing to do. It is May now: today was somewhat gloomy, but the sun came up eventually and the soil looked good. I remember now that nothing in life is linear, and my god is it frustrating. I was wondering if it would be better if I were no longer in Drew's life. I keep saying I may be cursed with the ability to cause problems for everyone I encounter. He doesn't deserve that. I kept thinking about it over and over again, because people were saying it to me over and over again. Am I cursed? There is a huge pit in my stomach now. What if he gives in to the noise and there is no more us? It hurts. I am angry. I am angry at people who are making me feel this way. I think this anger is very healthy, I don't want my 11 year old self to think I am alone, despite having the kindest human to love.

I wonder about the last time I felt simple, uncomplicated joy. On Sunday I was at a beautiful wedding. I drank a glass of wine sometime during, and I almost saw the answer. I closed my eyes for a second and saw the image of us in bed every night with my paintings surrounding the room. Drew welcomes me into our blanket, we adjust our feet, stack them on top of one another, I scroll on my phone for a bit and feel him drift off. Eventually I give in and go to bed in the nook of his back. In those moments I am perfectly, uncomplicatedly happy. We do this every night.

The truth is, I never want to leave this relationship. It sounds childlike, but I really don't. And I hope it doesn't leave me. I want to find a way out of this mess so that we can continue daydreaming about homes, gardens, pools, and weddings. Just like the other stupid people in love do. The journey feels so long today, but when I am there at the destination, it will be beautiful and I will be okay. The weight of having a heart is carrying a thousand tiny problems along with your stack of joy. It is a heavy weight. Someone I know is having relationship problems, I cannot imagine the pain of the to breakup or not to breakup dilemma anymore, because there has never been a chance I wanted to leave Drew. To remind myself of that, today I put on a Michigan State University hoodie. Dark green, says the word Spartans across it. I was wearing it for three days straight when we almost broke up. I haven't had the courage to even look at it until today, infact I had burried it deep inside Drew's closet so I am never reminded of those three days again. But actually, I thought about them today, and where we are, and how our love has grown so tremendously from there. We were really able to find ourselves with each other. I thought it would be cold forever. It's not. The sun eventually hits your back, and it feels great. To whatever religious entity actually exists, I can't help but pray that it all works out. I do not want to live in this sorrow and I do not want our relationship to feel conditional on anyone's approval. Three's a crowd, and there is only enough room for the both of us.

What do I do with this pain? for now, I don't know. But I know it won't be cold forever. I have an incredible partner, and the most loving friends in the world. I live for them, and I live for me. So I guess I am giving myself an invitation to take a deep breath. Here is a picture I took of the soil. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed. One day my tears will become big rain clouds and my bones will help the soil heal and somebody else can watch the grass grow. The sun will hit their back, it'll all feel so wonderful. Law of conservation.

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 8: Flight

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.8K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.

What happened? What in the Hells just happened?

His fingers putter over the greyed skin of his arm, but he’s not even looking as that blistering pain dwindles to a dull sting. He stares at the wide-open door, sun swarming across the floor, mouth agape.

He has seen panic. Hells, fear is well known to him, but he has never seen her succumb to panic. She never wavered. Even when they peered certain death in the face, she rose like a phoenix from the ashes, all glorious flames and roaring fury.

What had he said? His eyes shift furiously from side to side as he strives to recall the last moments. She recoiled from his touch, winced as his hand drew near, and her heartbeat thundered so furiously he worried it might burst in her chest. She never shied away from him before, even when she awoke to him hovering over her that night, fangs bared.

Gale enters, wide-eyed and dishevelled, and he nearly groans out loud but stifles it. He knows what’s coming before Gale even notices he’s standing, stiff as a corpse on these damn stairs.

Gale’s eyes find him with a scowl, voice drizzled in hostility hot enough to melt infernal iron, “Astarion, what did you do!?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he retorts hoarsely, voice constrained, trying to push down his annoyance, “We were just,” Gods, what does he say, not the truth surely, “-talking.”

Gale pokes a rigid finger into his chest, and by the Gods, he almost breaks it, hands balling up at his sides. He’s not sure he’s ever seen the wizard so irate. It would usually positively amuse him, but his mind is focused elsewhere.

“If you hurt her again, Astarion, I swear on Mystra-Ryl-”

His temper gets the better of him, and he snarls like a rabid animal, fangs bared in warning as he shoves the wizard backward, “You’ll do what, Gale,” he spits, voice coarse as sandpaper, “Try to seduce her again with your silly parlour tricks?”

Gale gnashes his teeth, mouth twisted in a grim line, “No, Astarion. I admit my feelings for her have not departed. She is a rather unique soul, after all,” Gale sighs, “But she told me, in no uncertain terms, might I add, who her heart belongs to. You hold it in your very hands, my friend. Do not squander the second chance she’s given you. You are a lucky man to have her devotion.”

There is heartache in Gale’s expression, meshed into his voice. His tongue feels clad in stone, sitting heavy and uncomfortable in his mouth. Words fail him, a peculiar occurrence. He’s used to being able to weave masterfully articulated webs with his linguistic talents, but he cannot think of a response.

He smooths back his hair or perhaps messes it further; he cares not, “Indeed, I am.”

He needs to think, and he cannot do it when he’s making impetuous errors, letting anger get the better of him. He stalks up the staircase, silent as a thief shrouded by shadows as the wizard’s damn eyes bore into his back, scars bared, making his skin crawl.

Sitting on the bed, he leans forward and puts his head in his hands. His thoughts are chaotic, streaking like lightning bolts across the black void. They jumble together in untidy disarray, starting and stopping without fully rendering in the first place.

Fuck, this is his fault. What has he done to her? She’s different than when he left. Skittish, shy, and afraid of everything, just as he had been once. She tries to hide it from him, but he recognizes it reflected in those beautiful doe-eyes that gleam like the morning sun.

He inhales sharply, a futile venture for him, but sometimes, even 200 years later, those old habits of life still spring his dead body into action. He frowns at himself, springing upright with artful grace and fluidity practiced and perfected over centuries and paces his room with his fingers laced behind his head.

He’s never wished he could extinguish the sun so desperately. If only he could wrench it out of the sky and fling it into the heavens, blotting it out, he would set out after her. Darkness is mere hours away, but it feels like lifetimes.

Despite his best efforts, he thinks of home. He’s missed it since he softly shut the door behind him that night. The memory haunts him like no other.

He slips off the bed, careful not to jostle it and wake her, an easy feat for him. How often had he simply slipped away from his targets when Cazador came for them in the dead of night? Countlessly. He cringes inwardly at the memories that surface of the life she rescued him from, giving him this new, bright future to look forward to. Only in this moment that once radiant future is bleak and endlessly lonely.

It’s better for her, he tells himself. After all, he cannot give her a real life if she’s bound to the shadows with him, both the umbrage plaguing his mind, holding his body hostage, as well as shackling her to the night.

He tucks her in, making sure the blankets are tightly swaddled around her, and she stirs slightly, a soft sigh rising from her parted lips. He stills instantly and listens intently to her heart. It continues its languid, sleepy thumping. He concentrates on it far longer than he needs to, committing that beating melody to memory, for he knows there will never be another. She is her, and she is unequalled, the only person in two centuries who looks at him, almost through him at times, and truly sees him.

His bag is already packed, hidden close to the door, but he can’t get his legs to advance, so he stares at her. Gods, she is beautiful beyond words. All unruly, long hair, pouty lips, tapered ears and ravishing scales adorning the delicate skin of her face that glint in the last ebbing glow of the fire starting to sputter out in the brick-clad fireplace. He wants to reach out and let the cool pads of his fingers be warmed by her skin, feel the glassy smoothness of those shining scales. He wants her to wake, simply so he can put this off and spend another day with her, or maybe he would tell her so she could talk him out of this idiocy.

Gods, she would plead with him to stay, and he would, because he wants to with everything he is, so he dares not touch her.

Tears stream out of his eyes despite his best efforts to keep them imprisoned. He brings his hand to his mouth to bite back the sobs that are threatening to sputter out. He grits his teeth and glides over the floor like a ghost, grabbing his bag. He takes one last look at her with a panging hope she will awaken and bring an end to his cowardly retreat.

She does not wake.

He lets himself out into the cool night air, closing the door behind him with barely a click, and he runs as fast and fleeting as his feet can carry him because he cannot hold back those noisy, breathy sobs a moment longer.   

Your lengthened strides devour the ground beneath you, blurring everything around as you avoid obstacles and people alike. Your blood thrums in your ears, your heartbeat pounding against your temples, and a sheen of sweat veils your skin, droplets rolling down your forehead. You sprint forward with reckless abandon, a rabbit fleeing from the snapping fangs of a starving wolf, trying to push your legs to move as fast as your thoughts are spinning out of control.

Guards at River Gate eye you suspiciously as you blow past them into the country surrounding Waterdeep. Crashing through the forest, you duck under boughs and willowy branches, dodging around undergrowth, feet spitting pebbles and stones. Your lungs burn as if embedded with sparking cinders as you draw in gulps of musty, earth-scented air. Stark tree limbs rake scratches into your face and pull at your hair like skeletal fingers.

You do not heed your surroundings. You are fleeing, and nothing will thwart you. You will run off the very edge of the realm and surrender to the abyss if it will put an end to this agony.

The ground falls from under your feet, sending you careening forward, rolling down a steep embankment. An excruciating pain splits through your head, and white peppers your vision as black starts to trespass around the edges. You clamber to hold onto consciousness, but it slips like sand through your fingers.

The suite of the Elfsong Tavern is dark. You shift on your mattress, trying to get comfortable enough to slip into rest, but your body is as restless as your mind, and you gaze at the ceiling. The sleepy breaths of your friends resound around you, and you can’t help but feel a pang of envy. You are tired, and Gods, you crave rest, but it does not come.

There is rowdy commotion from the pub, still flourishing and restless as the citizens spend another night indulging in drink, dance and each other. Slipping out the door, you descend the stairs, sit at the counter and order yourself a pint. The ale is piss-poor, bitter and bites at your tongue and throat as you swallow. Your mouth twists, and you stare into the flagon, scowling at the offending taste.

“Not your drink?” Astarion chuckles, resting his hip against the counter with an amused grin and those crimson eyes that glimmer mischievously.

“No,” you admit, “I prefer something… harder.” Tilting your head back, you gulp it down anyway, “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“I have not been able to rest easily since my siblings came for me,” Astarion taps the counter hard, getting the attention of the barkeep. He points to a bottle high on the shelf and signals for two drinks, not caring to raise his voice over the shouting of the other patrons.

“I won’t let them harm you, Astarion,” you vow, eyes sparking and igniting like dry tinder, “I would die before I let them take you.”

Astarion smiles, cocking a brow at you, “Feisty with a little drink, aren’t you?”

He jokes, but you can see that he’s scared as hell. He’s wearing the mask again, pretending he’s anything but afraid, but it cracks under your penetrating gaze.

Glasses filled with some russet-coloured liquor slide over the counter. Astarion nods curtly in gratitude while pushing one toward you, “Try this, darling. I think you will find it far more palatable than the swill.”

You regard the glass and stare at Astarion, who sips it while watching you with an earnest yet devious grin. You take a tentative sip and are delighted by the heavily spiced liquor that leaves a fiery burn in your throat and warms your belly.

“It’s lovely. I guess I will have to bring you with me every time I want to imbibe,” you tease.

He chuckles, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “Where you go, I go.”

I love you.

The alcohol loosens your tongue, and you bite it to stop yourself from spilling all the emotions that still sit turbulent and voiceless in your heart.

This is not the time for heartfelt confessions.

You throw back the rest of the drink and start toward the door. Astarion calls out from behind you, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You glance over your shoulder with a wily smile slithering across your lips and a wicked flash in your eyes that could rival his own, “Probably to get myself into some trouble. I do tire of playing hero.”

The truth that keeps you awake. You tire of having to be good, everyone’s expectations thrust upon your weary shoulders. It was so hard to balance it all. You have to be everything for everybody at once - the picture of morality for Karlach, Wyll, Halsin and Gale, cold-blooded for Lae’zel, Shadowheart and Astarion. You must be both sides of the proverbial coin. It is exhausting.

Stepping out of the tavern, night breathes chilled air on your face and into your lungs. It feels fresh and pleasant compared to the tepid warmth of the pub. Sauntering down the street, Astarion pops out of a barely noticeable, dark pathway ahead of you, and you nearly shout.

“Trouble, you say,” he drawls, his arms bent behind his back as he takes his place beside you, “Consider me intrigued.”

Astarion follows as you weave through the shadowed streets and alleys to your destination. He doesn’t ask where you are going or what kind of mischief you’re leading him into, likely because he doesn’t much care.

“When we met, you said you were a magistrate,” you remark after he explains some dilapidated building used to be a courthouse, “Was that true?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I was, though I admit, not a very good one.”

You chuckle at him, “I expect you broke the law as much as you enforced it.”

“ When I enforced it,” he corrects with a clever smile tugging the corners of his lips upward, “I wielded the law masterfully when it suited me and broke it artfully when it didn’t, which was often.”

“I’m shocked,” you say deadpan, “truly.”

Astarion rolls his eyes, “Yes, you look positively beside yourself, scandalized even,” he smirks flippantly, “What about you? What was our fearless leader up to before all this madness?”

“I-” you pause and consider lying but dismiss the reflex as it rears. You don’t want to lie, especially not to him, “I was travelling, looking for someone.”

Astarion’s eyes shoot to the ground at his feet, scrambling from side to side. When he finally speaks, there is apprehension braided into his voice, delicately weaved between practiced reserve, “A former lover?”

“No,” you frown, clamping your jaw so hard your teeth click audibly, “An enemy.”

Astarion’s brows furrow, but before he can question you further, you step toward the door of Facemaker's Boutique, “I feel like shopping. What do you say, Astarion?”

Astarion beams wide, his fangs glinting in the moonlight, “Move over, sweetheart. I’ll get the lock.”

You bow shallowly, splaying your hand on your chest theatrically, “My hero.”

He crouches down languid and graceful in front of the door and shakes his head, “I don’t play hero. I’m afraid you will have to settle for a morally questionable saviour, at best.”

You’re my hero.

“Heros are boring anyway,” you shrug while watching his fingers manipulate the lock with expert precision, just as they did your body. You feel the flush of heat as it runs down and spreads between your legs, “I would choose morally questionable any day, especially when it is so devastatingly beautiful.”

“I am quite dashing,” he smirks smugly, his eyes creasing at the corners while he side-eyes you, “Why else would you be flushed and wanting while we commit a crime?” 

How did he know?

Nearly choking on the air, you try to rein in your composure quickly, “What I want is a new outfit, and you are taking an awfully long time. Having troubles, Rogue?”

“Cheeky pup. I thought I would give you a moment to continue imagining my fingers handling your body as well as they do this lock,” the lock clicks instantly. He stands confidently, smiling, “You may be able to hide your truth from the rest of them,” Astarion wraps an arm around your waist, tugging your body flush against every curve of his and places a soft kiss on your lips, “But you cannot hide from me, Sorceress, and you never have to.”

Astarion releases you suddenly, and you stumble backward, catching yourself on the iron fence behind you.

Astarion chuckles, “Now, shall we?”

He pushes the door open, walks inside, his footsteps soundless, and listens. His eyes find yours, and he points to the top floor, indicating someone is upstairs.

Astarion pulls you in close again, lips fainting over your ear, “He sleeps, but if you keep bumbling about, you will get us both in the trouble you seek.”

You smirk at him and head for the shelves, trying on various hats and coats, only to discard them on the floor when Astarion cringes and shakes his head. Astarion examines the jewelry and gems, rolling his eyes at the poor imitations.

You drag him into the back with you, “Come on, Astarion,” you tut, whispering in his tapered ear, “There has got to be something in here you like.”

“Oh yes, there is something in here I’ve had my eye on for quite a while,” his arms wrap around you, lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the chill, “Quite a while, indeed.”

Moving you to the side, he steps away from you quickly, leaving you tottering on your feet yet again as if his presence has intoxicated you further.

Astarion’s fingers flit over various chemise and doublets before landing on an opulent obsidian-black coat with red twisting dragons climbing up the breast and polished silver metal clasps to bring it all together.

He slips it on over his shirt, “Well?” He spins for you, allowing you to take him all in, “What do you think, love?”

“It’s beautiful,” you stutter, “you’re beautiful.”

The moment it comes out of your mouth, you know you’ve said it far too loud and Astarion’s eyes flick to the ceiling above you. Footsteps trail soon after, and a groggy voice shouts obscenities down the staircase.

Astarion grabs you quickly, putting his hand over your mouth to stifle your surprised grunt, and pulls you into the darkest corner of the shop.

“Damn thieves!” Figaro shouts, shuffling into the room straight past you and Astarion, huddled in the corner. Your bodies are flushed together so tightly that you don’t think you could get any closer to him.

Well, except if he were inside me.

The thought makes heat rush to your face, and your cheeks burn. Astarion grins at you, cocking his head to the side, observing you through thick lashes. He plants a lingering kiss on your cheek, making you redden further.

You pull his hand away from your mouth as you stare at the back of the man standing with his hands on his hips regarding the mess you’ve made of his shop. When he turns around, his eyes cast around and bypass the little corner but snap back, brows furrowed in an angry scowl.

Astarion knows you’ve either been seen or are about to be, and you can hear his dagger slip out of its sheath. Shaking your head at him, magic glowing on your fingertips, you cast Sleep before Figaro can utter another word or call for guards. The man tries to fight the wave of exhaustion that encompasses him, but he drops to his knees and flat on his face quickly enough.

“Well, you are quite handy to have around. Had I met you in another life, we would have terrorized this city,” Astarion steps out of the corner, releasing his tight grip on you, and regarding the sleeping man, “I believe we have overstayed our welcome, don’t you?”

Astarion grabs your hand, dragging you behind him, hurrying out the door while keeping a sharp eye on the surroundings. He takes you around back and through the darkened park to avoid any passing guards who may notice your hasty retreat.

Your chest heaves, and your heart pounds wildly, invigorated by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Astarion turns to look at you with that delighted expression, and you dissolve into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

Astarion chuckles with you, “By the Hells, the exploits I let you drag me into,” he teases, dragging his fingers across your cheek, “You are quite a lot more fun than I gave you credit for when we first met.”

“Oh, Astarion,” you giggle, eyes narrowed with a cheeky smile, “You have no idea just how bad I can be.”

“I await the day you demonstrate exactly how naughty you are,” Astarion drawls suggestively, his eyes hooded and seductive. He holds his hand out to you in a shallow bow, “May I have this dance?”

You look around the park, covered in shadows that flit with the breeze in the moonlight, “Here? Now?”

He shrugs, “No time like the present. Who knows when we will have another chance?”

“I’m not a dancer, Astarion,” you warn while taking his hand.

Astarion deftly pulls you into a dancer’s embrace, “Follow my lead and try not to step on my toes, will you?”

“No promises,” you kiss his cheek while he starts taking slow steps that are easy for you to follow.

“You’re making this quite the challenge, you know,” he whispers, resting his cheek against yours.

It almost sounds pained, and you pull back slightly to examine him, trying to decipher his meaning, “What are you talking about, Astarion?”

His hand finds your hips, pulling you tight against him, and he grinds himself into you. His desire for you is evident, bulging in his trousers, “Need I explain further?” He purrs.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do, Astarion,” you insist, “I told you we could wait as long as you need, and I meant it. That’s not what I want from you.”

I want you to love me.

With a lift of his arm, you spin. When Astarion pulls you in, his hand comes to the small of your back, and he dips you low with sure, confident steps, “What do you want from me then?”

“You,” you breathe, “Just you, as you are.”

His lips mould to yours in a short kiss as he brings you upright. When he pulls back, you’re struck by the ceaseless devotion mirrored in the scarlet pools of his eyes, your lips parting with a small gasp.

“I’m yours, my love,” he coos softly near your ear, laying your hand on his chest and holding it.

Your arm wraps around his neck, holding him tighter, and you rest your head on his shoulder. Astarion hums a tune familiar to you, and the dance carries you away.   

You feel like you’re floating as if being rocked by gentle waves, and for a moment, you wonder if you’re still caught up in the memory of Astarion’s slow swaying under the stars. Something is pressed hard against you, cold and unmoveable, and it all recurs to you in a flash flood.

Astarion’s crimson eyes wide with distress and confusion, recoiling and falling to the floor, his mouth moving but his words not making it passed your ears.

Running through the manor, Astarion’s pained yelp and dashing through the streets like a crazed animal who can’t flee the wildfire fast enough.

The embankment, tumbling, your body striking something hard, and the slow fade to black.

Fuck.

Your eyelashes flutter as you try to force your eyes to open. Gods, it feels like they are clamped in a vice and fused shut, but you must get up, get home, to Astarion. You try to stretch out your numb limbs and are met with resistance.

Astarion’s voice drifts through your alertness, “Easy, darling. If you continue this wriggling, I might just drop you. Are you awake?”

Astarion? 

Your vision is carpeted by a gauzy haze, but you can faintly make out the darkened canopy of the trees moving above you.

“Astarion,” you murmur groggily, hand coming to your aching forehead, “Astarion, I’m so sorry.”

At this point, you’re not even sure if this is real, and you mutter on, sputtering out words insensibly. A frosty gust of wind howls through the trees, icy teeth nipping your skin, and you shiver harshly.

“I’m going to put you down for a moment,” he cajoles in a velvet-wrapped voice, “Can I trust you not to bolt off again?”

You blink to rid your vision of the fog that muddles it, and your eyes coast gradually to his, “I won’t run.”

Astarion eases you down, slow and measured, until you’re sitting upright on the carcass of a long-ago fallen tree. You groan with the movement, teeth clicking aggressively in your mouth as you tremble.

“Arms,” Astarion instructs, crouching in front of you with one knee on the ground. He gently grabs one of your arms and slips it into the arm of his coat and then the other before pulling it tightly around you and fastening it up.

“No,” you try to argue with him, “You will be cold.”

“Well, aren’t you just talking absolute gibberish,” he tuts with a click of his tongue, “My dear, I am dead, remember? My body is colder than this wind.”

You nearly giggle, but it dies in your throat before it can ever be expressed, “I’m so sorry, Astarion.”

“This is not the time for such a discussion,” he objects softly, sitting beside you and placing a hand on your thigh, “Just tell me you’re okay. That will suffice for now.”

“I’m okay,” you lean into him, and he wraps his arm around your back.

Astarion’s cry reverberates in your mind, tangling your heart in barbed wire and wringing it, “I- Gods, I hurt you, didn’t I? When I opened the door. Fuck.”

Your eyes examine him as your fingers trail down the smooth skin of his arms until they feel it - the greyed, cracked skin, rough as tree bark.

“A trifling matter; do not concern yourself with it,” he pulls his arm out of your hand, “We must be getting back to the manor.”

Astarion adjusts to pick you up, but you push him away, “I can walk.”

He stands with his hands on his hips, giving you a judgmental glower, “Well, then please,” he waves dramatically, “Lead on.”

You attempt to stand, but your legs are wobbly beneath you like a newborn foal, and you sit back down, muttering profanities under your breath.

He groans, “If you are quite done being disagreeable, I would very much like to get you back to the manor before dawn. I’ve had enough sun for one day.”

“I am not grumpy,” you scoff, scowling at him.

“You’re cold,” he shrugs with a light-hearted snicker, “Of course you are. Now, come on, hold onto me.”

You scold yourself for looking this weak in front of him, infantile and feeble, but you do as he instructs and wrap your arms around his neck while he lifts you into the air and begins the meandering route back to Gale’s. The delicate swing as he walks, his scent all around you, wafting from his coat, and the pure exhaustion tows you in and out of consciousness no matter how hard you try to rally against it.

“Do you remember visiting the boutique in Baldur's Gate,” you sigh in one of your fleeting moments of wakefulness.

“Which time? The time you so stubbornly interrupted a perfectly good murder,” he admonishes, and you smirk, remembering the look of absolute irritation twisting his mouth, “Or the time you almost got us caught engaging in misdeeds because you were admiring me too loudly, again interrupting another perfectly good murder.”

“Admiring you too loudly,” you confirm, “Where did that jacket go?”

Astarion adjusts nervously, “I took it with me when I left. A sentimental attachment I could not bring myself to relinquish.”

The question tumbles out unceremoniously before you can stop it as oblivion begins to swallow you whole, “How many came after me, Astarion? How many have warmed your bed since I did?”

Astarion lurches so brutally that you wonder if he’s going to drop you, “Good Gods-”

The void conquers you, slipping you back into obscurity. If he answers, you don’t hear it.  

The morning sun streams into the window, gilding the skin of your face in a radiant, warm glow. Your eyelashes flutter as you stare at the open window through heavily lidded eyes. Fluffy, white clouds drift through the brightening sky as birds greet the reborn sun with their songs. Closing your eyes, your hand slips over the sheets and bumps into familiar chilled skin. You run the pads of your fingers over him, but instead of skin smooth as the finest silks, a grainy texture grates against your fingertips.

You frown and open your eyes to look at your fingers. A white powder coats them, and your brows knit in confusion as you rub them together to test the texture.

Ash.

Lurching upright, hurling the blankets away, you stare at Astarion resting peacefully beside you. His hands are crossed over his chest as if being laid to rest, his skin dull, and he does not stir.

“Astarion,” you whisper, reaching out to him.

The moment your trembling fingers contact his body, he crumbles.

A shrill, deafening scream tears painfully from your throat.   

Still screaming, you catapult off your bed and instinctively hurl yourself toward the window, only to find it closed and shuttered tightly. Rivulets of tears run down your hot cheeks, and you clutch your chest as if it might ease the pain. You slip down the wall to the floor, bringing your knees up and folding your arms around them.

Astarion bursts into your room and drops to the floor, arms outstretched, and you throw yourself into them. Your fingers curl into his flesh firmly, testing if he’s going to disintegrate under your touch.

“Another nightmare?” he murmurs, one hand at the back of your head and the other rubbing up and down your back.

“You, you, you, Gods,” you falter, not even wanting to form the words on your tongue. You shudder and force it out, “I woke up, the window was open, the sun and you were...” You can’t finish the sentence.

“It wasn’t real,” he coos, “I’m here.”

You can’t help it, and you flex your fingers into him and run them over every part of him with firm pressure.

Astarion takes your hand and smiles, “Handsy this morning,” he quips, kissing your knuckles.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” you smile while he wipes your cheeks.

His brow cocks, “How do you know you woke me?”

“Your hair is a mess,” you chime, running your fingers through the wild curls, tousling it further.

“I couldn’t very well style it while you screamed bloody murder. The wizard is lucky I even bothered to put my trousers on,” he laughs, plucking a dry leaf out of your hair, “I am not the only one looking rather unkempt. I didn’t want to wake you last night.”

Looking down, you realize you’re still in your clothes from last night, including his coat, “You put me in my bed?”

“Well, you are positively filthy,” he sighs, still picking dry leaves and other plant matter from your hair, “But mostly, I thought it best after what happened yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion. I-”

I’m scared.

His fingers come to your lips, and he shakes his head, “Not now,” he opens the cabinet at your bedside and grabs a Potion of Healing, placing it on the table, “First, drink that, then a bath and food. I can hear your stomach growling obnoxiously from my room.”

“But I-”

Astarion wags his finger at you, “No, no, no.”

You cross your arms and scowl, “I’m not a child, Astarion.”

He smirks, “Clearly. Children tend to listen. As endearing as you are, darling, if you insist on being obstinate, I will simply ignore you until you do as I ask,” he shrugs.

“You would ignore me?” you scoff, “Really?”

“I would do anything to get you to eat so long as I no longer have to hear your stomach. Gods, you mortals can be quite irritating,” he giggles, pushing himself to his feet.

You glower at him, “Fine. You win this time.”

Astarion nods with a smug smile and leaves you to tend to yourself. You stare in the mirror and groan. A cut splits the skin of your forehead, bordered by a dark bruise that is all hues of blues, purples and sickening yellows. There is still debris in the tangled nest of your hair, and you can smell yourself under the scent of his coat.

At least he didn’t comment on that, I suppose.

Gulping down the Potion of Healing, you rush through bathing and dressing, jogging downstairs to the kitchen to make some breakfast. Your heart feels heavy with everything left unsaid and unresolved, and you sit at the table, picking at your food pensively, lost in your thoughts.

Tara sits on her perch in the corner, twisting her head and giving you a questioning look.

“Tara, where is Gale?”

“Mr. Dekarios is giving a lecture today,” she informs, starring daggers at you, “Did you do it?”

You shake your head with a sigh, “Not yet.”

“Idiot,” she admonishes, jumping and trotting off with her fluffy tail held high.

I know.

“A charming feline,” Astarion watches her walk off, “What were you supposed to do?”

You skip over the question, “I’ve completed your damn list.”

“Such a good girl,” he purrs, chuckling, “Very well. I suppose it’s time we talk. My room or yours?”

You tangle your arms behind your back and glance away as a blush reaches your cheeks, “I like yours better.”

Astarion leans his shoulder against the archway, crossing his arms, “Why’s that, my dear?”

“It has you in it.”

“You are adorable when you’re trying to make amends,” he smirks, “Go on then. Get upstairs.”

You sit in the chairs by the fireplace as it crackles and pops in awkward silence while Astarion regards you with red eyes, burning as bright as the fire, leaning back in the chair. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, unsure where to begin, how to explain what happened or how to ask him the question that started this whole mess.

Finally, Astarion leans forward, “I’m worried about you. It is not like you to give way to panic, not like that. Beyond that, you are shy and afraid of me, I think.” You open your mouth to speak, and he puts his hand up, “Do not try to dispute it. I can see it in your eyes,” he sighs and leans back again, “I do not wish to pry. Gods know I have my fair share of demons that I prefer to keep closeted, but I would like you to feel like you can be honest with me, and you can be honest with me.”

It’s time to stop hiding.

“I think I’m broken,” your voice is quiet, eyes swimming with tears. When you blink, they rain down your cheeks, “I lost part of me, something I haven’t been able to find,” your eyes find his, “You’re right, I am afraid, but it’s not of you, Astarion. I’m afraid of losing you again.”

Astarion descends to his knees in front of you, bringing his palm to cradle your face, “You may feel lost, but you are not lost alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Where do you go, Astarion, when you left?"

“I ran,” Astarion returns to the chair and rubs his hands together. His mouth is in a tight line with a look of pure misery, “I ran as fast and as far as I could manage. I believed the further I got away from home, from you, the easier it would be to let it all go.”

Running… Something I know far too well.

Reaching out, you hold his hand, swishing your thumb over the back, “Did it work? Was it easier the further you got?”

“No, love. It was not,” a single tear slips out of his eye, and he inhales a shaky breath, “By the time I realized what a fucking fool I had been and returned home, you were already gone. I spent the rest of the time trying to track you down,” he pauses, wiping away the stray tear, “Do you recall what you asked me last night?”

Your brows furrow, and you close your eyes to summon the memories. What you can remember is murky and fragmented, “No, I’m sorry. What did I ask?”

Please tell me I didn’t ask that question.

Astarion’s jaw clenches, “You asked me how many have warmed my bed since you,” he leans back in his chair, regarding you thoughtfully, his fingers holding his chin, “Do you truly believe that I was gallivanting around Faerûn taking strangers to my bed? Is that what you think? Is that what this was all about?”

Gods, me and my big mouth.

“I- I’m sorry,” you can’t give him any other explanation because you don’t know yourself, “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand. It’s none of my business, after all.”

“Hells love, I told you I had not been touched in a while, did I not? There was no one else,” he shakes his head slightly and then sighs.

“You never had…” you trail off and look away, staring into the fire.

“Sex? We are both adults. You can say the word.”

Taking a deep breath, you meet his patient gaze, “You never had sex with anyone else?”

“No one,” he purrs while grabbing your arm and pulling you into his lap, “You’re the only person I want to make love to. Why did you not ask me this if it was bothering you? You can ask me anything. I thought you knew this.”

“I was afraid of the answer,” you fidget with your fingers, “I don’t remember when I started doing that.”

Astarion wraps his arms around you and lays his head against yours, “After I left, I presume,” he sighs, “I’m so sorry.”

He can tell I’m not the same person he left. What if I’m too different and I never get better?

“Are you having second thoughts, Astarion?” you swallow, trying to rid your voice of the audible quiver, “I would understand.”

“What?! Absolutely not,” he pulls back, and his hands come to your cheeks while he looks deeply into your eyes, “I’ve never been this sure of anything in my life, and I’ve had a very long life,” a lopsided grin spreads across his lips, “I am rather looking forward to courting you again."

You giggle, “Court me?”

He grins, “If you call me old again, by the Gods, I swear I will tickle you until you can’t bloody breathe.”

“You sound old,” you taunt, jumping out of his lap and running away from him playfully.

Astarion is out of his chair so quickly you barely registered when he started getting up. He chases you around the room but nimbly catches you with one arm, hauling you up into the air by your waist, when you try to make a mad dash around him.

You laugh loudly as he pins you to the bed, holds you down and does exactly what he warned you he would do until you’re begging in stuttering, breathless pants for him to stop.

“I warned you,” he sweeps loose waves of your hair out of your face with a bright smile, “sassy girl.”

“Maybe I just wanted your hands all over me,” you chime, eyelashes fluttering while you blink slowly at him.

“Hm, I could be convinced,” Astarion murmurs while running his index finger over the smooth scales on your face, “May I kiss you, friend?”

“Oh, Astarion,” you run your finger up his ear to the tapered point and look intensely into his scarlet eyes, “We have not merely been friends since I crawled into your bed at the inn.”

“Catching onto that, are you?” he chuckles, kissing your forehead, “Took you long enough.”

Leaning forward, you take his lips in yours. Your fingers curl into the white curls at the nap of his neck, and you relish the comforting coolness of his skin. Astarion’s tongue slips past his lips, and he groans as he coaxes little sighs of pleasure out of you.

Astarion leans his forehead against yours, “We will take things slow.”

Slow? Gods, I don’t know if slow exists when it comes to him.

“Astarion, do you think… Would you be okay with…” your heart kicks up into your throat, and you trail off, trying to subdue the panic.

“Come on, darling,” his finger sweeps over your bottom lip, “Out with it. Would I be okay with what?”

“Do it afraid.”

I will.

Anchoring your eyes on his, you sift through your fear and find your resolve, “Can I move into your room with you?”

He blinks, eyebrows rising, making his eyes round, “You wish to share a room with me? Truly?”

You glance away, unsure of his reaction, “If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to share your room.”

“Look at me, my love,” he purrs, using his fingers to direct your gaze back to his, “Our room,” he smiles, “It’s our room.” 

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I hope you're enjoying reading this! Let me know what you think :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

-I know it was upsetting (my apologies) when I toyed with the idea that Astarion may have slept with other people after he left. I hope this chapter applies a soothing balm to that heartache.

So I decided to try something new with this chapter - a little glimmer into Astarion's mind. Let me know if it works, and I might continue switching perspectives so we can explore his memories and thoughts as well.