#espECIALLY if you only play expert and master

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧Night Moths

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur has a simple task to do, searching for any lead possible at the Mayor's party. Only problem? You also have a job of your own. Based on “The Gilded Cage” ✦ Warnings/tags: guns, strangers to…sinners?, SMUT 18+, reader is part of a St Denis gang, cover names used at first, smoking, Arthur is extremely horny and a little rough with you (you pushed his limits), cursing, outdoor sex, fingering, tits play, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v ✦ Words: 9,8k ✦ a/n: YES. I KNOW. This is super long. I have absolutely zero excuse. I feel like this is my best piece yet, but I'm so nervous about posting it! Once again, a big thank you to the incredible @zae-heeyyy, my jedi master, my confidence-booster and patience Queen, who beta-read this big baby and helped me so much with so many things, as always. (Go check her blog I'm begging you)

Glasses are twinkling and clinking all around you. Words are spoken, laughs are let out, champagne drank.

You're leaning against one of the stoned garden walls, fancy decor of the Mayor's house, the perfectly cut bushes looking just as fresh and neat as every guest at this party. You can hear the distinguished music coming from a quartet playing under a gazebo a few meters away from you, and smell the fresh air of the night blending with aromas of flowers, expensive alcohol, hint of vanilla and sweet scents hiding a stronger note of sweat and cologne. Around you, all the richest, wealthiest, and noteworthiest of people in St Denis. You can hear them talk; their conversation as dull and superficial as an empty chrysalid, an abandoned cocoon emptied from all substance, from all interest and life.

You hated those kinds of discussions. Hated those kinds of people, the ones that have the easiest and simplest life one could ever have; being fed, being cared for, even being told what to think and do. You almost envied them in a way, they didn't have to worry about a single thing apart from losing their power. It seemed comfortable somehow, worry-free. The exact opposite of what you had always known.

And yet, you had to bear with them. A very specific task had been assigned to you by your gang. A simple job, one you were often sent off to as you had grown by the years into a great thief and a terribly efficient shapeshifter; blending into any type of party, or gathering, always making a good impression, putting people at ease. You were now an expert at this little game, especially with rich men. They were all the same, always wanting more, demanding the same thing from you. You had learned how to play with their greediness and lust to turn it into your advantage, saloons becoming your jungle as you sneaked easily between your prey to rob them, a deadly and redoubtable leopard in a world of apes.

You needed to steal some important documents from the mayor's office. The main informer of your gang had specified it was a pretty strong lead, and that you could gain a lot from it; something to do with Leviticus Cornwall's dirty deeds with the mayor, a blackmail opportunity. 

Your boss had decided to send you, knowing you would easily integrate the party, and even more easily steal the documents. So here you were, feline eyes looking all around you, scanning, observing, evaluating. You couldn't just come, steal the papers, and go; it would have been too suspicious. All the contrary, you needed to be seen and leave a good impression like you always did, maybe stay for a couple of hours, and then smoothly retrieve your goal before disappearing in the secrecy of the dark night. A flamboyant, harmless butterfly… on the surface.

You sighed, trying to pay attention to what was being said to you. Right in front of you, a middle-aged man was talking, explaining something about how he had acquired his incredible wealth. His speech was sadly boring, his eyes glum, his clothes basic, his face awfully bland.

The empty chrysalis in all its gloomy glory.

You forced yourself to nod and give the man a charming smile. This was your job. You had to at least do it properly. Why was tonight a lot harder than the others? Were you frightened to be right under the Mayor's nose, fooling him into his own home? Were you tired, or sick? 

In a way, you were. Sick of this life, of this constant pretending, of being here listening to the literal hollow vessel bragging about himself, sick of needing to appear actually interested, charmed even. 

Suddenly, the music coming from the quartet is too loud, sharp violin blending with his words, making you even less focused. You were here for too long already, you needed a break and to finish your mission.

You politely interrupted the stranger, placing a gentle hand on his forearm, a gesture that you had noticed was prompt to soften most men. Along with your most charming smile, you excused yourself from him and quickly walked to a less crowded area, praying that no one would interrupt you.

You made your way up to the exterior stairs of the luxurious mansion just before the patio door and windows, and stopped on top of them, placing your hands on the central low wall, between two Greek columns. Another fancy facade, the house itself was just an imitation from another culture. Did any of these fools have any personal identity at all?

From here, you had a good view of the whole party. Countless fake smiles, masks, a literal scene of a play that could have its place at the Théâtre Râleur. A play of pale phantom shells.

You reached for your purse, taking a cigarette out, mindlessly putting it between your lips. Maybe smoking would help. You searched for a match, silently cursing realizing you hadn't any left.

"Ya need some fire, Ma’am?"

A deep voice said behind you, making you turn, surprised. It was unusual for people to startle you, your ears had been trained to notice the faintest of footsteps in order to survive.

You got even more surprised considering who had talked. A man was standing before you. He was taller, and largely wider than you, his black suit struggling to contain what looked like a well-built body; which made you wonder how could he have been so quiet. His shoulders especially looked way broader than the men you had the habit of running into at those sorts of gatherings. A very classical white bow looked like it was strangling him. His black tailcoat and white jacket looked larger too, making you wonder how much did he had to pay for the tailor to sew them custom-made.

His hair had a soft indescribable color, somewhere between a light brown and a sandy blond. His face, the work of a brutal draftsman, rough edges and strong squared jaw gratified with some scars. One on his chin, another on his nose, nose that seemed broken now that you were thinking about it. It looked like the artist that had drawn this man had sharpened his pencils too much and traced lines in a hurry, piercing through the canvas, his features ending up rugged and scared, some trace of graphite shrapnel that would have damaged the portrait.

What disturbed you the most were his eyes. They looked out of place considering how robust his features were. One could have expected them to be dark, black even. But they were the exact opposite, their bright and soft indigo color leaving you disarmed, two sapphires locked on your own pupils.

He was handing you a match, and you slowly took it, your fingers slightly discovering how his palm felt under them. Firm, calloused.  Another stone-like feature of him.

He looked like those Greek statues carved by artists. His beauty so singular and yet enticing. So different.

"Why, thank you, kind sir." You showed your gratitude to him with a grin, lighting the match by simply rubbing it against the cold stone of the fence, a little flame appearing instantly. You brought it to your mouth, the cigarette finally catching fire, and you breathed in.

"Ya don't smoke much?" He questioned, voice deep. You hadn't noticed how deep it was the first time, nor how pronounced his accent was, dragging and drawling every word, a slow melody of his own.

"Not too often, indeed." You informed him. It was the truth, you were basically just smoking during jobs to blend in more easily, most people doing it. It was an easy way to start a conversation with anyone. Just like he had done with you, you noted.

"Needed a break from high society?" He inquired, a sarcastic tone in his voice.

"I guess you could say that." You answered, exhaling a long drag of smoke. 

You were now completely turned to face him, your cigarette making back and forth from your mouth to the air where you tossed the burned ashes with a little movement from your thumb to the cigarette’s end. Your motions were elegant, distinguished but looked natural. It caught his interest.

"What's your name, sir?" You spoke again, curious about this uncommon newcomer.

"Tacitus Kilgore. What is yours, Ma'am?" He asked you back before placing himself on your left, both of you leaning on the low fence of the patio. 

You contained a chuckle. There was no way in the World this man was named like this. You knew something was odd about him. The scars, his knuckles redden and subtly wounded as if had fought recently.  His strong stature, miles away from a lazy bourgeois being served, his wild hair longer than the actual trendy haircut, his stubble fitting more a countryman than an actual St Denis gentleman. 

Years of playing with people and observing them had made your eyes alert and expert, and you could see when someone was pretending.

When someone was playing a role just like you were, not belonging into this World.

"Rose Schultz." Of course, it wasn't your real name either. You had to be a really poor thief to give him your actual one. He didn't react to it though, his face impassible just like the start of your whole conversation.

Apart from this vague feeling you had about him not being a rich gentleman, you found trouble in reading his emotions. His facial features were closed, impenetrable, mysterious. This also disturbed you as you had the habits of figuring men out right away; he on the other hand was a whole challenge by himself, his intentions hidden behind an emotionless face. This man probably was a champion at poker.

"Nice t' meet ya, Missus Schultz. Are you, erm, hidin' from someone here? Or jus' judgin' everyone from your perch?" He went on with a more amused voice.

"Just know that I'm not the type to hide from someone, Mister." You replied, a little grin curling up your lips.

"Yeah, you sure don't look like it..."

"You wanna know what I think you look like, Mister?"

"Go ahead."

"A wild horse who's trapped, and can't wait to be freed again."

Silence. His eyes stared deeply into yours, stabbing you in sharp blue flashes of Apatite, as keen as the blade of a knife. After just a few seconds, you finally see his mouth moving, his cold expression changing as a slight grin made his way between the stillness of his features.

"You sort of a witch or somethin' ?" He asked you, amused once again. His little smile is even more evident in his eyes, his lower eyelids crinkling slightly in amusement.

"Maybe." You answered cockily, feeling more at ease with him now that he was slightly more open. 

Still, there was something that was making you feel weak in the knees; maybe it was his tall stature, his strong build, or the palpable tension you could feel beaming out from him, as if he was ready to jump on someone who would have crossed him at any second.

In a way, you liked it. It was almost exciting.

"I better not mess wi’chu then. Don't wanna end up cursed or somethin'." He joked, features relaxing, body leaning slightly more against the low wall in a more comfortable position.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare. You also look like the type of man you don't wanna mess with..."

"I'm surprised how well you already know me, darlin'." He admitted, internally enjoying your conversation more and more.

Your heart swelled at the surname. It felt so good in your ears, it sounded better than from any person who ever said it to you. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to hear him say it just to you.

"I'm kinda talented at figuring people out." You simply replied, before taking another drag at your cigarette.

"I too. And I also think you're not here to jus' play nice with everyone and enjoy yourself." He suddenly confessed to you with a knowing gaze, eyebrows raising as if he was trying to make you understand something.

He knew too. You both knew you weren't from this world, like two predators from the same species, recognizing themselves, circling, judging, from one individual to another. Your breath stopped for a very short time, nobody could have noticed it, but somehow you were sure he did.

"Don't ya worry little "rose", I won't tell no one..." 

You didn't miss how he was playing with your false name. On top of being astonishingly handsome, he had some spirit…

He's still looking intensely into your eyes. "In return, I expect you to do the same...", he added in a low voice, his tone firmer and even more resonant than earlier.

A threat. His presence only intimidates you, and it's working so well that you're almost sure he must be an expert in terrorizing too. He must be one hell of a weapon all by himself.

You slowly nodded your head, trying to swallow as naturally as possible to look unphased. 

"Guess we have a deal here, "Tacitus"." You emphasized his name, making it clear you're more than doubtful about it being real too.

It made him laugh, and you almost lost it at the sound of it. It was as deep, raw, and genuine as his entire being seemed to be. You loved it. You loved it too much.

Exhaling some smoke, you noticed he had pulled out a cigarette too and had joined your smoking, holding it between his thumb and index finger. You had mixed feelings for this man. He was just as intimidating as he was enticing, and you let your curiosity win the best of you as you carried on your conversation with him.

"I hate it here." You suddenly confessed.

 There was no point in playing anymore, and even if you didn’t really know why you had told him that, a part of you felt like maybe, just maybe, he could have understood you.

"Yeah, I get what ya mean. Sometimes I think that those people are jus'… reptiles in fancy clothin'."

You had seen right. Your chest felt light, as if he had lifted a weight in you with just those simple words.

"I just want to be anywhere else but here. Somewhere nicer, more authentic. Like in Big Valley..." You went on with your regrets.

"You too know about this place uh? Yeah, I can picture ya picking flowers in Lil’ Creek..."

This time it was your turn to chuckle, your laugh creating a little puff of smoke in the air. Was he being serious or just teasing you? You didn’t really care. Now, you felt like something special was linking you both as you knew exactly where this spot was, a happy memory brought back in your mind thanks to his words. The wild and fresh river, the meadows covered in thousands of violet flowers, the snowy mountains in the background.

Your cristal-clear laugh made him smile back at you.

"So... What does a woman like you is actually doing here, then?" He asked you, his eyes roaming all along your body while he did. 

You were glad you had put on the prettiest dress you had, its dark burgundy color matching perfectly the tone of your skin, and its generous cleavage showing a delicious amount of your chest, underlined by a black translucent shawl covering your shoulders and twirling around your arms. You were offering a tempting sight for every man. You knew he had looked at it, his eyes lingering there had almost burned your skin, sent a warm feeling between your tights, and made your hand hold your cigarette tighter.

"You really thought it would be that easy, Mister?" You answered with another cheeky grin, looking at him with a sensual gaze, your words let out in a languorous whisper, knowing damn well he was trying to gain information, probably to probe if he could get something out of it for himself. "You really thought I would just confess everything to you about myself and what I'm doing here, just because you've got a firm tone and pretty face?"

He let out a dry single chuckle, his cigarette hanging in the air, smirking some more. This damn smirk, it was making you have more and more inappropriate thoughts about this man. The wildness, the dangerousness he was emitting should have made every girl flee, but you, all the contrary, were attracted by it like a moth to a flame.

Or maybe he was the Moth. Maybe he was the beautiful, singular, and ephemeral Moth in the world of chrysalides you were searching for all along.

"Oh trust me, I could make you spit out everythin' I want, Miss." He replied to your taunting words with the serious threatening tone he had used before. "Could make this pretty mouth behave..." He added, looking right into your soul, bending slightly towards you.

You felt like the tension was about to make your whole body burst. There was something between you two, you were sure he could feel it too. A sinuous, dark creature swimming and circling incessantly under the surface of a frozen lake; waiting, craving to be unleashed, to break the thin layer of ice that was keeping it caged.

He was inviting you to measure yourself to him. Bent towards you, wanting you to close the other half of the space between you both. A challenge, or a mark of respect, the case you didn’t want to venture into this territory.

But truth was, you wanted to. You wanted to break the ice yourself, you wanted to just kiss him, right here, right now.

Of course, it was a bad idea. And you were a professional, on a mission.

Instead, you put your hand on his bicep and brought your head inches away from his, not closing the space between your mouths. You’re accepting this silent fight, excited to show him what you’re capable of. You’re enveloped by his strong scent; your lips so close to his. You can see by his widening smirk how delighted he is you didn’t change your mind nor lost your guts. Responding to your bold move, he slowly snaked an arm around your waist. His hand landed on your lower back, just on the verge of being offensive.

Both of you stayed like this for a moment, your breath mixing, merging in a dangerous and exciting cocktail, but neither of you actually crossing the limit.

He could sense just how close he was to though, his muscles were tensed under your fingers, his forehead almost resting on yours with a light frown on it. You could see in his impassive handsome face a whole new emotion. 

Pure, raw lust.

"You're such a temptatious, thorny rose..." He mumbled in a hot whisper against your lips, the warmth between your legs now burning like a wildfire. Your pussy was aching for him, and you couldn't hold it anymore.

You felt his body twitching as he was going to finally do it, finally break the ice of the frozen lake, finally let his impulses and needs break free, his unholy, deep, atrociously torturous desires-

"Ah, Arthur !" A relieved voice interrupted both of you and he immediately let go of you, his head snapping to look at the man who had talked, eyes widening.

A tall gentleman with a perfectly cut mustache as black as his long curly hair and hat was looking at your companion with a contained,  amused smile.

"Will you excuse us, Miss?" He said unctuously to you, his voice polite and charming.

It was more of a statement than a question. He quickly took one of your hands and put a polite kiss on it before bending slightly towards you, as a gentleman would, and looked at your opponent with an insistent gaze.

Arthur was fulminating. He wasn't actually showing it, his face had come back to its usual cold, emotionless expression. But you could feel from where you were the unbearable tension and frustration that was dripping from his body language, almost as a halo of warmth you could physically touch with your hands. He took a last look at you, eyes expressing a mix of regret and bitterness.

"Goodnight, Miss." He coldly greeted you, walking next to you to follow his friend and go down the stairs, his shoulder brushing against yours while doing it.

"Goodnight, Arthur..." You answered him emphasizing his name once again, making it really clear that you remembered it was not the one he had given you and that you were pretty proud you had seen right. A playful, teasing grin on your face, you look one last time at him before he vanished in the ocean of guests.

Your Butterfly had disappeared just as quickly as he had materialized; leaving you alone with the empty cocoons once more. It was more than time for you to do your job and get out of here. Your cigarette finished, now feeling cold between your fingers, you tossed it away and headed into the mansion, feeling just as frustrated as so-called Arthur.

Arthur was pissed. He had never felt so frustrated in ages, and it was making his thoughts even less easy to discipline. His cigarette was on the verge of being smoked all at once from how intense he was getting and how heavy his breath had turned, the end of it constantly burning in a red shining little point as he was walking. 

This whole year he had felt like he didn't have any control over anything anymore and he hated it.

He was already feeling embittered in his everyday life, Dutch listening less and less to his opinion, Micah sneaking around him more and more, Mary coming back to him just to ask him to help her goddamn father who had always treated him like shit. 

On top of that, Dutch had made him look like an idiot using his actual name in front of you, making him wonder what was even the whole point of having a cover if he wasn't capable of sticking to it; which he had bitterly pointed out to him, but his superior had shrugged it off, seemingly happy to be here amongst the important people, looking as careless as ever.

Yes, Arthur was feeling frustrated, frustrated and tired of this. Tonight, instead of giving of himself, he wanted to take, for once. He needed to, even. He was about to before being interrupted, and this thought was gnawing at him from the inside. 

He was barely paying attention to what Dutch was saying to him and the others once Hosea and Bill had joined them. All he could see was your insanely beautiful face, your inviting lips, the perfect outline of your breasts from your cleavage, like engraved into his pupils.

The way you were talking, charming and teasing, the way you were smoking, all of this dreadfully turning him on during all your conversation. He had made an enormous amount of effort in order not to just kiss you.

He had joked about you being a witch, but it was the only explanation: you had bewitched him, threw your darkest, most sinful curse on him. Never in his life he had felt so attracted to someone after having talked with them for only such a short amount of time. What an insane fool he was.

On top of it, he was raging about the fact he probably wouldn't have the occasion to see you ever again. He had understood you clearly weren't just another rich man's wife, and he was certain you had given him a false name. His cock was throbbing terribly hurtfully in his pants, making his jaw clench, his brows frowning even more than usual. It was begging to be buried in you, between your legs, in your mouth, or your hands, even your breasts or your ass, anything but the cold feeling of nothingness he was feeling right now around it.

The sudden explosive sound and colorful lighting of fireworks had pulled him out of his blasphemous thoughts. 

He understood Dutch was ordering him something about following one of the Mayor's domestic, and gladly obliged, relieved to have another thing to focus on. Something about Cornwall sending an important letter to Lemieux, which he had to steal. Nothing difficult, he had done those sorts of things countless times. 

Nothing new. 

Nothing puzzling, like you had been.

As he followed the man, eyes locked on his white suit from afar, he quickly took a glance at the patio to see if you were still there. You weren't. His dick ached as he let out a deep exhale. Damn it.

Arthur rapidly found himself inside the Mayor's house. His servant had entered what looked like an office. He waited a few seconds after the room had felt silent, behind the corner of the walls, just to be sure, and entered it.

The room was indeed an office, a little desk with an armchair on his left, bookcases covering every wall, simply illuminated by a flickering orange lamp. Everything looked normal, except for the dark figure of a person in the middle of the place.

You.

He recognized your sensual dress immediately and witnessed you shoving some papers in what looked like a leathered little pocket held around your right thigh by leathered straps, just like a holster would be. His mind raced, a million reflections flying under his eyes. 

You were some sort of professional thief. And he didn’t have to be a genius to understand you had just taken the precise thing he was there for.

"That's why you were here, lil' rose?!" He asked you almost in disbelief, closing the door behind him.

You looked at him with a bold grin, looking almost amused by the situation. He, on the other hand, felt nothing but amusement. Anger, to have been fooled so easily, and that you had got ahead of him, losing the quiet game that had been played out between you. Envy, as you were now possessing two things he wanted to take away from you. Arousal, as his eyes were glued to the thigh that was now visible to his greedy eyes as you had pulled up your dress to put the sheets in your hidden pocket. Need, as his member felt hard again just by the sight of you doing it.

"Yeah, and you can only dream for me to give them to you if those papers were your target too, Arthur."

Damn, that teasing, cheeky mouth of yours. His fantasies came back in full force, and his gaze darkened. As temptatious as you were, he needed those documents. And he would do anything he had to to have them back.

"Give ‘em to me." He lowly ordered you, voice so severe you could have melted right into the carpeted floor of this damn office. But you didn't.

"Hell no."

"Give ‘em t’me, woman. I won't ask nicely a third time."

"If you want them, you'll have to catch me, pretty boy."

Lord, why was everyone so prompt to call him this way lately? He almost grunted at the way you had said it, and he would have lied if this time he didn't like it when it fell from your lips. He wanted to reply with something witty and even more threatening, but in a flash, you had opened the window, and easily jumped outside.

This Goddamn woman. What was she exactly? Some sort of feline? Yeah, probably a panther, agile, impressive, dangerous like one.

He instantly ran after you, jumping through the window too, landing in a loud thud. He quickly spotted your dress running away, escaping by the entry’s portal, then in the nearest street, disappearing behind St Denis's myriad of flashing lights. 

How could he had missed it? His mind was filled with images of it.

He had the common decency of grabbing back his gun from the butler at the party's entry, making him almost fall on the ground as he hadn't slowed but had grabbed them while running, the poor man wondering what the Hell made both of these people in such a hurry.

He was now flying at full speed around the luxurious streets, following the faint glimpse of your dress's color at the corner of every turn. He felt like he could follow your scent like a hunting dog, your sweet and peachy perfume confirming him you had passed there before.

He had enough, feeling his restrain and manners crackling more and more into little pieces. You were making him feel like a damn animal, reducing his whole being to primal needs and functions. He should have been disgusted with himself for that. But all he could do right now was thinking about the damn documents hidden against your damn alluring thigh.

"Stop now, you Goddamn... Evil woman!" He tried to call you out, but you just wouldn't stop. He started firing at you, getting angrier and more fed up by the second, a bullet exploding a piece of the bricked wall right next to your head, some splinters cutting slightly the top of your ear.

You bent over to dodge his bullets one more time and you heard him cursing again loudly behind you. On top of being big, strong and clever, he was fast. In a quick movement of your feet, shaking them, you removed your shoes, unable to run at your fastest speed with heels. You continued your frenzied course, way more at ease.

Arthur rushed in where you were just mere seconds after you, noticing the shoes abandoned on the floor. What the Hell was even this woman, he asked himself for the second time this evening. Some sort of temptatious, dark retelling of Cinderella?

He almost made himself laugh at the thought, understanding your move because his own polished shoes were frankly a pain to run with, making him slip with every shift as if he was walking on soap and regret his good old boots, before acknowledging he had lost your trace.

Shit!

He looked all around him, his eyes scanning every inch, his breath rapid and sharp, his forehead and neck a pool of sweat. No signs of you, unless... 

Something fell right on his face, but gently, as a caress from a fresh breeze. Your perfume filled up his nostrils and lungs and it made his heart race. He took it in his hands, the sensations pleasant under his fingerprints. 

It was your black shawl.

Tilting his head up, he found you.

You were making your way up to the roof of the town by climbing on a thin ladder.

Arthur exhaled deeply through his nose like a buffalo. He was used to this kind of high-speed chase, but this was a whole new thing, which made him regret his lasso too, his hand searching for it on his belt out of habit but closing on nothing. 

Damned party, damned suit, damned you. 

He climbed after you, refusing to give up, enraged like a wild beast. 

He would catch you, dead or alive.

In a way, this was making him even more aroused than any work-girl show he had ever seen.

"I'm going to kill ya, that's a promise!"

You could hear just how furious his voice was now, and you were starting to pray you would flee successfully from him, cause you knew he would eat you alive if he could get his hands on you.

Arriving on top of the building, you caught your breath for a microsecond, before searching for a way out, gaze frantic, heart beating out of your chest. You were considering climbing to another roof, but the deep, breathless sounds of your pursuer prevented you from doing more thinking.

Arthur had reached the top of the roof too, and was already aiming his gun at you. This time he didn't even bother to say anything, shooting at you again while getting up. He was so seething

you wouldn’t have been surprised to see saliva bubbling from his mouth.

By divine intervention, you dodged again, and without any thinking, you ran all the way to the edge of the roof, and jumped.

You stayed in the air for a few seconds.

You felt like time had stopped, the air brushing against your skin, your heart hanging somewhere between the sky and the total void.

You landed on a fancy and illuminated balcony a few meters away. You hurt your feet and legs with the shock, but smiled proudly to yourself. You were out of reach, he was way bigger and way heavier than you, there was no way he coul-

A gigantic mass fell on you, as Arthur had proved you wrong and jumped from the roof you had just left and was crashing directly into you. 

Both of you fell on the ground and struggled for a few seconds; you tried to resist him but it was a fight already lost, this literal force of nature easily handling you like he wanted. 

You ended up lying on your back, Arthur sitting on you, towering over you with all his might, quickly grabbing your wrists to prevent you from fighting, his legs parted around your hips stopping you from escaping. You were trapped.

"You're a pain in the ass girl, you know that?!" He shouted at you, breathless, raging mad. You were both panting, sweating heavily. His face was entirely red, and your cheeks even more crimson.

You both looked at each other, eyes locked, and you stayed silent. The dark creature prowling under the thin floe had returned and it was getting bigger, stronger, out of control with each passing second. There was something extremely erotic in the way he was almost lying on top of you, both of you out of breath, sweaty, and burning red, both your hearts beating at full speed in the same erratic rhythm.

Just like before at the reception, you knew he could feel it too. You knew it from the dark gaze he was looking at you with, the shady swirls of the murky leviathan reflecting in the depths of his pupils, from the deepest well of his urges, forbidden territory to which no man ever had access.

A simple touch of his hand, that's all it took.

He put both of your hands into a single one of his, using his other one to pull up your dress, fingers roaming on your thigh.

You couldn't hold it anymore, you bent toward him and slammed your lips against his in the most powerful and decadent kiss you had ever shared with someone, almost biting him.

The moment you did, Arthur's mind exploded, and every poor drop of restrain he had evaporated as quickly as if it was on the Sun's surface. The beast had won, finally shattering the weak layer of ice into a million pieces; your two souls blending in what could have felt like a fevered dream.

The grunt he let out onto your kiss was animalistic, and the tension in his body just as powerful as a waterfall with a brutal, unstoppable current. The hand that was holding your wrist let go of it and slipped under your head, fingers in your hair, as his tongue licked against your lips, searching for a way in. You let him in, eagerly, wondering if he would have forced the way if you didn’t. 

He tasted strong, as if to match his whole being, a powerful flavor of tobacco, merged with a faint trace of sweetness and bitterness from the champagne he had drank. Like if you were smoking the finest and strongest of cigars. It made you love it even more.

Abandoning all your restraints too, your hands wrapped around his neck and your hips started pushing up against his, even if you couldn't move much, his two muscular thighs keeping you grounded to the balcony's paved floor. It felt so cold against your back, contrasting with the heat Arthur was burning with, consuming, devastating, raging.

He growled again when he felt your movement under him. He needed more of you, right now. This whole seduction game, the adrenaline rose by the chase, your bold charming attitude, your insanely insolent beauty, it was making him insane. He roughly ripped off his bowtie with one hand, needing some air; it felt like you two were under the desert’s scorching sun, stifling, dazing. 

The right hand he had on your thigh traveled even higher under your dress, devouring every inch of flesh it could, and his appetite was only getting worse the more he discovered you. He smoothly moved his legs from around yours to put himself between them, and you instantly, almost from instinct, hooked them around his hips.

The sudden contact of your blazing core against his equally hot bulge made you sigh in pleasure, and he loved it. Breaking your kiss for the first time since you had initiated it, he pulled back to look at you, his deep gaze devouring you, undressing you just by its stare. 

“What’s your real name?” He asked you, voice hoarser than ever, demanding it from you.

You told him your name, limbs feeling like mush under his intense eyes. He repeated it quietly, like a prayer he would recite on his own. You felt less and less like the panther you thought you were, and more and more like he was the predator alone. In a shaking tone, you questioned back to know his full, real name, needing to know what words you’d have to whisper in gratitude when he would finally take what he wanted from you. To whisper, or shout to the Heavens.

“Arthur Morgan.” He let out, his lips quickly returning to their current addiction, your skin. The way they were attacking your neck didn’t have an ounce of control now, his mouth opening widely to almost take a whole bite of your flesh there, letting kisses everywhere it could.

“Tell me if you don’t want this.” He added against your skin, between two greedy open-mouth kisses.

A way to escape. The predator stilling, letting a way out. But you didn't wanted it. Not at all. Not now that he had surrendered to you, trusting you with the intimacy of his real name, that would be stuck in your mind for God knows how long.

“I want it.” You asserted, voice almost cracking with the weight of your need.

He moaned a relieved sound in answer, his nose exhaling some air that tickled your neck.

You weren’t even sure he could stop himself if you had said no. He was consuming you, and he felt completely drunk, as if you were coated with a powerful whiskey. Strong alcohol that his tongue was now licking all the way from your shoulder, up to your ear.

You moaned, the feeling of his hungriness so good and perfect on you.

"Gonna take care of ya now." He growled in a rumbling whisper, making your legs feel weak. Another one of his promises, but this one was going to give you salvation, and you were thanking him for keeping it. 

The bold hand he had under your dress took another step towards insanity by landing on your undergarments, his thick fingers searching for a way in. You were trembling with anticipation. You couldn't even register the fact that you were really doing this, right now, with a complete stranger you had met only a few hours ago, and who wanted to kill you minutes before, on the balcony of what looked like a habited place.

The obscenity, the depravation, the boldness of it was only matched by his relentless thirst for you.

His fingers had finally pulled your underwear to the side, and you sighed seeing him on top of you, eyes drawn to your bare pussy, carnal features empathized by the obscurity of the night. The tip of his fingers traveled amongst your folds, wolves into the forest, a territory they were now claiming as theirs.

You almost begged for him, for the wolves to eat you up all and let nothing behind them, please Arthur, and he offered you this damnation, the desperate call of his name igniting another fire in his already infernal mind. A single, calloused finger pushed into your folds, making you spread your legs even more to grant it better access. It was stretching you pleasantly, his skin rough and firm inside. You started letting out sweet, quiet moans, showing him just how much you were enjoying this.

Your two hands now gripping his back, holding on for something, anything, his dark jacket suddenly feeling way too smooth to grab onto; you were wondering how touching his naked back could feel.

Arthur was doing everything in his power not to burst once more, grunting in response to your loving sound. Slowly, he pushed another one, thriving in how wet and hot your cunt felt around his fingers, craving for the moment he would finally be able to feel this downright perfection around his cock. He felt like he was ruining you, throwing you to these wolves, and you were thanking him for it.

For now, he focused on you, blue eyes glued on your face when he started curling his digits inside of you, searching for this so special, so delightful spot within your walls. He was observant, noticing every sound you were making, every muscle tensing, to know if it was the place you liked that he was brushing right now. Wanting it to be the place you liked most.

By adding his thumb on your clit and pushing a little deeper his index and middle finger in your desperate pussy, he realized he finally had found the Graill as your back arched against the ground, your own hands gripping harder on him, eyes shutting in pure pleasure.

"Oh, God! Yes, right there..." You rewarded him, voice high-pitched and filled with delight, a tingling sensation spreading on your legs and shoulders.

He exhaled deeply, your words making his own member gorging, pressing against the fabric of his suit that felt too small to contain him. He started pushing in and out, pulling a whine out of your throat with every movement, as the thick tip of his fingers rubbed against your sweet spot every time, wolves once again in a world of sweetness and honey, lapping your delight, feasting on your pleasure.

“Told ya I would make this pretty mouth behave…” He said cockily after one of your moans. He was enjoying this all too much, finally feeling in control again, being the one and only responsible for your ecstasy. 

The distance between his mouth and you seemed to be unacceptable for him as he had succumbed once more to his needs, his lips finding your skin again, tongue tasting, teasing your chest this time, everywhere he could on the cleavage he had desired since the first time he had laid eyes on you tonight. Bent over to you, looking like a curved beast feasting on its prey.

You were feeling your pleasure building, Arthur’s face hungrily searching for one of your nipples under the neckline of your dress, and sucking it once he had finally found it. His teeth and nose had pulled your dress, freeing your entire left breast, bare, defenseless in front of him. 

Maybe he was the wolf himself. He sure looked like it, his face a maw fed by your soft flesh.

Every nerve of your pussy screamed for deliverance, this familiar sensation taking form in your lower stomach. Your moans were becoming even more high-pitched, breathless, almost obscene, much to the outlaw's delight.

You had thought of him before being a terribly efficient and multi-functional weapon. You couldn’t have known just how right you had been, your hardening nipple still chewed by his mouth while his right hand was sending you to your edge, thumb skillfully circling on your clit faster and faster, the two other fingers tearing apart your sweet spot, in and out, in and out, again and again, until…

“A-Arthur, don’t stop, please!” Your voice slit the night open, tone pleading as if you were begging for your life.

“I won’t girl, it’s all okay… Give it t’me…” He encouraged you, even his breath feeling rough against the skin of your chest before he sucked hard on the skin of one of your breasts, accompanying you to your salvation.

It was enough to send you over your limit, your pussy clenching, throbbing, entirely consumed. You moaned so loudly it could have turned into a scream, hips jerking against his palm, his other hand quickly grabbing your hip to steady you and carry you through it as his fingers were dragging every last drop of your pleasure out of you. 

“Yeahhh, that’s it gorgeous, just like that…”

He was frowning, the sinful sensations of your wet cunt coating his fingers in a warm slick and tensing around them making his eyebrow and jaw just as tensed, his face just a hint of how fucking riled up he was because of it.

Your head was still spinning and your breath uneven when he finally pulled his digits out of your walls, the fresh air replacing them. Lost in your haze, you weren't capable of doing anything else but looking at him through lidded, heavy eyes.

He was absolutely beautiful, even more than at the start of the night. His true nature out at last, his white fancy shirt disheveled now that he had removed his bowtie and soaked from efforts. Cheeks and throat as red as a sanguine sunset. Pearls of sweat sparkling on his burning skin with the Ocean of street lights of St Denis, reminding you of a night sky, making his sandy hair stick to his forehead in the hottest way possible. 

You didn't knew how could all this had escalated so quickly, but at that moment, you felt like this man before you was your whole universe, his deep ultramarine eyes completing the stellar work of art he was, shining, shimmering, more than any star in the sky, as if the Gods had capture the entire Milky Way and imprisoned it in his being.

Arthur had ultimately pulled his cock out of his black suit pants, only piece of flesh out of his clothes, and your thoughts were immediately contradicted; there was no way any virtuous God could have made a man so depraved. He was the work of the Other Side, Lust and Temptation personified. King of the wolves, he could have had all the Hounds of Hell kneeling before him.

He pumped himself a few times, unable to resist the call his member had been screaming for hours, reinforced by the way his fingers had tasted your wet cavern. Some precum had already leaked from his big pinkish head when he was fingering you and was now glistening in the night, making you think about the stars again. Your breath got caught at this sight and you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a praise.

"Perfect..." You simply stated in a whisper, eyes glued to his throbbing, veiny member, relieved he had already pulled an orgasm out of you because there was no way he could have fit in you otherwise. Your eyes followed the dark path of his hair, from the glimpse you had on his chest between the open collar of his shirt, all the way down to his pelvis and at the base of his shaft. 

You could only imagine what it looked like without any clothes on, and you were dying to know.

"Trust me, you're the perfect one, darlin'." He asserted, firm tone leaving little to contradiction. 

He positioned himself in front of your entrance.

You weren't even completely back from the world your first relief had brought you to, and he was already at your door again. But this time, Arthur couldn’t stop himself.

He had given once again, just like always. Now he wanted to take. He needed to take. The starving, depraved wolf. Slowly pushing, teasing himself, making his cock’s head sink into your dripping territory, creating wet and soggy sounds, a hardened spear into honey. 

He couldn't hold back a baritone moan, the feeling was even better than what he remembered. He hadn't taken the time or allowed himself to lay with a woman in ages, and God, what a return to this primal bliss.

He slowly moved some more, his hands spreading your legs a bit wider from around his waist to allow him to penetrate you more easily. Once you had entirely enveloped him, his tip deep inside, he let out another deep throaty grunt, the feeling making it hard for him to keep his thoughts clear. 

"Ahh... Shit, darlin’... So tight…"

Considering how his length was stretching you, you bet he felt your pussy tight. The first word that came into your mind was “complete”. So complete with his huge cock inside of you; you felt like you could have died happily like this. One of your hands slipped from the top of his back to the lower part of it, just above his ass, pressing there, showing him just how much you wanted him to move, to let go. 

Arthur didn't need much more as he pulled back slowly only to snap his hips back against yours, his cock pushing again all the way through your cunt in one hard single time, giving you another wave of pleasure as you both moaned together, unable to resist the intense sensation he was creating for both of you.

Hearing you whine, finally feeling your perfectly tight and warm pussy around him, it was making him lose all sense of restraint, and as your other hand ran through his hair, your angelic voice whispering his name as if he was your Lord and savior, he lost it. 

He started to pull in and out of you faster, harder, your bodies colliding in a delicious way, obscene noises echoing through the silence of the darkness. His increase in pace made your body scream in pleasure and you buried your face into the crook of his neck under the collar of his shirt, biting his skin there.

It made him grunt loudly, and one of his hands roamed from your hips to your rear, grabbing a fistful of your ass in an instinctive response. His other hand was on the ground next to you, keeping him from crushing you against it. It made your head blank with pleasure.

"Shit, Arthur! M-more!" You begged, feeling like you could die if he stopped, your voice turning into high squeals.

"Anhh- God... More? Don’t worry girl, I'll g-give you more...-Mmh!" 

His voice was heavy with pleasure, words cut off by moans and grunts you were delighted to hear, the most unholy and arousing music you had ever had the honor to listen to.

True to his words, he obliged, hips thrusting endlessly, member empaling you with each move. You could feel the flesh of his pelvis against yours with how deep he dived into you, and around it the stiffness of his suit, rubbing again the breast he had pulled out of your dress before, nipple sensitive after his previous treatment. 

If what was between you was once a frozen lake, it had now turned into an Ocean of lava, magma exploding, engulfing both of you in the most burning and devastating passion you'd ever experienced, a volcanic explosion of desires.

The hand he had on your asscheek reluctantly let go of it, but you ended up thanking him for it, cause he was now using it to put your left leg above his shoulder, grabbing under your knee, allowing him to fuck you in an even better angle than before. He was ruining you once again, but this time felt like the pack of starving enraged wolves had taken him with you to consume him entirely.

You leaned against the floor, back of your head feeling the paved coldness, only hint that everything was actually real. Arthur's eyes locked with yours as he kept on fucking you hard and fast, this intimate contact making his member twitch.

You felt so goddamn good around him, and looked so goddamn gorgeous like this, your cheeky grin long gone, replaced by a delightful frown of pleasure, mouth open in a quiet scream. Arthur felt his peak coming dangerously close, but his pace hadn't slowed, his fat cock thrusting in and out of you. In and out, like a furious, sacred metronome. In an out, like a blessed psalm you'd both be reciting together.

“Come on girl, I know you have another, -Damn it!-, another one in ya. Give it to me, come on, jus’ for me…”

Words and voice drowned in a flood of pleasure and curses, of deep grunts and growls, his possessiveness sending you over the edge once again, your inside closing its trap around him, squeezing just how he needed to.

His eyes shut close, eyebrows furrowing in utter pleasure as he sank so hard and deeply you could have felt him splitting your guts in half, his dick throbbing and harder than ever. It reached a spot so deep and good inside of you, burning it, your pleasure bursting as you felt your orgasm coming for the second time.

"A-Arthur!" You cried out as you came around him, creaming him, walls clenching in a delicious sensation that made him reach the stars.

"God, damn it!" He shouted, voice deeper and rougher on the curse word before quickly removing himself from you in a flash of lucidity, finishing messily, cum spilling from his red sensitive member in white spurts that ended up right on your belly as a feral, powerful growl escaped his chest and his head tilted backward, letting you see his throat covered in sweat and veins.

For a moment, both of you had turned into beasts, shattered all the limits, broke all the shackles, diminishing you into your more primitive instincts. The Wolves of Lust had devoured your being into the very last delicious bone.

And that’s how you felt. Boneless.

Now, stillness. A cold breeze enveloped the pair of you, the only sounds now being the distant agitation of the city and your pantless breaths. He slowly brought his chin back down and opened his eyes, mesmerized by the sight of you returning from the realm of pure pleasure he had provided for you for the second time.

He felt powerful. He felt good. Better than he had for months, finally satisfied. Like a God, a King. King of all the Wolves, Cerberus, the only guardian of your unholy realm.

He wanted to do this again with you, as soon as possible.

He carefully put his softening dick back in its clothed cage, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his pants as he felt completely spent, his hands shaking slightly. He wanted to help you get cleaned up, but you had already brushed what you could of his release off your dress. 

It would probably leave stains on your clothing nevertheless. 

A twisted, dark part of him, the part that came from the same pit as the dark creature and the Wolves, felt almost aroused and proud at the thought you would keep an imprint of him on it. This part was relishing noticing the big ruby mark it had left on your breast as you were putting it back under your neckline; he grinned to himself knowing it would make your memories of him more difficult to forget. 

He didn't want you to forget.

He slowly got up, offering you his hand to help you stand. You quickly put back your dress in its usual state, and wiped the sweat off your forehead. A silence settled between you two, thousands of questions floating in the air, but none of you ready to ask them out loud yet.

Finally, as you started shivering, only realizing now how cold this night was without Arthur's burning hot body on top of you, he spoke, voice even hoarser from having pushed on it too much, accent making every world sound heavy when they fell from his mouth.

"When can I see you again?" More than a demand, a promise. An order even. Cerberus needs his territory.

You already knew he kept them; his promises. Except for the one he had made to kill you. But in a way, he did, because you felt like you wouldn’t be able to ever feel so alive again without him. 

Like a condemnation.

"You won't." 

Certainty in your voice. But he didn't mind it. He had already broken you before.

"Oh, but I think I will, darlin'." Was all he said before stepping over the fence of the balcony, ready to jump off it. Before doing it, he pulled something out of his jacket and waved it at you.

The fucking papers.

A lightning of understanding and panic struck you; what you had thought was a lustful touch on your thigh, the one that had set everything on fire between the both of you, that had unleashed the Wolves, was in reality his sneaky hand retrieving the document from your hidden pocket.

Shit!

He gave you his cocky grin, blue gaze sparkling with mischief, greeting you with a two finger’s salute then jumped, disappearing in the night, away from you once again. You could have gone after him, as much as your weak and spent body would have allowed you to, but somehow, after all that he had done to you tonight, you felt like he had well deserved those damned letters.

tagging: @a-court-of-valkyries credits: Arthur's pic is not mine, belongs to fv8tt on Pinterest. Dividers and little moths doodle by me.

I reall hope you liked this one! I'm thinking about writing another part where the reader could confront Arthur again... Tell me if you'd like that! -Pine 🌱

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬' 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 🂱

synopsis: you meet an especially annoying gambler at your table and as the game master, it’s your job to shut him up.

tags: dom!reader, sub!aventurine, semi-public, bickering, explicit, vulgar

wrd cnt: 800+

art cred: yue_chan077 (insta)

“Hey-! What are you doing?”

“Games over?” You reply to the blonde man.

“But I was gonna win….” He pouts.

You click the buzzing timer off and collect all the chips off the table, scooping up stacks of cards in the process.

“Everyone says they’ll win until they don’t” You taunt, yanking the cards out of his hand with a smile.

He scoffs, crossing his arms and leaning back on the chair as people come and go, some collecting their winnings and others digging an even deeper hole with their debts.

As the dealer, it was up to you when to kick people out, and it seemed like the man to your left should be heading out now.

“Excuse me-? I don’t think your judgment is exactly expert. I’ll be playing a few more rounds”

You look at him with furrowed brows. “Sir, I have-“

He cuts you off, “Aventurine.”

“What?”

“I have a name darling. Use it.”

“You’re keeping up everyone waiting to play, Aventurine. I’d appreciate if you complied.”

You say with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“You’re not my boss, darling. And I’ll play for as long as I want, understood?” He challenges, eyes locked in a heated stare. You narrow your eyes and stand your ground, not backing down. “Actually, I am the boss here. Now get out of here before I call security.”

He lets out a laugh, standing up from his chair and walking towards you. “I’d like to see you try.”

You stare at him, not backing down but not stepping away either. You can feel the tension between you both, but you refuse to back down.

You whisper to him quietly, everyone at the table now focusing on the quarrel between the two of you, “I’m not some toy for you to play with, Aventurine.

“Well of course not, you wouldn’t be able to handle it.” He says, trailing a hand down your back.

You try to push him away but he only grabs your arm. “Wanna bet?.”

Without hesitation, you lead him to a nearby storage closet, where you push him inside and lock the door. He raises an eyebrow in surprise, but the smirk on his face shows that he’s up for it.

You turn him around, and aggressively push him against the wall, pressing your body against his. “Do you know why I can handle it? Because I’m in control, and you’ll do whatever I say.”

He chuckles, “Is that so? How about we really make a bet then?”

You smirk back at him, “Sure, but you’re going to regret it.” Without another word, you grab his belt and start undoing it, watching as his expression changes to shock and excitement, mixed with a fuckton of arousal.

As you pull down his pants, his erection springs free, hard and ready for you.

“Oh- Well this isn’t exactly what I was-“

“Shut up. This is exactly what you were thinking about. I saw the way you kept staring at me during each game.”

“Well yeah but- Fuck…be a little gentle will you?…”

You began to stroke him, gripping his dick harder and slowly moving your hand up and down his shaft, watching his head falls back against the door in pleasure.

He lets out a low moan, and you can feel him getting closer and closer to his release.

“That’s it…you’re so close aren’t you? Cum in my hand.” You whisper in his ear, cupping his face and giving him one deep, tongue filled kiss.

But you stop, leaving him gasping for air and begging for more.

“Oh no, darling. You haven’t earned it yet.” He looks at you with pleading eyes, but you only smirk and continue to tease him. You stroke him again, this time faster and harder, making sure to give him just enough pleasure to make him desperate for release. He bites his lip, trying to hold back his moans, but it only makes you go faster.

“Don’t do that. Let me hear your pathetic little voice.”

You can feel him getting closer and closer, and you know he won’t be able to hold on much longer.

With one final stroke, he lets out a loud moan as he reaches his climax, his body shaking against yours.

“Fuck- Please! I’m sorry…I apologize for earlier- just please make me cum..”.

You smirk in satisfaction, knowing you’ve won the bet and made him truly submit to you.

He stands there, panting and trying to catch his breath, as you pull away and fix your clothes.

He slowly falls to the floor with his back still against the wall, sleeking down with legs still wide open and his cock still sprung up and spurting cum all over his thigh and stomach.

With a victorious smirk, you squate down to wipe away one side of his face covered in tears before you unlock the door and exit it, leaving him a mess in the closet and shutting the door behind you without a single word.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[the-original-skipps]

|| General Headcanons #1 || Suo Hayato || Wind Breaker ||

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:10

PLAY!

just some headcanons about suo I thought of while daydreaming no means canon

disclaimer: repeat this isn’t canon just my thoughts also a lot of these facts I based on some scenes in the manga (spoilers) and his character profile which I will put lastly for reference

❥ Something tells me that our resident teasing master is a rich boy. He owns antique tasseled earrings and I bet his clothes are all high quality and expensive, because where do you buy Chinese styled clothes? Your local H&M ain’t got them. Also I googled hemp and silk made clothes and they ain’t cheap, no means I’m an expert but just saying.

❥ Our resident rich boy lives in a quite a huge house. Imagine those traditional Japanese houses with a huge garden. Said garden where he often mediates, trains and of course have his tea.

❥ Speaking of tea, I bet he has a wide collection of tea leaves from worldwide which I think are imported and hella expensive. Not to mention an array of tea sets with different price ranges from cheap to a tea set served to the previous shogun himself.

❥ I think he’s an only child. I headcanon that his parents or parent is often abroad or away for work for long periods of time. So he spends a lot of his time alone. Household chores or cooking he does them all.

❥ Regarding cooking, he’s an expert-he’s often alone so he has a a lot of free time learning how to make different dishes but does he eat them often? I don’t think so. I think he can cook really well but like he says he’s on a “diet”. Someone feed this boy some food.

❥ Stated in his character profile, it says that he can speak another language besides Japanese. Just guessing but I think it’s either English or Chinese. Please Nii Satoru give us a scene showcasing that!

❥ Huge movie lover, especially foreign films where it’s in a another language. Leonardo DiCaprio might be his favorite actor? He doesn’t have a particular genre he likes, he watches everything from historical to romantic comedy.

❥ I bet he has a strict sleeping schedule, always waking up and sleeping at the same time. His favorite sleeping position is on his back, with his hands on his stomach. Like a corpse. Does he wear his eyepatch to sleep? Not when he’s alone but wears the medical eyepatch if someone is around.

❥ He definitely knows flower language or meaning behind plants. Manga readers you’ll know what I’m talking about.

❥ Probably doesn’t like natto because it smells pretty strong cause he’s pretty sensitive to smells.

[mothmans-side-ho]

Armand called Lestat a clown in the most round about way

s2e3 hot wired the two passions in my brain into this info dump, however seeing as a central theme of this episode (and the season) is power, status, and their subversions, it seems relevant. for context, I have 2 degrees in theatre, specifically theatre history and how trends effect form. (I am in no way an expert though, and this is very simplified). long story short, I'm relishing in being a big ol nerd about this entire season

FINALLY, we got to see Lestat (a version of) strutting his stuff on stage in a scene with peak commedia dell'arte shenanigans. Commedia dell'arte is/was an originally Italian form of theatre which was defined by lazzi (comedic bits), improv, and stock characters. these stock characters have been around from Roman times and are still super familiar to us today - the young lovers, the pervy old rich man, the soldier with bravado, etc. It's been seen as a somewhat formulaic form of theatre which relied on quickly identifiable characters and situations so audiences can sit back and enjoy the butt jokes and servant beatings.

In the book - specifically The Vampire Lestat - our beloved Lestat RELISHES in playing a character called Lelio, one of the young lovers. It is in playing Lelio that he "found a tongue for verses and wit [he]'d never had in life" (TVL pg 31). It is in playing Lelio that Lestat first gets a taste of the person he can become, and it is in Lelio that we see the first glimpses of the Lestat which so fully seduces Louis. In short, Lestat casts himself as the suave and handsome romantic protagonist, here to sweep people off their feet. The young lovers are also notably some of the only roles portrayed without masks, to emphasize their youth and natural beauty.

SO IMAGINE MY SURPRISE WHEN LESTAT SHOWS UP IN S2E3 DRESSED LIKE THIS:

He has a half mask! He's wearing all sorts of colors! He's clearly acting as a go between between two other characters who seem to be of a higher status than him! As I said before, commedia dell'arte can be very formulaic (especially by the late 1700s when it is being codified away from being improv focused to being cemented into scripts). From all of these visual and characterization clues, Lestat is not playing Lelio the young lover, he's playing a Harlequin! And his costume seems to be heavily based off of this Harlequin (Arlecchino, Arlecino, etc.) which is literally the wikipedia image of a Harlequin.

(note, if you give a fuck, this image is depicting an Arlechino from 1671, roughly 125 years before Lestat on stage. in my mind, this accounts for the changes in silhouette, styling, why Lestat doesn't wear the mask for the entirety of the performance, etc. Also, just while we're talking about costuming, I believe the late 18th Century was still a time in which actors would have been expected to provide their own costumes, which would explain why Lestat's version is made with expensive fabrics and includes cunty little details like the bow in his hair. At the very least, I can see him making looking good a priority as the owner of the theater and as...well...Lestat.)

Okay, okay, okay. Why does this matter?

Harlequins are not characters of any social status. They're servants who are quick witted enough to get into antics but stupid enough to be commanded by animalistic instincts (lust, food, you name it). The Harlequin being beaten by their master was ENORMOUSLY funny, and is the origin of the term "slapstick comedy". They a memorable iteration of clown.

In this scene, which I'm willing to bet was inspired by (if not outright) Carlo Goldoni's A Servant of Two Masters, Lestat plays a servant who interacts with two characters. One appears to be a young woman in a breeches part - another common trope of commedia performance. The other appears to be the young male lover! We see Lestat prancing between the two, seemingly facilitating some romance plot, being paid for his compliance, and doing a good ol fashioned butt lazzi. (Could he be presenting his ass for beating? Maybe.)

So why is Lestat not the young valiant lover, but instead A LITERAL CLOWN? Three potential, not conflicting, reasons. By the time Lestat is performing (mid to late 1790s, based off Armand's earlier comment about Robespierre's 1794 execution), the Harlequin characters were the most sought after roles! At this time, we are seeing the emergence of "Celebrity Culture" where audiences sought out actors for their off-stage personalities as much as their on-stage ones. This is an extremely fitting position for Lestat to fall into. Yay a semblance of historical accuracy!

Secondly, Lestat's ENTIRE ROLE in season two is to come between this season's new pair of young(ish) lovers: Louis & Armand. Lestat's function is to repeatedly detract and distract from their relationship through Dreamstat's antics (appearing at the piano calling Louis a whore, having Louis re-kill him, etc.). Additionally, simply put, Lestat (and Sam Reid as Lestat) is a lot of fun to watch. He is absolutely a stand out (if not THE stand out) of the show! His constant ability to serve cunt is often what your eye is drawn to, he pulls focus to himself, and often undercuts the more subdued, philosophical, and morose nature of others. Both on-stage and on-screen, Lestat continuously upstages his screen partners. He does kinda function as a Harlequin. But in the end, the Harlequin's antics are also what ultimately drive the young lovers together. If not for Lestat's actions, Louis and Armand would have never met nor bonded over knowing this fucked up brat prince.

But we also have to remember! This portion of the episode is presented by Armand the mind fuckery master. It is absolutely in his best interests to paint Lestat as some sort of ridiculous, lesser being driven by animalistic nature. Especially if - by extension of the metaphor - this frames he and Louis as the virtuous and optimistic young lovers, striving to cling to each other in a world of chaos. I would be EXTREMELY interested to see if, when recollected by someone else, Lestat appears in a different role or characterized differently.

Again, given the celebrity culture of the time and Lestat being himself, it is entirely believable that he would appear in the Harlequin role (Truffaldino, if this is Goldoni's Servant). However, I think it's extremely telling that in Armand's iteration of the story Lestat is not the dignified, refined, and sympathetic young romantic. He is instead a literal fucking clown.

[macbethsymphony]

Negotiations

Dracule Mihawk x Reader

wc: 5.2 k

tw: NSFW, 18+, this is just pure filth guys, it's 5k of smut, there's no plot. Edging, overstimulation, slightly dubcon, fingering, Mihawk has the hyperfocus of a god? this is highly toxic and slightly unethical ngl

Summary: The tale of how a negotiator convinced the marine hunter to consider becoming a warlord.

AO3

Eat, drink, nap, kill marines, drink some more, sleep, and repeat. That was the unvarying routine of Dracule Mihawk, marine hunter. At least, that’s what he’d been up to, these past two months.

Marine hunter. What a fucking joke. Marine killer was more accurate. The man was deranged, his actions driven by an insidious boredom that turned slaughter into a twisted game. It was painfully obvious that he was merely toying with the Marines, savoring the macabre sport, desperately looking for someone who would match his skills. If you had your way, you’d be plotting his demise instead. Though you supposed if you were here, it meant they’d all failed.

Tsuru’s words echoed in your mind, firm and unyielding: “I trust you are able to bring him to the table,” she had said. “You are our best negotiator, after all.”

So, you grit your teeth and set the scene. For in no world was disappointment an option; failing your superiors, especially Tsuru, was unthinkable.

Your officers were meticulously positioned, the bar’s usual faces replaced by those of disguised operatives. Only a few of the establishment's staff remained. A strategic decision to ensure the venue’s operations ran smoothly without drawing suspicion. The air was thick with tension, and you were acutely aware that the slightest misstep could unravel the entire thing. The possibility of disaster loomed large; a single error could transform this carefully orchestrated meeting into a chaotic bloodbath, with no chance of containing Mihawk’s whims.

Your heart pounded with an almost unbearable intensity, a drumbeat of anxiety and anticipation. You reminded yourself that your team were experts, each one adept at their role, and that every detail had been rehearsed to perfection. You could do this. You would succeed where all others had failed.

The door to the bar creaked open, drawing your attention as you smoothly transitioned into your assigned role. “Whiskey, neat, please,” you requested from the bartender, your eyes never leaving the imposing figure in the corner. “Actually, I’ll take the whole bottle.”

You watched with a tight-lipped smile as Mihawk, with deliberate nonchalance, made his way behind the bar. He selected two bottles of fine wine, his movements leisurely, and then settled into his usual spot, a booth in the corner, away from everyone. A fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips as he uncorked one of the bottles and poured himself a glass. Your breath caught, a shiver of doubt sliding through you, but you forced yourself to look again. 

Good. 

It was nothing more than a trick of the light.

You downed your glass, slamming it with a bit too much force on the bar counter. 

Everything was falling into place. You had him where you wanted him; all you needed to do was stick to the script. You adjusted your dress, the provocative cut emphasizing every curve. Confidence surged through you. You knew how to handle men like him. This would be no different. 

You approached him, whiskey bottle in hand, your movements practiced and deliberate. “Hello, handsome,” you purred, your voice a silky caress. He would be putty in your hands before long.

But as his gaze locked with yours, the air between you seemed to thicken. The intensity of his stare left you breathless, feeling strangely vulnerable. The mastery you usually wielded over people faltered. You couldn’t decipher him, couldn’t read him. At all.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You were always in control, always able to manipulate the situation with ease. You were the master and they the puppets. The fact that Mihawk’s inscrutable expression was completely impenetrable threw you off balance.

You were already committed, though. Backing out now was not an option.

“Mind if I sit?” you asked, voice dropping to a husky whisper. You allowed your fingers to trail delicately along his shoulder and then drift over the exposed skin of his chest. Your gaze flickered to the other banquette, the seat occupied by the bulk of his massive sword, back to him. The invitation in your eyes was unmistakable.

For a moment, you thought you glimpsed a spark of amusement in his gaze, but it was so fleeting that you couldn’t be sure. Mihawk tilted his head slightly, the feather on his hat accentuating the movement with a languid grace.

“Be my guest,” he said, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.

He made no move to shift from his position, no move to shift the position of his sword. You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to maintain composure. The arrangement was deliberate—there was no easy way for you to sit without essentially stepping over him and trapping yourself between him and the wall.

He was toying with you, you realized with a flicker of frustration. But if he wanted a game, you were more than capable of playing along. You were a master of your craft after all. With a deliberate motion, you took the third, more unexpected option. You straddled him, the hem of your already short dress rising even higher as your legs settled to his side. 

You held his gaze steadily as you sipped from the whiskey bottle, slamming it behind you with a practiced flourish once you were done.

His gaze didn’t shift as he drank in your form, lingering on your curves, then back to your features. You did the same, taking him in, the sharpness of his jaw, the solidity of his muscles. You’d already known he was handsome, hours of looking at pictures had told you that, but by the gods above he was almost ethereal. You prayed for a moment that the heat you felt was from the alcohol you just downed. But you knew it wasn’t.

“Bold.” The word snapped you out of your thoughts. “For a marine that is.”

Your spine went cold at the statement. 

He knew. 

Of course, he knew. 

But you were still alive, which meant he was still willing to entertain this scene. 

It’d been a power play you realized a touch too late. He’d just flipped the script you had so carefully prepared. 

Interesting. 

Absolutely thrilling.

You hadn’t expected that he’d be a worthy opponent and you’d let him earn the first point in your carelessness. It didn’t matter, however, you could easily recover from such a small blunder.

You leaned in closer, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “Boldness is often rewarded, don’t you think, marine hunter?” Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling the marble-like skin, the uneven rhythm hoping to distract in its randomness.

Mihawk’s gaze darkened, his eyes flicking down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Rewards come in many forms,” his voice was a seductive drawl. “Some more satisfying than others.”

You stopped the patterns, nails digging tenderly into hard muscles as you traveled down.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound low and inviting. “Well, I do aim to satisfy.” You pursed your lips, emphasizing the word. Your fingers continued their path, slipping to rest on his belt buckle, playing with the metal. “But satisfaction is a two-way street. What would it take to make you happy, Mihawk?”

His hand moved, a distracting caress tracing up your thigh, stopping right under the hem of your dress. The touch was electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine. “Happiness is a fleeting emotion,” he said, his eyes boring into yours. His fingers roamed back down, nails digging softly in the plush skin, mirroring your previous actions. “I prefer something more... enduring.”

Fuck.

He was good.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “And what might that be?”

He smirked, a predatory gleam taking over the amber hues of his eyes. “Isn’t that your job to figure out, little marine?”

You bit your lip trying to come back. He wasn’t just good, he was almost your match. You could feel the unbridled heat of desire starting to swirl through your veins at the challenge. “I’m very good at my job,” you whispered, your voice dripping with insinuations as you leaned closer, your lips a hair’s breadth away. “I’m sure I can find a way to please you.”

Mihawk’s fingers traveled back up your thigh, right past the hem of your dress, dug in before the curve of your rear, the pressure a mix of pleasure and pain. “I wasn’t aware, the marines sent whores to negotiate their deals.” He looked down at you, a sneer nearly breaking his lips. 

You felt a sliver of satisfaction. He’d almost cracked. Soooo, he had standards. He didn’t like things too easy, did he? You could play with that. 

You laughed, your hands roaming up, palms flat against his chest. You traced the sharpness of his jaw. “Oh no.” You brought the tips of your fingers to his lips. “I’m not here to whore myself out. But if it brings you to the table, I’m sure I can find the sweetest cunt on the grand line for you.”

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing through them as he considered your words. You were suddenly reminded of how he held every card, how you were at the mercy of his every caprice. You only happened to hold his attention for now, only happened to entertain him enough for him to let you and your squadron live. He was THE marine hunter. It didn’t matter if every officer in the establishment were to pull their weapons out and point at him. He’d be fine and you’d all be dead. The tension between you crackled like a storm about to break, every touch and every word a loaded gun.

“What a tempting offer,” he finally said, his voice a low purr that sent your heart racing in more ways than one. “But I find that I prefer a more... personal touch.”

To punctuate his point his hand reached further, against the curve of your ass, before coming back and digging in your hip, pressing you down to him. You almost moaned, every fiber of your being fighting the primal urges that strained to be free. You let out a silent gasp instead. This was going too far, getting out of your grasp. A mistake. An admission of your desires. You were slipping more by the moment. You moved your hand up, giving the signal for everyone to vacate. You’d have to do this alone, you wouldn’t risk so many lives on your inability to handle one man.

Mihawk noticed the subtle movement of your hand, his eyebrow arching with curiosity and a hint of amusement. “Calling off your dogs, are you? Either you’re very confident or very foolish,” he commented, his tone teasing yet edged with something sharper.

You felt a touch of annoyance prick at the edge of your mind. He was rubbing it in. Toying with you, trying to tease out reactions. Even though you felt anything but confident, you flashed a daring smile, the tension between you sparking with the undercurrent of unsaid words. 

You resumed your mindless patterns on his chest, slowly getting lower and lower. "Let's just say I would rather handle the finer details of these negotiations with more privacy. Make room for more... satisfying outcomes."

His fingers continued their dance along your side, dipping dangerously close to forbidden territory. Mihawk's smirk deepened as he seemed to see right through you, fixed right on your uncertainty. You felt yourself flailing, felt yourself losing your composure. 

“Privacy can certainly be... conducive to more fruitful negotiations,” he murmured, a dark caress relishing on the hold he held on you. He leaned in, reaching for his glass of wine. He took a slow sip, watching the gears turn in your head before putting it back behind you. “So what is it you want?” He asked, his hand grabbing to your chin, moving your head side to side with an appraising look, making you look at him.

You took a steadying breath, leaning into his touch, playing along with his game. “Oh not much,” You cooed, hand reaching his at your face, splaying it along your cheek, brushing your lips on his palm. ”I’ve only been instructed to get you to the negotiation table, nothing more, nothing less.” You dragged his hand down, spreading it along your throat bringing it over your heart. “I’m sure I could at the very least get you to consider it?”

It all happened too fast. You heard the sound of glass shattering on the floor before you registered the change in perspective. The hold he had over your throat was harsh as he pinned you down to the table, the remnants of the wine pooling in the tile like spilled blood.

“You think you can just waltz in and sway me with a few promises, like a common man?” There was something nearing disappointment in his tone and you realized you’d messed up. You’d been too hasty, too forward, he had been hoping to play longer. “How about this little marine, show me how badly you need me to do what you need and if you’re entertaining enough, I might consider it.”

The shift in Mihawk’s demeanor was almost terrifying in its intensity, and you struggled to keep your composure as his grip tightened on your throat. Your mind raced, trying to find a way to turn the situation back in your favor. The room was deathly silent in its emptiness, the tension palpable and if it wasn’t for the stiffness of his crotch against yours you’d think you’d lost all of your cards.

It might just get you killed but you arched your back beneath him, pressing into him. Your thighs trembled at his side as you struggled for breath but still, your hands grasped at his over your throat, pushing him further against you, cutting your airflow almost completely. If he wanted a show, then you’d give him one he’d remember until his last moments on earth.

Mihawk’s grip on your throat tightened for a second and you thought for an instant that this was it, that the underworld awaited you. But before darkness could cloud your eyes he loosened it, his gaze glinting with a mixture of curiosity and dark amusement. You could feel the rapid beat of your heart echoing in your ears as you gasped for breath, your whole body shaking beneath his. The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment, every sense heightened.

“You’re quite the performer,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that only served to enhance the heat building between your legs. “But I’m not easily swayed by theatrics. Show me something real.”

You swallowed hard, your throat still aching from his grip, but you forced a smile. “Real, you say?” You let your hands glide away from his wrist, trailed your curves, and slipped the straps of your dress off from your shoulders, revealing more skin and black lace. “I can do real.”

Mihawk’s eyes darkened with interest, his gaze tracing the path of your hands as they moved. He released his grip on your throat, his fingers now trailing down to your collarbone, leaving a searing embers in their wake. The intensity in his stare was almost overwhelming, and you knew you had to find a way to keep control of the situation, even if it felt like you were barely holding on.

You grasped his hand, guiding it along your bare skin, to the plushness of your breast. “What is it you truly desire, Mihawk? Power? Control? Or perhaps something more... visceral?” You practically moaned out the words. 

His hand lingered on the lace, pushing it aside, fingers tracing lazy circles. The air between you was electric, charged with unspoken promises and the underlying tension of a predator toying with its prey.  This was a delicate game. You let out a soft moan, arching your back further, pressing yourself against him, rolling your hips.

A smirk broke on his lips as he saw right through your little performance. He knew exactly what game you were playing, and it was clear he was enjoying every moment of it. His hand moved with deliberate slowness, tracing the curve of your breast, his touch a maddening mix of gentle and firm. The control you sought seemed to slip further from your grasp with each passing second.

“And what do you propose, little marine?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I propose we make this interesting. A game, if you will. You test my… resolve, and I test yours. We both get what we want.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “A game, you say? And what are the stakes?”

You bit your lip, your hand guiding his lower, your fingers ushering his along the dripping lace of your underwear. “If I can prove my worth to you, you agree to come to the negotiation table. If I fail...” You paused, letting the weight of the words hang between you. “If I fail, you can do with me as you please.”

He pushed aside the ruined fabric, the pads of his fingers meeting your slick before dipping inside. “You’re playing a dangerous game, little marine.” His smirk widened as a moan escaped you. “What makes you think I can’t just take what I want?”

The words hung in the air, thick with implication. You felt the intensity of his gaze boring into you, the heat from his touch searing into your skin. As though to emphasize his point, his thumb found your clit, tracing slow, deliberate circles, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your body, mewls you tried to muffle out of your lips.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “You could,” you admitted, your hand wrapping around his wrist as he moved his fingers in a come-hither motion, pressing all those delightfully right spots. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, fingers trembling, nails digging into him as a wave of ecstasy washed over you. You struggled to come back, half-lidded eyes meeting his. “But I’m sure I can make it much, much more entertaining for you if you decide to play along.”

His eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and dark curiosity. “You certainly know how to make an offer enticing.” He leaned in close, his breath touching your lips. “But from where I’m standing you’re already breaking.”

He was right, you were so close to falling apart under him. "Am I not to your pleasing?" You asked, voice trembling against his. You reached up and discarded his hat, your fingers seeking to tangle in his hair. “Am I not entertaining enough for you, marine hunter?”

He chuckled, his lips brushing over yours. His fingers continued their tantalizing exploration, pushing you closer to the edge with each deliberate movement. He was testing you, pushing your limits to see how far you could go. And yet, despite the overwhelming intensity, you were determined to hold your ground.

“You are quite pleasing,” he admitted, his voice was thick with lust and its intensity almost sent you over. “But I wonder, how much more can you take before you beg for mercy?”

You bit your lip, a mixture of defiance and desire burning in your eyes. “I don’t beg, Mihawk. That’s what makes it interesting.”

His smirk widened, his fingers pressing deeper, eliciting another soft moan from you. “Bold words, little marine. Very bold indeed. Let’s see if that’s true.”

His lips met yours, slow and teasing, a dance of dominance and submission, a battle for control, a negotiation of its own. He moved against you with a practiced precision, each movement calculated to draw out your reactions. You could feel the intensity of his desire, the raw power behind each touch.

You were close. So fucking close. 

You swore under your breath as he suddenly stopped.

“I wonder what will make you break the fastest.” Satisfaction was evident in his voice as he felt you flutter around his fingers. “Denial or pleasure?”

Your breath hitched at Mihawk's words, the sensation of his fingers lingering just out of reach driving you to the edge of your sanity. This was a dangerous game, one where you had to balance the razor's edge between control and surrender. If… if you managed to hold out long enough… even he couldn’t resist lust forever. 

You couldn't let him see just how close you were to breaking.

Drawing on every ounce of willpower, you forced a sly smile. Your hands left his hair and traced down his chest. "Why not try both and find out?" 

He interrupted their path as you reached his belt. Deftly he brought them over your head, his weight pinning you entirely in place as he started moving his fingers again. His eyes gleamed as he looked down at you, relishing the arch of your body against his, relishing your struggle. 

He leaned close, his breath hot against your ear. "Now, now,” he tutted at you. “You can’t just skip ahead. Let's see how long you can endure."

Before you could respond, his lips descended on yours again, demanding and possessive. The kiss was bruising, filled with the same intensity that characterized every touch and word between you. His fingers made you see stars, their exploration agonizingly slow, teasing you mercilessly, never quite giving you what you needed.

You moaned into his mouth, bucked against his hand, your every instinct overtaken by a desperate need for release. The tension between you was unbearable, every nerve ending screaming for more. 

He stopped and started again and again and again, until you struggled with your breath and your whole body quivered and sang to each of his demands.

Mihawk's lips left yours, trailing down your jawline to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that almost made you lose your mind. "You're holding up better than I expected," he murmured against your skin, biting softly on your exposed nipple before soothing it with his tongue.

You barely managed a breathless laugh, closer to sobs than anything. "I told you, Mihawk. I don't break easily."

He chuckled, a sound that was both dark and amused. "We'll see about that."

His fingers moved with a different purpose now, driving you closer and closer to the edge, fast and hard. You could feel the tension coiling within you, the impending release just out of reach. And still, he held you there, teetering on the brink, refusing to let you fall.

It was maddening, the way he controlled you so effortlessly, drawing out every ounce of pleasure and frustration until you thought you might lose your mind. And yet, you couldn't help but crave more and he couldn’t help but to push you further, to see just how far you could go before you finally shattered.

"Please," you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

You felt his smile against your skin. “There we go,” he drawled out the words. “The little marine knows how to beg after all.”

With a sudden, devastating precision, he drove you over the edge, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm to bring you to the peak of ecstasy. You cried out, your body convulsing with the force of your release, your muscles straining against his hold.

As you came back to reality, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you gasping at the sudden loss. He brought his hand to your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. “Taste your resolve, little marine.”

You opened your mouth, taking his fingers in, your tongue swirling around them, tasting the remnants of your desire. The act was a surrender and he watched you with contentment, his gaze victorious.

“Good girl,” his voice was a satisfied purr, one that made your mind feel fuzzy and your body hot. “Now let’s see how well you break under pleasure.” 

His hands moved to your hips, his grip firm as he repositioned you with ease, brought you closer to the edge of the table. You felt some of your slick cooled by time, seep into the fabric of your dress, against your lower back as he pulled you over the puddle of arousal that had been slowly gathering on the wooden top.

His movements were deliberate, calculated, his eyes never leaving yours as he took off his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a whispering sound. He eyed it for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his lips before his attention came back to you. 

“Will you be a good?” His tone was threatening. “Or do I have to restrain you again?”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. The challenge was unmistakable.  “I can be good,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but it sounded unconvincing, even to your ears. The thought of being powerless under his hold once again was somehow unbearable.

Mihawk’s smile widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I don’t think you can, little marine.”

With a swift motion, he looped the belt around your wrists, pulling it tight enough to restrain but not to hurt. The leather bit into your skin, the sensation unnerving.

”You’re just waiting for a chance to turn the tables, aren’t you?”

You quirked your head to the side, a hint of defiance shining through. “Can you blame me?” He let go of your hands and you made no effort to keep them up, letting them drop to your stomach. “It’s not fair if you hold ALL the cards.”

“Fairness is a luxury, little marine.” His hands moved to your thighs, pushing them apart with a firm, insistent pressure. “A luxury one can rarely indulge in when playing to win.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over your form, something you couldn’t decipher spreading on his features, an intensity you’d only ever seen on wild animals.

“I must admit, you’re quite the sight.” His fingers traced the edge of your underwear. With a swift motion, he tore the delicate fabric away, leaving you completely exposed. “But I think you’ll be much more entertaining once broken.”

Your breath caught in your throat in a small hiccup, the threat in his words not escaping you. Your eyes stood at a standstill as he deliberately slowly undid his pants.

His cock met your heat, gathering your slick and the soft pressure on your oversensitive clit made you want to twist and buck beneath him. He brought one of your already trembling legs over his shoulder, his hand roaming up and down in a soothing touch. 

You felt his tip at your entrance, the slow delightful stretch as he entered you in a tortuously unhurried advance. Your entire body reacted to the sensation, you arched beneath him, your eyes fluttering close, your wrists strained against your bindings desperate to hold unto something, anything to ground you. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming and as he met your cervix you couldn’t help the sharp cry that escaped your lips, nor the tears gathering in your eyes.

“You’re so tight, little marine,” Mihawk chuckled, taking in every detail of the moment and searing it in his mind. “So responsive. I can feel you clenching around me, trying to hold on.” 

His movements were controlled, each thrust calculated to draw out your reactions, to push you closer to the edge. You wouldn’t beg. You wouldn’t cry for mercy. You were so close. Each drag of his cock against your fluttering walls was heavenly. The room seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the sensation of him inside you. 

You could feel the dam within you beginning to crack and then his hand found your clit once more and your breath stopped. It was too much. You came around him with a desperate gasp.

He didn’t stop, his thrusts still perfectly controlled. You knew the overstimulation was coming but it didn’t prepare you for the moment it washed over you. Your eyes shot open and makeup blurred tears stained your cheeks. You fought as though it was a matter of life or death. It was too much. Too fucking much. But his hands held you firmly in place, unable to escape his relentless assault.

And then a second orgasm rippled through your veins, blinding and even more intense than the first. 

But he still didn’t stop. Your cries stuck at the back of your throat, sobs wreaking your body. 

“Please,” you couldn’t help but beg again and again, your limbs so taut beneath him it was painful.

As his laugh hit your ears, you realized he didn’t care. Realized he was having fun. Your body twisted violently beneath him, too harsh for him to control and he let out an annoyed click of his tongue before flipping you over, the edge of the table digging hard into your hips as he entered you again. 

“Mercy,” you pleaded, wrists straining so intensely against your bindings that you knew you’d be nursing those red marks for days.

“Already?” His hand kneaded your ass roughly, pushing you even more painfully against the wooden top. “How disappointing, little marine.” His touch snaked up along your spine and tangled forcefully in your hair, keeping you pinned down and struggling against his hold. “I’m just getting started.”  He punctuated his statement with an especially sharp movement of his hips.

Your legs kicked in the air as another orgasm rippled through you, and you felt your arousal drip down your thigh and your drool seep out of your redded lips.

The world was careening around you and you couldn’t breathe and waves of pleasure washed over you so fast that your mind couldn’t keep up anymore. You eventually went slack beneath him, your entire body surrendering, and only then did his rhythm start to falter. 

He turned you back around, and you didn’t struggle, fully pliant for him. His fingers found your lips, played with the spit on your tongue, kept your mouth open as he reached closer to his own release. 

“Mercy,” you begged one last time, your words muffled, your lips wrapping against his fingers.

And he smiled, a predatory, victorious smile and you couldn’t help but think he looked ethereal in this moment. His hips stuttered one once more, his seed hot inside you and you clenched around him, white blurring your vision for the umpteenth time. 

He slowly pulled out, his gaze dropping to your entrance, watching his cum dribble out with a lust-blown stare. Your whole body still shook in the aftermath, your breath scattered and you spasmed at the feeling, a last vestige of submission as you whimpered. 

His fingers left your mouth and almost tenderly wiped your tear-stained cheek, brushing strands of hair that had been plastered on your sweat-covered skin behind your ear. His gaze stayed on you, considering.

“You’ve been more interesting than I expected,” He admitted as he pulled back up his pants.  “Very well, I’ll consider your offer on one condition.” He gently unraveled his belt, his hand lingering on your wrists and you gave a sharp hiss of pain he seemed to drink in with delight. 

“And that is?” you asked, your voice sounding far away, not your own.

He lazily passed the leather back in the belt loops, put back on his hat, making you wait.

“You’re the one who handles the negotiations. Just you and I. No one else.”

A slow smile of victory made its way to your lips.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Masterlist

Might consider making a part 2, but don't hold me to that.

[blueskittlesart]

I've heard that while most people really really love BotW and TotK, some people hate those two for going open-world, and some people hate TotK specifically for something about the story. As the resident Zelda expert I know of, what do you think of those takes?

"something about the story" is a bit too vague for me to answer--if you look at my totk liveblog tag from back when the game was newly released or my general zelda analysis tag you may be able to find some of my in-depth thoughts about the story of totk, but in general i liked it.

the open world thing though is something i can and will talk about for hours. (I am obsessed with loz and game design and this is an essay now <3) breath of the wild is a game that was so well-received that a lot of the criticism from older fans who were expecting something closer to the classic zelda formula was just kind of immediately drowned out and ignored, and while i don't think it's a valid criticism to suggest that botw strayed too far from its origins in going open-world, i am more than willing to look into those criticisms, why they exist, and why i think going open-world was ultimately the best decision botw devs could have made. (totk is a slightly different story, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.)

Loz is a franchise with a ton of history and a ton of really, REALLY dedicated fans. it's probably second only to mario in terms of recognizability and impact in nintendo's catalog. To us younger fans, the older games can sometimes seem, like, prehistoric when compared to what we're used to nowadays, but it's important to remember just how YOUNG the gaming industry is and how rapidly it's changed and grown. the first zelda game was released in 1986, which was 31 years before botw came out in 2017. What this means for nintendo and its developers is that they have to walk a very fine line between catering to older fans in their 30s and 40s now who would have been in nintendo's prime demographic when the first few games in the franchise were coming out AND making a game that's engaging to their MODERN target demographic and that age group's expectations for what a gaming experience should look like.

LOZ is in kind of a tough spot when it comes to modernizing, because a lot of its core gameplay elements are very much staples of early RPGs, and a lot of those gameplay elements have been phased out of modern RPGs for one reason or another. gathering collectibles, fighting one's way through multilevel, mapless dungeons, and especially classic zelda's relative lack of guidance through the story are all things that date games and which modern audiences tend to get frustrated with. for the last few releases before botw, the devs had kind of been playing with this -- skyward sword in particular is what i consider their big experiment and what (i think) became the driving force behind a lot of what happened with botw. Skyward sword attempted to solve the issues I listed by, basically, making the map small and the story much, much more blatantly linear. Skyward sword feels much more like other modern rpgs to me than most zelda games in terms of its playstyle, because the game is constantly pushing you to do specific things. this is a common storytelling style in modern RPGs--obviously, the player usually needs to take specific actions in order to progress the story, and so when there's downtime between story sections the supporting characters push the player towards the next goal. but this actually isn't what loz games usually do. in the standard loz formula, you as the player are generally directly given at most 4 objectives. these objectives will (roughly) be as follows: 1. go through some dungeons and defeat their bosses, 2. claim the master sword, 3. go through another set of dungeons and defeat their bosses, 4. defeat the final boss of the game. (not necessarily in that order, although that order is the standard formula.) the ONLY time the player will be expressly pushed by supporting characters towards a certain action (excluding guide characters) is when the game is first presenting them with those objectives. in-between dungeons and other gameplay segments, there's no sense of urgency, no one pushing you onto the next task. this method of storytelling encourages players to take their time and explore the world they're in, which in turn helps them find the collectibles and puzzles traditionally hidden around the map that will make it easier for them to continue on. Skyward sword, as previously mentioned, experimented with breaking this formula a bit--its overworld was small and unlocked sequentially, so you couldn't explore it fully without progressing the narrative, and it gave players a "home base" to return to in skyloft which housed many of the puzzles and collectibles rather than scattering them throughout the overworld. This method worked... to an extent, but it also meant that skyward sword felt drastically different in its storytelling and how its narrative was presented to the player than its predecessors. this isn't necessarily a BAD thing, but i am of the opinion that one of zelda's strongest elements has always been the level of immersion and relatability its stories have, and the constant push to continue the narrative has the potential to pull players out of your story a bit, making skyward sword slightly less engaging to the viewer than other games in the franchise. (to address the elephant in the room, there were also obviously some other major issues with the design of sksw that messed with player immersion, but imo even if the control scheme had been perfect on the first try, the hyperlinear method would STILL have been less engaging to a player than the standard exploration-based zeldas.)

So when people say that botw was the first open-world zelda, I'm not actually sure how true I personally believe that is. I think a lot of the initial hype surrounding botw's open map were tainted by what came before it--compared to the truly linear, intensely restricted map of skyward sword, botw's map feels INSANE. but strictly speaking, botw actually sticks pretty closely to the standard zelda gameplay experience, at least as far as the overworld map is concerned. from the beginning, one of the draws of loz is that there's a large, populated map that you as the player can explore (relatively) freely. it was UNUSUAL for the player to not have access to almost the entire map either immediately or very quickly after beginning a new zelda game. (the size and population of these maps was restricted by software and storage capabilities in earlier games, but pretty muhc every zelda game has what would have been considered a large & well populated map at the time of its release.) what truly made botw different was two things; the first being the sheer SIZE of the map and the second being the lack of dungeons and collectibles in a traditional sense. Everything that needs to be said about the size of the map already has been said: it's huge and it's crazy and it's executed PERFECTLY and it's never been done before and every game since has been trying to replicate it. nothing much else to say there. but I do want to talk about the percieved difference in gameplay as it relates to the open-world collectibles and dungeons, because, again, i don't think it's actually as big of a difference as people seem to think it is.

Once again, let's look at the classic formula. I'm going to start with the collectibles and lead into the dungeons. The main classic collectible that's a staple of every zelda game pre-botw is the heart piece. This is a quarter of a heart that will usually be sitting out somewhere in the open world or in a dungeon, and will require the player to either solve a puzzle or perform a specific action to get. botw is the first game to not include heart pieces... TECHNICALLY. but in practice, they're still there, just renamed. they're spirit orbs now, and rather than being hidden in puzzles within the overworld (with no explanation as to how or why they ended up there, mind you) they're hidden within shrines, and they're given a clear purpose for existing throughout hyrule and for requiring puzzle-solving skills to access. Functionally, these two items are exactly the same--it's an object that gives you an extra heart container once you collect four of them. no major difference beyond a reskin and renaming to make the object make sense within the greater world instead of just having a little ❤️ floating randomly in the middle of their otherwise hyperrealistic scenery. the heart piece vs spirit orb i think is a good microcosm of the "it's too different" criticisms of botw as a whole--is it ACTUALLY that different, or is it just repackaged in a way that doesn't make it immediately obvious what you're looking at anymore? I think it's worth noting that botw gives a narrative reason for that visual/linguistic disconnect from other games, too--it's set at minimum TEN THOUSAND YEARS after any other given game. while we don't have any concrete information about how much time passes between new-incarnation games, it's safe to assume that botw is significantly further removed from other incarnations of hyrule/link/zelda/etc than any other game on the timeline. It's not at all inconceivable within the context of the game that heart pieces may have changed form or come to be known by a different name. most of the changes between botw and other games can be reasoned away this way, because most of them have SOME obvious origins in a previous game mechanic, it's just been updated for botw's specific setting and narrative.

The dungeons ARE an actual departure from the classic formula, i will grant you. the usual way a zelda dungeon works is that link enters the dungeon, solves a few puzzles, fights a mini boss at about the halfway point, and after defeating the mini boss he gets a dungeon item which makes the second half of the dungeon accessible. He then uses that item in the dungeon's final boss fight, which is specifically engineered with that item in mind as the catalyst to win it. Botw's dungeons are the divine beasts. we've removed the presence of mini-bosses entirely, because the 'dungeon items' aren't something link needs to get within the dungeon itself--he alredy has them. they're the sheikah slate runes: magnesis, cryonis, stasis, and remote bombs. Each of the divine beast blight battles is actually built around using one of these runes to win it--cryonis to break waterblight's ice projectiles, magnesis to strike down thunderblight with its own lightning rods, remote bombs to take out fireblight's shield. (i ASSUME there's some way to use stasis effectively against windblight, mostly because it's obvious to me that that's how all the other fights were designed, but in practice it's the best strategy for that fight is to just slow down time via aerial archery, so i've never tried to win that way lol.) So even though we've removed traditional dungeon items and mini-boss fights, the bones of the franchise remain unchanged underneath. this is what makes botw such an ingenious move for this franchise imo; the fact that it manages to update itself into such a beautiful, engaging, MODERN game while still retaining the underlying structure that defines its franchise and the games that came before it. botw is an effective modern installment to this 30-year-old franchise because it takes what made the old games great and updates it in a way that still stays true to the core of the franchise.

I did mention totk in my opening paragraph and you mention it in your ask so i have to come back to it somehow. Do i think that totk did the gigantic-open-world thing as well as botw did? no. But i also don't really think there was any other direction to go with that game specifically. botw literally changed the landscape of game development when it was released. I KNOW you all remember how for a good year or two after botw's release, EVERY SINGLE GAME that came out HAD to have a massive open-world map, regardless of whether or not that actually made sense for that game. (pokemon is still suffering from the effects of that botw-driven open world craze to this day. rip scarlet/violet your gameplay was SUCH dogshit) I'm not sure to what degree nintendo and the botw devs anticipated that success, (I remember the open world and the versatility in terms of problem-solving being the two main advertising angles pre-release, but it's been 7 years. oh jesus christ it's been SEVEN YEARS. anyways) but in any case, there's basically NO WAY that they anticipated their specific gameplay style taking off to that degree. That's not something you can predict. When creating totk, they were once again walking that line between old and new, but because they were only 3ish years out from botw when totk went into development, they were REALLY under pressure to stay true to what it was that had made botw such an insane success. I think that's probably what led to the expanded map in the sky and depths as well as the fuse/build mechanics--they basically took their two big draws from botw, big map and versatility, and said ok BIGGER MAP and MORE VERSATILITY. Was this effective? yeah. do i think they maybe could have made a more engaging and well-rounded game if they'd been willing to diverge a little more from botw? also yeah. I won't say that I wanted totk to be skyward sword-style linear, because literally no one wanted that, but I do think that because of the insane wave of success that botw's huge open world brought in the developers were under pressure to stay very true to botw in their designing the gameplay of totk, and I think that both the gameplay and story might have been a bit more engaging if they had been allowed to experiment a little more in their delivery of the material.

[helluvagyal]

Synopsis: just some general headcanons about my favorite demon. Part 1/3, relationship headcanons coming next.

Content: general headcanons, mentions of cannibalism.

A/N: My first piece of writing for the fandom and I had to start with my murder baby. Enjoy, let me know what you think please. Don't forget to reblog! Banner and dividers by me.

— shoutout to @hellvcifer for getting me into it. Please read and reblog their work it's amazing!

Alastor is like that weird elusive sinner that you rarely see and when he does show up, it’s during drama or when he needs something.

Count on him to show out and throw hands (hooves?) for his people though.

Alastor always has a story to tell and the hotel residents’ favorites are definitely about his life before he ended up in hell.

He’s usually very tight lipped about those but if you catch him while he's making dinner, he'll turn into a chatterbox—especially if he's already got sherry or rye in him.

When he's cooking alone, that's his favorite time for contemplation and/or Hell domination.

His ever present smile has gone soft at the corners, his voice has lost its warped and static edge as he hums along to his radio, moving around the kitchen as if floating.

On the nights when it's his turn to cook, he definitely helps Niffty with the clean up after.

He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth but when those cravings kick in, it's with a vengeance.

Gingerbread cookies are his go to snack to pair with blood infused lemon tea as well as blood orange tea.

Demon ladyfingers sprinkled with powdered sugar and paired with blood infused black tea is an afternoon time favorite.

There was one week where he ate nothing but beignets, bananas foster and sweet potato pie for breakfast.

Alastor has a thirst for knowledge, prides himself on finding out everything he can, even if it's only to satisfy a mere curiosity.

He's a fashion snob. He never did care much for it when he was topside, only making sure he looked his best.

But since being in Hell, he's found himself with quite the eye and knack for Hellish threads. I mean, come on. I know ya'll saw his red bottoms!

He goes shopping with Angel occasionally, resolutely ignoring (or snickering at) how the shopkeeper cowers in fear when he asks if a powder blue fleece scarf he saw came in blood red.

With being a fashion snob, it paved the way for his stitcher's thumb.

Now, he's no expert like Rosie but she taught him a thing or two when he'd have the patience for it.

He's patched up knife holes in Niffty's dresses, sewn up tears in Angel’s sweaters and even hemmed one of Vaggie's skirts.

He'll dedicate two nights a week–if he's not busy with hotel duties–to sitting in front of his bayou and stitching or sewing.

He can play instruments; learned the sax and trumpet topside and mastered the piano down below.

Alastor actually likes the peace that comes with doing menial tasks. Instead of snapping his fingers to have the dishes washed and put away or to have his books dusted, he will do it if he has the extra time.

Getting dressed for the day is something he always does on his own, from ironing his pristine suits to shining his dress shoes.

Alastor does in fact sleep, however, he's trained himself to go long periods without needing to. He sleeps best after a feeding.

When using his abilities on particular prey, it acts as a health bar of sorts. So the stronger the prey, along with the extent of damage, determines his healing time and energy output.

Alastor is one of the many sinners who have had issues in the past coming to terms with their newly acquired anatomy.

The antlers have grown on him and so have the ears as it helps when he's flicking through frequencies.

Alastor absolutely abhors his tail, tried cutting it off but it just grew right back, bushier too.

He could never control the wretched thing, hates that it would give away his moods with a twitch or a tuck.

When he first discovered that it rapidly swishes from side to side when he's upset, he immediately went out to hunt, feeling like he had to go out and prove something.

He's started going to bed last, or at least retiring to his room when all the residents are asleep. Secretly likes to ensure the others are safe and sound.

Alastor is a huge fan of games, board, tile and card games to be specific. Yes, he's competitive but he enjoys the relaxing and occasionally heated atmosphere it provides.

For board games, he loves Scrabble (topside), Game of the World (topside), Clue (down below), and Pictionary (down below). If you value your life, please do not poke fun at his drawings in Pictionary, he gets testy.

For tile games, he loves Dominoes. His mother was the one who taught him how to play–as with most of the other games–one night when the power was out and he couldn’t listen to his radio programs or get some work done.

For card games, he likes Oh Hell, The Donkey card game and Make-A-Million.

If you couldn't tell, he prefers games where he can show off his smarts and be stimulated.

He despises Chess, Beggar-my-neighbor and Bingo.

Bonding/group sessions have grown on him, he won't admit it though. He's come to look forward to them, especially the night-time rituals, but please do not ask him to join movie night, he already put up with camping in the garden.

He's stellar at giving advice but is absolute shit at taking them sometimes, especially if he doesn't agree with it but knows it's rational

He will never tell you what you want to hear unless it's beneficial to him. Count on him to tell you what you need to hear, especially if you personally sought him out to get something off your mind.

If you aren't Rosie (and occasionally the residents), he would prefer not to prolong conversations unless he knows he's going to gain valuable information, be entertained or stimulated.

It's no secret that he has a soft spot for Niffty, his shadow does too; you can find them playing together sometimes with Alastor occasionally keeping a watchful eye.

He takes his title of 'King Roach' very seriously.

If you want some quiet time in the hotel, just seek out Alastor. If your social battery is running low but you don't necessarily want to be alone, either him or Husk would be your best bet.

If you've been invited to his room or his study to have a nightcap and a gab session, you're one of his most tolerable companions.

For the love of all that is bad and sinful, PLEASE do not ask about going up to his radio tower, especially during a broadcast; it's best if you just let him invite you.

However, he does allow Niffty up there to assist his shadow with cleaning the space.

If Alastor had a middle name, it would be Petty. It's also no secret that he's into mischief making. He and Angel got a kick out of the Prank Wars as a bonding exercise. They make a scary good team

He can dish out but he cannot take it. Don't even bother trying to get even with him because then everyone will have to hear about “the terrible slight on my honor”.

He's very chivalrous, even if his ways of showing it can be a bit twisted.

© helluvagyal ‧ all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, translate, share, or copy my work.

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter Eighteen

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Eighteen: Meeting Sao Feng

Summary: (Y/N) and their friends need a map to Davy Jones's locker, and that means venturing to Singapore.

Two months later…

            (Y/N) sat behind Elizabeth as she punted them downstream in the waters around Singapore. The song had recently reached the pirates, and the pair sang it quietly. (Y/N) sang it for all the people who had lost their lives as the East India Trading Company’s reign of terror began.

            “Some have died, and some are alive,” they hummed quietly. “Others sail on the sea. With the keys to the cage, and the devil to pay, we lay to the Fiddler’s Green. The bell has been raised from its watery grave. Hear its sepulchral tone.”

            (Y/N) watched as British soldiers stalked across bridges in search of more innocent lives to destroy. They caught pirates daily, yet they were the ones colonizing, pillaging, thieving.

            “A call to all, pay heed to the squall, turn your sails to home. Yo ho,” sang (Y/N). “Haul together. Hoist the colors high.”

            Elizabeth stopped the longboat and tied it.

            “Heave-ho.”

            They stepped out.

            “Thieve—”

            “Thief and beggar,” said the guard of the secret entrance to Soa Feng’s pirate lair.

            Sao Fang was the leader of the Singaporean pirates and the latest person they needed to contact in order to have a way to reach World’s End, the Black Pearl, and Jack.

            “Never shall we die,” finished the guard. “A dangerous song to be singing for any who are ignorant of its meaning. Particularly a woman and a child.” He smirked. “Particularly when they’re alone.”

            “What makes you think they’re alone?” Barbossa walked down to the canal.

            “You protect them?” snapped the guard.

            (Y/N) grabbed one guard, and Elizabeth grabbed another. They lifted knives to their throats.

            “We don’t need protecting,” said (Y/N).

            Barbossa grinned. After returning to life, he had worked with the crew of the Pearl to find it again. He had found that Elizabeth was a formidable pirate (especially after she threatened him with a sword to cut his throat if he tried to touch her, Will, or (Y/N) again). He had also discovered that (Y/N) was as dangerous as they had seemed fighting alongside Jack. In fact, he had become a little fond of (Y/N) (if only to hopefully piss of Jack a bit that his protégé could also be taught by Barbossa). All in all, he was enjoying the expert crew of the Black Pearl.

            “Your master’s expecting us,” said Barbossa. “And an unexpected death’d cast a slight pall on our meeting.”

            All the pirates looked at each other and hesitantly lowered their weapons warily.

            “Pick those feet up!” said a British soldier. “Eyes front.”

            The pirates retreated to the edge of the canal to avoid being spotted. Sao Feng’s guards led the way to the grate and into the underground tunnels of Singapore.

            “Have you heard anything from Will?” asked Elizabeth.

            “I trust young Turner to acquire the charts and you to remember your place in the presence of Captain Sao Feng,” warned Barbossa.

            “What’s he like?” asked (Y/N), not promising anything.

            “He’s much like myself, but absent my merciful nature and sense of fair play,” said Barbossa.

            Wonderful, thought (Y/N).

            The guards walked up to a lock door and spoke a password. It was unlocked and opened to reveal a new passageway. Several guards held out their hands, and Barbossa began handing over his weapons. (Y/N) grumbled but handed over their sword, pistol, and daggers. Elizabeth, on the other hand, somehow procured over a dozen weapons from her person, hidden in places no one would think of except for her (even some unsavory places).

            Finally, though, they were let into Sao Feng’s chambers. It was a sauna full of pirates being served by women with drinks and drugs. The heavy smoke of opium hung in the air, and (Y/N) wrinkled their nose.

            Sao Feng himself stood on a dais, clad in leather armor with ornate embellishments. A large scar extended across his face, and he looked down his nose at the group. While Barbossa enjoyed the riches and glory of captaining and Jack adored the very act of being on the sea, it was clear Sao Feng loved the power he commanded in a room.

            Barbossa bowed to appease his ego. He gestured to Elizabeth and (Y/N). Elizabeth bowed, and (Y/N) suppressed a roll of their eyes before bowing. Their skin itched. For two months now, every time they had to do something they didn’t wish to or had to obey another’s wishes that went against their own, the itch returned. The restless energy was deep in their body, in their heart.

            “Captain Barbossa, welcome to Singapore,” said Sao Feng. He glanced at his servant. “More steam.” Water vapor pumped into the air. “I understand that you have a request to make of me.”

            “More of a proposal to put to ye,” said Barbossa. “I’ve a venture underway, and I find myself in want of a ship and a crew.”

            “Hm. It’s an odd coincidence,” remarked Sao Feng. His tone, however, suggested he knew more than he had so far revealed.

            “Because you happen to have a ship and a crew you don’t need?” said Elizabeth, raising a brow.

            “No,” said Sao Feng. “Because earlier this day, not far from here, a thief broke into my most revered uncle’s temple and tried to make off with these.” He picked up a roll of maps. “The navigational charts. The route to the Farthest Gate.”

            Elizabeth, Barbossa, and (Y/N) exchanged looks. Those were what Will had been searching for.

            Sao Feng threw the charts to a guard. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if this venture of yours took you to the world beyond this one?”

            “It would strain credulity at that,” said Barbossa.

            (Y/N) nearly rolled their eyes, and they glanced warily around.

            Sao Feng nodded to a pair of guards by a steam bath. They raised a log to reveal arms tied to it. Will gasped for air as he was raised from the scalding water.

            “This is the thief,” said Sao Feng casually. “Is his face familiar to you?”

            All three shook their heads “no.”

            “Then I guess he has no further need for it,” said Sao Feng, rearing back to stab Will.

            “No, no,” gasped Elizabeth, unable to stop herself.

            Sao Feng stopped and turned around slowly. He had trapped them in their lie. “You come into my city, and you betray my hospitality.

            Barbossa stood straight. “I assure you I had no idea—”

            “That he would get caught!” interrupted Sao Feng.

            Around them, Singaporean pirates stood and surrounded the group.

            “You intend to attempt the voyage to Davy Jones’s locker,” said Sao Feng matter-of-factly. “But I cannot help but wonder…why?”

            (Y/N) shifted, and Barbossa and Elizabeth both put a hand out. If (Y/N) were to speak up, it wouldn’t be polite, which wouldn’t end well. (Y/N)’s skin itched, and they shifted with unused energy.

            Barbossa tossed a coin through the air in response to Sao Feng. He caught it, bit it to test it, and stared at it.

            “The song has been sung,” said Barbossa. “The time is upon us. We must convene the Brethren Court. As one of the nine pirate lords, you must honor the call.”

            Sao Feng narrowed his eyes. His hand curled into a fist. “More steam.” The words held all the frustration he wished to express. Nothing came, and he whirled on his servants. “More steam!” he bellowed. Still none.

            “There is a price on all our heads,” continued Barbossa, distracting Sao Feng from what was most likely their crew interfering.

            “Aye. It is true,” said Sao Feng. “It seems the only way a pirate can turn a profit anymore…is by betraying other pirates.”

            Oh, bloody hell, thought (Y/N). It was a suspicious turn of phrase, even if he seemed to be addressing Will’s predicament.

            Barbossa continued. “We must put our differences aside. The First Brethren Court gave us rule of the seas.”

            (Y/N)’s gaze flicked to him, and their hands clenched at their sides. The seas weren’t to be ruled by anyone. They were free, wild, untamable. Like m—

            “But now that rule is being challenged by Lord Cuter Beckett,” said Barbossa.

            “Against the East India Trading Company, what value is the Brethren Court?” said Sao Feng derisively. “What can any of us do?”

            “You can fight,” snapped (Y/N), their words breaking free. Sao Feng’s sharp gaze landed on them, but they did not cower. “You are Sao Feng, pirate lord of Singapore. You’re a commander in an age where brave captains still sail free waters, despite those waves being measure in fear and not feet.” Their stormy eyes flicked over Sao Feng, and it was as piercing as a needle. “And yet you would just watch such an era come to an end.” They met his eyes. “The most notorious pirates from around the world are uniting against our enemy. Their names will be remembered in legends.” A soft sneering smirk spread across their features. “Yours will be drowned in the bathwater you cower within.”

            Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and Barbossa closed his eyes and cursed Jack for teaching them to be so mouthy (not that it had come from him. It was natural to (Y/N), and their natural self broke free more and more every day).

            Sao Feng stared at them and stepped off the dais. (Y/N) refused to flinch or back away. Sao Feng circled them like a shark, gazing at them quizzically.

            “(Y/N) Swann,” said Sao Feng. “There is more to you than meets the eyes, isn’t there?”

            (Y/N) followed him with their eyes as he circled them and returned to the front.

            “But I cannot help but notice you have failed to answer my question,” continued Sao Feng. “What is it you seek in Davy Jones’s Locker?” Barbossa opened his mouth, but Sao Feng held up a hand. “I want the small one to answer.”

            That must be me since I’m the kid.

            “They seem to enjoy speaking.”

            I’d prefer fighting. Thankfully, (Y/N) kept that thought to themself. “A friend.”

            Sao Feng narrowed his eyes. “That is not an answer.”

            “It is,” said (Y/N).

            Elizabeth fought back a sigh as (Y/N) decided to be sarcastic and play tricks with the pirate lord of Singapore.

            “Jack Sparrow!” declared Will, breaking in. “We seek Jack Sparrow.”

            Laughter erupted throughout the sauna.

            “He’s one of the pirate lords,” said Will, speaking over the derision.

            (Y/N) watched Sao Feng run a hand over his head. They noted the slight tremble with curiosity.

            “The only reason I would want Jack Sparrow returned from the land of the dead is so I can send him back myself!” he hissed.

            It seems Jack left his usual impression on people on Sao Feng.

            “Jack Sparrow holds one of the nine pieces of eight,” said Barbossa. “He failed to pass it along to a successor before he died. So we must go and get him back.”

            “So you admit…you have deceived me,” said Sao Feng slowly. “Weapons!” He drew his sword.

            All the pirates let out a shout and grabbed their weapons.

            “Sao Feng, I assure you, our intentions are strictly honorable,” said Barbossa.

            Through the slatted boards, swords flew up into the air. Barbossa, (Y/N), and Elizabeth each caught one. Barbossa caught the extra for Will. He coughed as Sao Feng narrowed his eyes. Obviously, their intentions had been honorable with a heavy dose of “just in case” dishonesty.

            Sao Feng grabbed a Singapore man and held a sword to his throat. “Drop your weapons or I kill the man!”

            (Y/N), Elizabeth, Will, and Barbossa wore identical expressions of confusion.

            “Kill him,” said Barbossa. “He’s not our man.”

            Now it was Sao Feng’s turn to look confused as he stared at the nervous man.

            “If he’s not with you, and he’s not with us…who’s he with?” said Will.

            “Beckett,” breathed (Y/N).

            Bam!

            The doors broke open the moment the name left them. “Charge!” cried the British. Muskets fired, and the pirates ducked and attacked as best they could.

            Will used the pole he was tied to in order to rush into several men before they could fire. (Y/N) wove through the crowd and slashed through his bindings. Barbossa tossed him a sword. Elizabeth expertly dueled several soldiers at once, and (Y/N) handled their own crowd. They swept through the British, dancing through the attacks aimed at them. They flowed like water from one stab to another parry to a slash to a duck to a kick to a pivot to attack after attack.

            From within the platoon, a familiar face emerged. Mercer stepped out, clad in black, and looked across the room of fighting pirates with his sharp, cruel eyes. They landed on (Y/N), and he raised a gun. It was not a pistol, though. This one contained a small dart to incapacitate its target. Of course, Mercer had a proper pistol at his side. If the child resisted…Well, Beckett said controlled or killed.

            Bang!

            “(Y/N)!” Elizabeth tackled them as she saw the shot.

            It flew over their head and hit the wall. Will ran to their side and hauled Elizabeth and (Y/N) up. Barbossa and Sao Feng cut down several attacks, and the group found themselves fighting side by side. Unfortunately, the British were closing in and had their muskets ready once more.

            “Ready?” said Mercer, preparing another dart.

            (Y/N)’s gaze flicked to it, confused but frightened at what it meant for them.

            “Fire.”

            Boom!

            Instead of the crack of rifles, the floor exploded. The British collapsed back into the hole. The pirates shouted a war cry and stormed onward. Sao Feng grabbed the charts as they ran. The Black Pearl crew ran out from beneath the sauna, fired their pistols, and drew their swords. It was Singapore and Pearl pirates versus the East India Company.

            The fight spread into the streets of Singapore as the pirates fled the British, and shops and carts were overturned as their keepers joined the angry brawl—fists were as much weapons at this point as muskets or cutlasses.

            (Y/N) leapt over a table and slid under another. With a flick of their wrist, they cut through a soldier’s ankle, and he collapsed. Without being able to stand, (Y/N) ended him in another stab before jumping onto another table to gain the high ground. A soldier ran at them, and they jumped to avoid him. They grabbed the tent’s supporting pole, swung forward, and kicked him in the head. (Y/N) landed and darted towards the canals.

            Behind them, a group of soldiers aimed to fire, but the cart behind them exploded. They fell dead and hurtled into the river. (Y/N) grinned behind them, knowing Tia Dalma stood smirking at her plan working.

            They ran beside the canals, waiting to spot another friend to regroup.

            Boom!

            This time not according to plan, a building exploded with a hundred unplanned fireworks. It was right behind them, and (Y/N) flew through the air. Their vision spun between dark and light, and they splashed into the water. They submerged, and their mind cleared. They pushed to the surface and took a deep breath.

            Grumbling, they pulled themself to the walkway.

            “Goin’ for a swim at a time like this?”

            (Y/N) looked up, unamused, at Barbossa. “Putting on a firework show at a time like this?” they retorted.

            Barbossa chuckled and pulled (Y/N) out of the water. Tia Dalma stood next to him and gazed at (Y/N) with a smile.

            “How do you feel?” said Tia Dalma.

            “Wet,” said (Y/N). “But fine.” They had only been temporarily disoriented.

            “I’m sure,” said Tia Dalma.

            Will appeared from round the corner with a group of pirates.

            “You have the charts?” said Barbossa, eyes locking on the bundle in Will’s arms.

            “And better yet,” said Will. He tossed the charts to Barbossa and gestured to the Singaporean pirates behind him. “A ship and a crew.”

            “Where’s Sao Feng?” Elizabeth joined the rendezvous with the rest of the Black Pearl crew.

            “He’ll cover our escape and meet us at Shipwreck Cove,” said Will.

            Barbossa nodded. “This way. Be quick.”

l

            (Y/N) looked back at the fire still burning in Singapore as they sailed away. The water rippled around them as the ship moved smoothly over the water. They held the edge of the ship tightly. They had a way to Jack. They’d find him, the Pearl, and a way to stop Beckett. Freedom would win. It had to.

            “There seems to be a lot on your mind,” said Tia Dalma, joining them at the side of the ship.

            “I’m worried about Jack. What it must be like in the Locker,” said (Y/N).

            “Jack is a man of no constancy, coming and going with the tide. But he is also one of great passion for what he cares for—adventure, life, freedom…” Tia Dalma looked at (Y/N). “But the Locker cannot take his heart. He will lose nothing but his mind.”

            “Which was lost a long time ago,” said (Y/N) with a smile.

            “Then you have nothing to fear,” said Tia Dalma, reaching out and touching (Y/N)’s hand. It was clear (Y/N) was attached to Jack, though how deserving he was of it remained to be seen.

            (Y/N) hummed, and they glanced back at Singapore. “Do you think Sao Feng will answer the call now that it is clear he can be found wherever he hides?”

            Tia Dalma’s expression grew grim. “I cannot say. There is an evil on these seas that even the most staunch and bloodthirsty pirate have come to fear.”

            “We should hope someone will face it instead of fearing it, then,” said (Y/N).

            Tia Dalma looked at (Y/N) with a mysterious glint in her eye. “We should hope.”

Taglist:

@slytherinroyalty16

@aew-kun-age-regression

@grippleback-galaxy

@andsoigotabutterfly

@insomniacneedssleep

@painstakingly-juno

@kitkatlover015

@chronicallybubbly

@froggyisfriend

@elliottheidiot2007

@paastaboi

@urlocalsabito

@speckle-meow-meow

@dmitrytherat

@vanessa-boo

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

@ceridwyn3

@heil-nah

@idonthaveanameforthisacc

[redd956]

Writing Advice: Characterization

Writing characters can be really hard, and conveying personality to readers is just as difficult

I'm expert in this and I'm studying so take my word with a grain of salt

Here are some tips on writing characterization

Show don't tell of characterization

I'm sure my fellow writers are exhausted of hearing show don't tell, especially cause it's difficult to remember to do or master

And there's a lot of different ways to implement it, but I feel it means even more for characters because it gives you a chance to explore their personality

Sometimes it is better to tell, but many times showing grants you an upperhand take for example:

Character A was furious. Character B's voice was annoying them only further. They were ready to punch them in the face.

This can work, however it can easily bore the reader and goes little in the character or world themselves.

Character A glared at Character B, their arms tightly crossed, and leg impatiently tapping. All they could do was roll their eyes as Character B spoke. After all it got their mind off punching B in the face.

This is sentence shows more of the character. It shows that they have an attitude, and are more prone to punching people. I'm not good at explaining show don't tell, so I suggest looking into it, and remember that the rules aren't set in stone either.

Complexity

Character complexity helps aid the reader's suspension of disbelief and makes the characters feel more people-like. Not every character needs to be complex, and sometimes complexity isn't meant for one at all.

However it helps solidify a character, add more potential conflict to a story, and remove one-dimensionality.

Often times many stories start with one-dimensional characters and as installments and exploration increases, even the most silly characters become complex serious designs.

3 ways I prefer to show complexity

Show a character's thought process. Don't drown the reader in it, but dabble in character thoughts at moderate levels. Ig can help pacing anyway.

Give character groups opposing ideologies, beliefs, and ideas. Then show how these characters respond to them.

Give your characters bad traits and flaws. Don't stray towards hate-able personality, but understand that the world isn't black and white and neither shall your character be. The easiest way to do so and keep things complex is by extending already set positive traits. A character kind. Have them be too kind, let people go or trust people who shouldn't be trusted. Or they are kind to only certain groups of people, and need to learn to grow out of it.

Action

Actions, I'm not just talking about what your character does, although that is important too. Show me the character through how they do things, especially good to split up dialogue.

For example

Character A and B watched TV

This sentence works perfectly however if it is a moment where you're trying to characterize it can be utilized. For instance

The TV was playing a horror movie. Character A's eyes stayed glued to it, ignoring the fact that Character B was already clinging to them.

This tells you a lot more about the characters, and establishes a dynamic between the two as well.

Anyway that is all I can think off I hope this helps

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hi! This request was easier to search for, so I see you’ve recommended Hearts of Wulin and Ten Thousand Days for the Sword. Do you have any other wuxia or xianxia game recs?

Have a good day!

THEME: Wuxia Games.

Hello friend, I'm certainly not an expert, but after reaching out to some more knowledgeable folks, I think I have a few!

Jiangshi: Blood in the Banquet Hall, by Wet Ink Games.

This is a collaborative, storytelling RPG about a Chinese family making their living by running a restaurant in one of America’s Chinatowns, circa 1920. Despite societal backlash and anti-Chinese laws, they have turned a profit and their quality of life has recently improved.

Night, however, brings a new terror.

Players take on the roles of members of the Chinese family (mostly from Guangdong province), spanning three generations, who face threats of jiangshi (hopping vampires) at night and racism by day. It has players balancing the responsibility of maintaining their family business with protecting themselves and their community from the dreaded Jiangshi. This is primarily a game about storytelling. Combat is limited, but horror, drama and sometimes comedy are the primary vehicles for driving the game forward.

This game draws quite a bit from boardgaming elements, so I think this one is best played around a physical table, especially since it requires a custom deck of cards. You’ll use these cards to represent the demands of running a restaurant in the day, as well as fighting of a vampire at night. This game is probably on the borders of what I think is considered wuxia, but if you have a horror lover in your group, this might be worth checking out.

Exalted, by Onyx Path Games.

This is the tale of a forgotten age before the seas were bent, when the world was flat and floated atop a sea of chaos. This is the tale of a decadent empire raised up on the bones of the fallen Golden Age, whose splendor it faintly echoed but could not match. This is a tale of primal frontiers, of the restless dead, of jeweled cities ruled openly by spirits in defiance of Heaven’s law. This is a tale of glorious heroes blessed by the gods, and of their passions and the wars they waged in the final era of legends.

Exalted has a number of different sources, only one of which feels close to wuxia, but the stories are certainly expected to give you long, sweeping epics and larger-than-life characters. There are many different kinds of Exalted, including Solars, Lunars, and Dragon-Blooded. Since I’m not a wuxia connoisseur myself, I’m not entirely sure how close Exalted comes to hitting the mark - I’m mostly recommending it because it came up connected to some other wuxia fantasy games when I was doing some searching.

Jiang Hu, by wum1ng.

Jiang Hu is a role-playing game for the wuxia genre. Drawing inspiration from wuxia novels written by luminaries such as Jin Yong and Gu Long, the Feng Yun comics from Ma Rong Chen and the multitude of wuxia movies and television series, this game brings the world of dashing swordsmen, warrior monks, brawling beggars and high-flying stunts to your tabletop. 

Players take on the role of Martial Artists fighting against various threats to the lands of Jiang Hu, ranging from evil sect leaders who have mastered forbidden secret martial arts techniques to megalomaniacs seeking to take over the Imperial Throne by force and the blood of countless innocents.

The Worlds Without Number series by Kevin Crawford has its praises sung by many people, especially folks in the OSR scene, and that is the bones that this game is built on. Your character is built from quite a list of skills, which are differentiated between Combat and Non-Combat. You also have a number of secondary attributes, for things such as Armour Class, Evasion, and Luck, as well as a dedicated space on your character sheet for weapons and martial arts. Expect combat to to take up a bulk of your time!

When you roll for your character background, you also get a significant life event that is expected to shape your character’s past, such as having a loved one murdered, or falling into serious debt. Out of all of the games listed here, I think this game is the closest to D&D, what with the “packages” of skills, items and abilities attached to each background.

The Oath, by brushmen.

"We seek not to be born on the same day, but hope to die on the same day." And with such an oath, Yong, Li, and Ming swore loyalty to each other.

When earthly desires tempt them, and devotions threaten to tear them apart, with or without a hand from uncaring fate…

will their oath endure?

The Oath is a collaborative storytelling game for one Game Moderator and three players.

This is meant to be a one-shot, which borrows the Entanglements system from Hearts of Wulin and the character Keys and Tags from Lady Blackbird. Since this game comes with characters already pre-written, it would probably be very good for groups who have very little time, or who want an easy on-ramp to games or the wuxia genre. I like the fact that the Keys give you prompts and directions for your character’s behaviour; it’s strong statement on how the author interprets the genre, but it still gives you, the player, a choice on what elements of your character will be emphasized, and what elements will take up the background.

brushmen also has another wuxia Lady Blackbird hack called The Escort, about recovering from a violent robbery, this one for four players and one GM.

Four Swords, by ehronlime.

This is a tabletop roleplaying game about being young heroes in a wuxia story, made for the #AsianMartialArtsJam.

You start with your First Sword, which you use to challenge other heroes and villains and strive for mastery.

You will then gain three more Swords: the Second a sword of great pride and regret, the Third a sword of mastery and expression, and the Fourth a sword which is no sword.

You will also struggle between the obligations put upon your by others and what you truly desire from the life of a wandering hero.

Four Swords really zeroes in on the combat mastery part of wuxia fantasy. Your characters will grow into mastery, and battle with rigid codes and rules that structure the world you live in. The game is very descriptive, leaving you with only 4 abilities that are meant to broadly encompass what you are able to do. The game encourages characters to interfere with each-other using a mechanic called Vows, and levelling up gives you access to different techniques, which reinforce the competence of your characters as well as the rigid guidelines by which they might improve.

This game was made for the Asian Martial Arts by Asian Creators Game Jam, so you might find some more wuxi-themed games there!

Blades of the Immortals, by Jagganoth.

Blades of the Immortals is a tabletop roleplaying game inspired by xiānxiá. It uses the Forged in the Dark rules engine developed by John Harper, as seen in games like Blades in the Dark and Beam Saber.

In Blades of the Immortals, you will take on the roles of cultivators, striving for your own ambitions, for the glory of your sect, and for the ultimate prize —  immortality. You'll viciously struggle for scarce resources, compete for the patronage of powerful and influential teachers, gather allies to your banner, and scheme against your enemies. Your cultivators will wield mystical treasures and supernatural spell-arts, mastering the very laws of the cosmos as their weapons, as they become entangled in centuries-long vendettas between deathless wizard-kings.

This game is solidly focused on supernatural abilities and grand increases in strength. You choose from one of 9 different playbooks, and collaboratively create a faction that binds you all together. The sources listed as inspirations for this game include (but are not limited to) Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Forge of Destiny, Aspiring to the Immortal Path, and Journey to the West.

Compared to other Blades hacks, this game reduces the standard number of action ratings, ties character growth to a change in your character’s beliefs, and separates your gear from your playbook. Characters can also level up through Realms, which increases your effectiveness and upgrades your inventory.

Mist-Robed Gate, by Shreyas & Elizabeth Sampat.

There are some things that we value more than life.

There are things we're willing to scheme and cry and fight and die for.

That's what wuxia cinema is about— fighting and dying for the things we care about. That's what Mist-Robed Gate is about.

Mist-Robed Gate comes with a full list of movie recommendations, but includes Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and House of Flying Daggers as key influences. I really like the fact that a key mechanic of this game includes stabbing your character sheet with a knife.

Players create factions first, and then take turns creating characters that represent those factions, with elements that represent the hero’s distinctive personality and style. Players also create the different locations that will serve as the stage for your scenes. Play happens over a series of scenes, as their characters push and pull against each-other, sometimes even making terrible demands (which is where the Knife comes in). If you want a game that has a lot of politics in the terms of actions having large ramifications over big groups of people, and if you want a game that is extremely dramatic, you might want to check out Mist-Robed Gate.

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f! reader

Description: While looking into a mysterious murder in Illinois, Sam, Dean, and Y/N come across Meg, an old 'friend' of Sam's, who may be far worse than they ever thought possible

Warnings: Cannon violence, the forensic details talked about—the blood splatter—should be some part accurate but i’m also not an expert so don’t take my word like it is—i’m just a nerd. Also!! no outfit for this one since there’s really none described and not one i’m really particularly picturing since this episode is very plot driven??

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 , @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat

Word Count: 9,655

Shadow

(Master list, Prev Chapter, Next Chapter)

I pin my hair back as the Impala stops, claw clip holding back layers of hair in a half-up-half-down look. It was a last-ditch effort to make a dark blue jumpsuit look good, especially when it was a uniform jumpsuit.

I leave the car, closing the door behind me as Dean opens the trunk, pulling out a metal toolbox. It really completes the look. He closes the trunk and we move away from the car, crossing the street towards the victim's apartment. The three of us are matching in our getups, which lessens the embarrassment or awkwardness but doesn’t take away from the outfits themselves. “All right, this is the place,” Sam announces, stopping in front of the apartment building. “You know, I’ve gotta say Dad and I did just fine without these stupid costumes. I feel like a high school drama dork,” Dean comments and I’m glad at least someone agrees this costume sucks. He smiles, continuing, “What was that play that you did?” he asks Sam, “What was it…Our Town. Yeah, you were good, it was cute.” I look between the boys, smiling as I hit Sam’s shoulder, “Shut up! You were in a play?!” He scuffs and rolls his eyes. Dean laughs as he answers for his brother, “Yeah he was.”

“How come no one told me?” I ask, I mean seriously this feels like something Dean would’ve spilled to me. Dean’s eyebrows furrow, “I didn’t tell you?”

“No!” I exclaim, “Do you have pictures?” His smile brightens, a mischievous glint in his green eyes, “‘Course I do.”

“Okay, well now you’re obligated to show me,” I point out, excited to see the no-doubt adorable photos. “Are you guys done or what?” Sam asks, arms crossed against his chest. I nod with a tight-lipped smile. “And if you wanna pull this off then we need the costumes,” he adds, logically.

“And while that is a great point, I have to agree with Dean on this one. These outfits are ugly,” I complain.

“That wasn’t really my point,” Dean interjects. I purse my lips, “Shh, it was close enough. And you can’t say this isn't a borderline janitor or plumber,” I motion my hand up and down at the jumpsuit for emphasis. The only difference was the brown leather belt at the waist, which really added nothing to the look—it barely even accentuated the waistline. “I’m just sayin’, these outfits cost hard-earned money, okay?” Dean argues, getting back to his point.

“Whose?” Sam counters. Dean looks at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Ours. ‘You think credit card fraud is easy?”

“Thanks for lettin’ us look around,” Sam starts, letting the landlady lead us into the apartment. A weird feeling crawls down my spine, something heavy and undoubtedly coming from the apartment. “Well, the police said they were done with the place, so…..” she led us further into the living room. The white carpet is adorned with blood drops, some spots darker than others. “You guys said you were with the alarm company?” she asks.

“That’s right,” Dean clarifies.

“Well, no offense, but your alarm’s about as useful as boobs on a man,” she quipped, and I have to bite my bottom lip hard not to burst out in unprofessional laughter. “Well, that’s why we’re here. To see what went wrong and stop it from happening again,” Dean responds, somehow keeping it together.

“Now, ma’am, you found the body,” Sam asks, jumping right into it. “Yeah,” the lady responds, nodding. “Right after it happened?” he follows up.

“No. Few days later. Meredith’s work called—she hadn’t shown up. I knocked on the door. That’s when I noticed the smell.”

“Was there any sign of a break-in or forced entry?” I ask.

“No, windows were locked, front door was bolted. Chain was on the door, we had to cut it just to get in,” she answers.

“And the alarm was still on?” Dean asked, the scene coming together.

“Like I said, bang-up job your company’s doin’,” she remarks. It was no wonder the cops were stumped, those details practically suggest the killer walked through the walls. There was no other way to enter and leave without going through the front door or the untouched windows. “Mmhmm,” Dean hums, “You see any overturned furniture, broken glass, signs of struggle?”

She shakes her head, “Everything was in perfect condition….except Meredith.”

“And what condition was Meredith in?” Sam asks carefully, moving away from the window he was standing in front of.

“Meredith was all over. In pieces. The guy who killed her must have been some kind of a whack job. But I tell you, if I didn't know any better I’d have said a wild animal did it.”

“Ma’am, do you mind if we take some time? Give this place a once-over?” Sam asks, sharing a look with his brother.

“Oh, well, go right ahead. Knock yourself out.”

****

“So, a killer walks in and out of the apartment—no weapons, no prints, nothin’,” Dean acknowledges, opening his toolbox and pulling out his DIY EMF reader. “I’m tellin’ ya, the minute I found that article, I knew this was our kind of gig,” Sam explains just as the EMF reader beeps frantically. A clear sign.

“I think I agree with you,” Dean mumbles.

I walk around the room studying the blood splatter on the wall. Whatever was here was certainly powerful, a strange feeling creeping over my shoulder. “So, you talked to the cops?” Sam asked from the other side of the room. “Uh, yeah,” Dean smirks, “I spoke to Amy, a, uh, charming, perky, officer of the law.”

I scuff, not surprised, “Yeah? Did you find anything useful out or just what she looked like naked?”

“Well, she’s a Sagittarius,” he starts, his voice dreamy like he was reliving it, “She loves tequila, I mean—wow. Oh, and she’s got this little tattoo—“

“Dean!” Sam and I yell at the same time. God, he was ridiculous. “What?” he responds as if he did nothing wrong, “Yeah. Uh, nothin’ we don’t already know. Except for one thing they’re keepin’ out of the papers.”

“Hm?” Sam questions.

“Meredith’s heart was missing.”

Sam chokes on his breath, “Her heart?”

“You know that makes sense,” I start, “With the blood splatter that is.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks. I walked over to the side table, a phone on it, “Well she was standing here, maybe listening to voicemails since no one has come forward to say they were on call with her when it happened, you would imagine they would hear a disturbance. Then the thing must have come from behind considering the slightly darker spray of blood there,” I point to the wall in front of me and what landed on the phone. “See it’s a projectile splatter —like a mist, somewhere between medium and high velocity. But there are no arterial spurts which would suggest it being quick and skilled, seemingly grabbing the right thing without hitting an artery.” I halt my explanation, “Are you guys following?”

“Yeah, we’re following, sweetheart,” Dean responds.

“Okay, good. So, came from behind, and was able to literally just bam, grabbing the heart and then pulling back out the same way. Which is the minimal blood behind her other than the pooling of blood when she went down. There’s hardly a blood trail or drops, nothing to suggest moving to other sides of the room after the kill. Well, except that…” I point to a blood pattern on the smooth white carpet nearby, “That’s not any blood splatter pattern, at least not a naturally occurring one. Those are methodical, otherwise it doesn’t make sense.”

The drops were in a weird shape or form, it would be hard to explain to anyone who wasn’t there.

Dean makes his way over, crouching before it. He studies it for a beat before saying, “See if you can find any masking tape around.” Sam immediately gets to it, checking the cabinets in the kitchen first. “So, what do you think did it to her?” Sam asks from the other room.

“I don’t know about this,” he gestures to the blood in front of him, “But, the landlady said it looked like an animal attack, maybe it was—werewolf?”

“Can’t be a werewolf, the lunar cycle doesn’t match up,” I respond. “Plus, if it was a creature, it would’ve left some kind of trace. It’s probably a spirit,” Sam adds, coming back into the room with a roll of black tape.

We stand aside as Dean connects the small pools of blood, a pattern evident to him. When he finishes and steps aside the tape reveals an almost ‘Z’ like shape with a horizontal oval in the center, cutting the letter off before it continues again. “Ever see that symbol before?” Sam asks. The symbol wasn’t exactly familiar in itself but close enough to another thing to make a small connection. “Never,” Dean answers.

“Me neither,” Sam agreed.

I rub my eyes, exhausted from summoning books all night. I know the symbol has something to do with summoning a specific being, whatever that being is I don’t know.

I sit across Sam in the noisy bar we just walked into, his Dad's journal in his hands. Dean said he was here somewhere. I move to rubbing my temples, a headache engraving itself. While teleporting objects is far easier than a person I was also getting my books from home—aka around 1,120 miles away. Maine to Chicago, trying to go through my family's old journals and spell books in the hope it had the symbol and an explanation somewhere. So far there was nothing.

The chair next to me scraps back, and someone takes a seat. I don’t have to lift my head from my hands to know who it is, the presence too familiar not to recognize. “I talked to the bartender,” Dean says.

“Did you get anything?” Sam asks, looking up from newspaper clippings he must have pulled out at some point, “Besides her number?”

“Dude. I’m professional. I’m offended that you would think that,” Dean defends with the utmost serious face. Sam and I both give him a knowing look, he would never pass up an opportunity like that. He breaks, a goofy smile on his lips as he pulls out a napkin from the inside of his jacket, holding it up, pen-marked digits written on it, “Alright, yeah,” he chuckles, looking at the napkin proudly. I roll my eyes, he really is ridiculous. And of course, I just had to be madly in love with a guy who’s interested in every other girl.

“You mind doin’ a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?” Sam lectures and it’s my turn to laugh. I hit his arm, “Oh man, he got you bad.”

Dean scuffs, “Look, there’s nothing to find out. I mean, Meredith worked here, she waited tables, everyone here was her friend. Everyone said she was normal. She didn’t do or say anything weird before she died, so…what about that symbol, you find anything?”

“Nope, nothing. It wasn’t in Dad’s journal or any of the usual books,” Sam answers, putting down the newspaper clippings he’d been holding. “And there’s nothing, so far, in any spell books or journals,” I add as I pull out a brown strapped book from my bag, “If I have to read another book entirely in Latin I will commit violent atrocities.” I’d read at least ten journals in Latin back to back, it was rather nice to see the things my ancestors got into but after a while, it was very tiring.

“We just have to dig a little deeper, I guess,” Sam replied thoughtfully.

“Well, there was a first victim, right? Before Meredith?” Dean asks. His brother nods, “Right. Yeah,” he moves the newspaper clippings around until he finds the right one, “His name was, uh…his name was Ben Swardstrom.” He hands the clipping to Dean as he continues, “Last month he was found mutilated in his townhouse. Same deal, the door was locked, the alarm was on.”

“Is there any connection between the two of them?” Dean pushes, grazing over the newspaper. “Not that I can tell—I mean, not yet, at least. Ben was a banker, and Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common—they were practically from different worlds.”

“So, to recap, the only successful intel we’ve scored so far is the bartender's phone number,” Dean smirks. I sigh, it sounds more disappointed and tired than anything, “Dude, really?”

“Oh, come on, it’s true,” he defends with a smirk. I scuff, a retort dying on my tongue as Sam stands suddenly, his eyes locked somewhere behind his brother. “Sam?” his brother asks as he begins to walk away. Like nosy teenagers, Dean and I turn in our seats.

Sam stops at a table, his back to us and blocking whomever he’s trying to talk to. He puts his hand on their shoulder. It’s apparent the two know each other, especially when their arms are wrapped around him in a hug. Bare arms wrap around him, hands too feminine to not belong to a woman. I throw Dean a questioning look, maybe it was a family friend? But he looks confused and even skeptical as he stands and walks over. I quickly gather my book, their Dad’s journal, and any of the other papers lying around and shove them in my bag before following after the older Winchester.

The girl was quite attractive, with short blonde hair and dark eyes. A pretty smile plastered on her face and a cute frilly lilac shirt. “Oh, I did. I came, I saw, I conquered. Oh, and I met what’s-his-name, something Michael Murray at a bar,” she answers whatever question Sam had asked. “Who?” Sam asks, an equally big smile on his face. The girl brushes it off, “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I’m living here for a while.”

Suddenly, Dean clears his throat loudly, practically begging to be introduced into the conversation. I elbow him and ignore the look he gives me as I mouth ‘Let them speak.’ It was awkward enough just standing near them, off to the side as they caught up, and his attention-grabbing scheme wasn’t helping. He shakes his head at me, eyes wide and hands raised like he’s asking me why. I give him a pointed look, the reasoning should be obvious. “You’re from Chicago?” Sam asks.

“No, Massachusetts—Andover,” she clarifies. Her smile widens, “Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we’d run into each other?”

“Yeah, I know, I thought I’d never see you again,” Sam responded. “Well, I’m glad you were wrong,” she smiles. Dean clears his throat again, somehow louder, I shake my head with a sigh, he was not gonna give up. “Dude, cover your mouth,” the girl snaps and I have to stop my lips from curling into a smile. “Yeah, um, I’m sorry, Meg,” Sam starts, seemingly remembering to introduce the two creeps listening in on a conversation they should be allowed to be private, “This is my friend Y/N.”

I smile, extending a hand out of courtesy, “It’s nice to meet you, Meg.” Her hands are cold against mine, something like recognition passes in her eyes as she responds with the usual saying. Something deep inside my gut curls as I take her in, but I ignore it for now as we break from the shake. “And this is, uh…this is my brother, Dean.” This time her face lights up in surprise, eyes widening and brows shooting up, “This is Dean?” she asks. The man in question smiles with his usual charm. “Yeah,” Sam confirms.

“So, you’ve heard of me?” Dean asks, just a hint of pride on his tongue. Meg looks him up and down in one quick motion, her lips curling in disdain, “Oh, yeah. I’ve heard of you. Nice, the way you treat your brother like luggage.”

My lips part in shock, taken aback, I immediately look between both boys for their reaction. Sam’s eyes are wide, lips parted like she wasn’t supposed to say that, and Dean looks confused, eyebrows furrowed, “Sorry?” he asks.

“Why don’t you let him do what he wants to do?” she continues rapidly, “Stop dragging him over God’s green earth.”

“Meg, it’s all right,” Sam cuts in before more damage can be done. But the damage has already been done. Dean whistles lowly, “Okay, awkward. I’m gonna get a drink now,” he throws Sam a puzzled look before walking away. My eyes follow after him, the last minute felt like a whirlwind, before landing back on the couple in front of me. I eye Meg, what she did was so not cool on so many levels. “I…um,” I point towards the bar, after Dean, with a tightlipped smile, “I’m gonna…” I spin halfway on my heels, walking to the bar.

I take a seat next to Dean on one of the bar stools, a beer already clenched in his hand. The condensation drips down the brown bottle, dripping on the counter as he lifts the rim to his lips and takes a hefty sip. I want to say something–something comforting and helpful, but I know he won’t want to hear it. I could feel the frustration roll off of him in waves, but most importantly that hurt look in his green eyes. I lean into him until our upper arms touch for a moment before pulling away, a silent way of saying I was here with him if he wanted to talk about it or not. Either way, he isn't alone.

****

I push through the bar door before it can slam on me. Dean was walking quickly after his brother, his arm thrown out back at the building, “Who the hell was she?”

“I don’t really know,” Sam responds honestly, “I only met her once. Meeting up with her again? I don’t know, man, it’s weird.”

“And what was she saying? I treat you like luggage? What, were you bitchin’ about me to some chick?” Dean argues.

“Look, I’m sorry, Dean. It was when we had that huge fight when I was in that bus stop in Indiana. But that’s not important, just listen—” Sam explains, his voice calm and steady, before getting cut off by his brother, “Well, is there any truth to what she’s saying? I mean, am I keeping you against your will, Sam?”

He stops his brother, “No, of course not. Now, would you listen?”

“What?” Dean gives in, the word harsh as it passes his lips. “I think there’s somethin’ strange going on here,” Sam explains as we stop in front of the Impala.

“Yeah, tell me about it. She wasn’t even that into me,” Dean scuffs. I sigh for the umpteenth time today, “Seriously? Dean? That’s what you got out of that whole interaction?”

“I mean like our kind of strange. Like, maybe even a lead,” Sam clarifies before his brother can respond with some other stupid comment. “Why do you say that?” Dean questions.

“I met Meg weeks ago, literally on the side of the road. And now, I run into her in some random Chicago bar? I mean, the same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural? You don’t think that’s a little weird?” Sam points out. I nod, “No, yeah, that’s weird. I can't even imagine what the statistical percentage would be, 'cause that’s, like, really specific.”

“I don’t know, random coincidence. It happens,” Dean answers, shrugging. “That is some coincidence then,” I respond, not understanding how he couldn’t see or feel how weird it all is. “Sure, it happens, but not to us. Look,” Sam breathes, “I could be wrong, I’m just sayin’ that there’s something about this girl that I can’t quite put my finger on.”

Dean smirks, “Well, I bet you’d like to. I mean, maybe she’s not a suspect, maybe you’ve got a thing for her, huh?” Sam rolls his eyes and laughs, not exactly the most convincing response. “Maybe you’re thinkin’ a little too much with your upstairs brain, huh?” Dean continued, pointing to his head with a grin.

“Ew, why’d you have to say it like that,” I complain. He opens his mouth to respond with something when Sam cuts in, “Both of you do me a favor. Check and see if there’s really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, see if you can dig anything up on that symbol on Meredith’s floor,” Sam orders, his expression going back to being serious. “What are you gonna do?” Dean asks

“I’m gonna watch Meg,” he responds. Dean laughs, “Yeah, you are.”

“That was a really weird way to put it,” I add. He sighs, annoyed, “You know what I meant, I just wanna see what’s what. Better safe than sorry.”

“All right, you little pervert,” Dean comments, and Sam looks to me for help. I shake my head, “That wasn’t any better.”

His shoulders drop, “Dude.”

Dean laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulder, “We’re goin’, we’re goin.’”

I sit across from Dean at the given table of their motel room, a leg beneath me. Sam’s laptop is opened up in front of him and I have a creepy old book. The pages are crisp and browned, the cover a deep red with animal skulls and sigils engraved into it. It’s not the first creepy old book I happen to own from being in the family and it certainly won’t be the last. Luckily, it was mostly for show, the symbols there to keep out those who aren’t blood related—-my extended family really knew how to be private. Yet, this book held the answers.

Dean’s phone rings, breaking the comfortable silence we had been sitting in for the last thirty or so minutes, maybe more. He flicks his phone open, pressing a few buttons before placing it in between us. “Let me guess. You’re lurkin’ outside that poor girl’s apartment, aren’t you?” Dean greets.

“No,” Sam responds. Dean and I share a pointed look, it wasn’t like that was exactly what he told us he was going to do. “Yes,” he clarifies. “You’ve got a funny way of showin’ your affection,” Dean jokes.

“Did you find anything on her or what?” Sam asks, going straight to business mode.

“Sorry, man, she checks out. There is a Meg Masters in the Andover phonebook. I even pulled up her high school photo,” Dean informs, the confirmation hanging in the air for a moment before he continues, “Now, look, why don’t you go knock on her door, and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do, huh?”

“Maybe don’t knock on her door though ‘cause then she’s gonna ask how you knew she lived there,” I correct, “But you can text or call and ask!”

“That’s a good point, do that instead,” Dean adds.

“What about the symbol? Any luck?” Sam asks, ignoring our suggestions.

“Yeah, Y/N had luck with that one,” Dean starts, looking at me to continue. “Right, yes. Okay, so, it’s Zoroastrian, believed to be dated about two thousand years before Christ. The symbol we saw is a sigil for a Daeva,” I inform.

“What’s a Daeva?” Sam asks.

“They’re Zoroastrian demons, really mean, aggressive things. And if that’s not enough, Daeva translates to ‘demon of darkness,’” I explain.

“Kind of like, uh, demonic pit bulls,” Dean adds.

“Eh,” I shake my head, “pit bulls are cute and really aren’t mean.”

“You think everything’s cute, and demonic pit bulls would be aggressive,” Dean counters with a pointed look. “Alright, fine that’s true, I guess they would be,” I give in, ignoring the first part of his comment. “Anyways,” Sam cuts in, “How’d you figure that out?”

“I went through more books,” I shrug, “And don’t worry I will not be committing violent atrocities because I have tea!” I hold up the to-go cup with a smile even though Sam can’t see. “Oh! wait, speaking of Latin,” I start, putting the cup down and going back to being serious, “Daevas have to be summoned, conjured. Someone’s controlling it and it isn’t an easy thing to do, you don’t exactly tame them. It’s more like temporarily guiding their wrath, the second you slip up or whatever they’ll kill you with no hesitation.”

“These suckers tend to bite the hand that feeds them,” Dean clarifies, “And, uh, the arms, and torsos.”

“So, what do they look like?” Sam asks.

“Um, according to my great, great, great, great I don’t know how many greats Aunt you can’t actually see them, only their shadow,” I inform, moving my leg from beneath me to sit properly. “Good for lurking, not so great for us,” I add.

“That’s great,” Sam sighs.

“We can figure it out here. Now, why don’t you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?” Dean responds, giving his brother an easy way out to have…fun.

“Bite me,” Sam retorts, and I can almost hear his bitchface.

“No, bite her. Don’t leave teeth marks, though—Sam? Are you—?” he picks up his phone, confused, before hanging up himself. I give him a look, “Dude.”

“What?”

“So, hot little Meg is summoning the Daeva?” Dean responds after Sam spent a hot minute reviewing everything he witnessed. I take in the information, there was a lot of it. “Looks like she was using that black altar to control the thing,” Sam adds, still standing like he has too much energy to do anything else.

“So, Sammy’s got a thing for the bad girl,” Dean laughs, taking the time to point that out rather than the problem at hand. Sam rolls his eyes, irritation written all over his face. “And what’s the deal with that bowl again?” Dean asks.

“He said she was using it to scry. Now anyone can learn to scry you don’t have to be a witch even if that's what it’s commonly associated with. And you can use just about anything, usually mirrors or crystals– just anything reflective,” I inform, “I haven’t heard of someone using blood before, well, not unless you count seers or high priests back in the Medieval and Renaissance period, but that was small amounts of blood on a mirror and you said it was a bowl, right?”

“Yeah, she was talking into it. She was communicating with someone,” he answers. I wet my lips, thinking over everything I know, things I had to teach myself from countless books and journals. “With who? With the Daeva?” Dean asks.

“No, you said those things were savages. No, this was someone different. Someone who’s giving her orders. Someone who’s comin’ to that warehouse,” Sam answers.

“Scrying is usually used to locate someone or something–”

“Wait,” Sam cuts me off, “Why didn’t you try that with our Dad?”

“She did, it didn’t work,” Dean answers, sticking up for me. I nod, “It was the first thing I tried, your father didn’t—doesn’t want to be found. Although I know what he looks like it’s easier to use a personal item, which isn’t something available.”

“His journal,” Sam spits out, and for a moment I almost think he might be desperate to find his Dad. “It’s not that simple. It needs to be a personal item, not something that's been passed about. It’s been in your and Dean’s possession, it’s not personal even if it’s technically his journal,” I explain.

Dean moves back to the table we had been sitting at more than an hour ago, flipping through the files he had gotten. “And now back to the scrying,” I continue, “It’s mediums that do the summoning and communications with crystal balls because of the quartz acting as a divination tool. To use blood in a bowl?” I sigh, “I don’t know…It doesn’t really make sense unless she was using something else.”

“Holy crap,” Dean says suddenly. My eyes turn to him, Sam turning halfway around to view his brother, “What?” he asks.

“What I was gonna tell you earlier—I pulled a favor with my,” he clears his throat, eyes turning to the floor as he says, “...friend, Amy, over at the police department.” I ignore the drop of my heart, it isn’t the time and it isn’t like this is the first time. “The complete records of the two victims—we missed something the first time.”

“What?” Sam asks again, moving over to look at the records. “The first victim, the old man—he spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn’t born here. Look where he was born,” Dean directs. Silence envelops the room for hardly half a beat before Sam reads aloud the information, “Lawrence, Kansas.”

“Mmhmm,” Dean hums, picking up the next file, “Meredith, second victim—turns out she was adopted. And guess where she’s from.” The atmosphere seems to change, something heavy settling over us, weighing on our shoulders. “Holy crap,” Sam breathes, settling in the seat across from his brother.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, it is where the demon killed Mom. That’s where everything started,” Sam acknowledges, “So, you think Meg’s tied up with the demon?”

“I think it’s a definite possibility,” Dean responds. And there’s something about this moment that feels too final—a bad feeling. “But I don't understand. What’s the significance of Lawrence? And how do these Daaeva things fit in?” Sam points out, and I feel sick for a reason I cannot explain. “Beats me,” Dean answers.

My hands brace the edge of the bed on either side of my legs, a heavy feeling in my gut, “You are,” I breathe. I feel their eyes on me but it’s like I can’t or shouldn’t lift my eyes from the bland carpet. “It’s like this entire thing was a long line of dominos and it’s hitting now…this,” I force my eyes up to look at them, “this isn’t good.”

“You gotta give us more than that, sweetheart,” Dean pushes, their faces somewhere between nervous and taken aback. But the worlds were hard to form, it made sense in my head and I could feel it, this sick horrible feeling, “It just feels too connected, everything. Why your Dad went AWOL, why you got Sam, and why he’s sticking around, the connection around Meg, Sam’s forming abilities…this just doesn’t feel good.”

“You think it’s a trap?” Sam asks. I shrug, I don’t know what I mean other than I just have a horrible feeling, “Maybe.”

“Unless you got a better idea I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation,” Dean suggests.

“No, we can’t. We shouldn’t tip her off. We’ve gotta stake out that warehouse. We’ve gotta see who, or what, is showin’ up to meet her,” Sam counters, “And it’ll give us the upper hand if it is a trap.”

Dean seems to null it over before nodding, “Trap or not, I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t think we should do this alone.”

****

Nerves course through my veins, the bad feeling still there, and no matter how much I tried to reassure myself, it wouldn’t go away. I try to make myself look busy by looking through my spell book, while Dean calls his Dad, “We think we’ve got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom. So, uh, this warehouse— it’s 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can.” He hangs up, putting the phone in his pocket, and that twist of worry deep in his irises is enough to know he did not get an answer. The door opens slowly, a duffle bag leading the way in before Sam’s body follows in with more bags, “Voicemail?” he asks immediately. I put my book back in my bag, getting up to take one of the bags from Sam and carrying it over to one of the beds. “Yeah,” Dean answers before gesturing to the bags, “Jesus, what’d you get?”

Sam chuckles, “I ransacked that trunk. Holy water, every weapon that I could think of, exorcism rituals from about a half dozen religions. I’m not sure what to expect, so I guess we should just expect everything.”

“Well, you certainly are prepared,” I remark. All of us falling into the silence of getting ready for a hunt, preparing the guns–loading each one carefully. “Big night,” Dean says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah. ‘You nervous?” Sam asks.

“No. Why, are you?” Dean throws back.

“No. No way,” Sam answers. I look up from the weapon in my hand and eye the two of them, “In the hypothetical situation in which you were nervous, it would be okay to be, natural even.” I’m careful with how to frame the words, any other way and they would insist they weren’t, even if it was clear with how the stiff air moves around us. They don’t say anything further, letting silence envelop us once more for a beat before Sam breaks it this time, “God, could you imagine we actually found that damn thing? That demon?” The palpable hope in his voice makes my heart twist, it didn’t feel like this would be the end even if that would be the more convenient solution. But I don’t want to be the one to break his hope with being realistic. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, all right?” Dean replies.

“I know. I’m just sayin’, what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I’d sleep for a month,” he entertains the idea, “‘Go back to school—be a person again.”

“You wanna go back to school?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, once we’re done huntin’ the thing,” he answers. I admire his want for normalcy, the push for it. I wish it was that easy, though for him I suppose it is. “Huh,” Dean hums and his distaste for that answer is beyond clear. It was the making of a continued argument. “Why, is there somethin’ wrong with that?” Sam retorts.

“No. No, it’s, uh, great. Good for you,” Dean answers, not doing a great job of being convincing.

“I mean, what are you gonna do when it’s all over?” Sam asks, and I despise myself for not having an answer. “It’s never gonna be over. There’s gonna be others. There’s always gonna be somethin’ to hunt,” Dean argues.

“But there’s got to be somethin’! Come on, Y/N, I know you have dreams,” Sam reasons, roping me into a conversation that requires a lot more self-reflection than I want to deal with at the moment. I shrug with one shoulder, but my heart beats in that slow painful way when you know what you want but can’t get, when you yearn more than you are allowed to, “Normalcy isn’t really in my books….it’s not in my blood.” I bite on my bottom lip, containing feelings that could be opened for another night. “But you have them, don’t you?” Sam pushes. I peer up from the weapon in my hands, it feels heavier all of a sudden, “Um…yeah, I do have dreams…we all do,” my eyes flicker to Dean then down at loading the gun in my hands. There was a handful of things I wanted but wants often stay as what they are….wants. “Dean, there’s got to be somethin’ that you want for yourself—”

“Yeah, I don’t want you to leave the second this thing’s over, Sam,” he stressed, moving to a dresser that’s across the room. “Dude, what’s your problem?” Sam pushes. But Dean’s silent and I can only imagine what’s going through his mind. He turns back, “Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh? I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?”

This is the kind of argument I shouldn’t be in the room for, something that should be private but breaks out anyway. “‘Cause Dad was in trouble. ‘Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom,” he answers like it's obvious.

“Yes, that, but it’s more than that, man,” Dean presses, turning back to the dresser and then once more towards his brother, “You and me and Dad—I mean, I want us…I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.” Anguish was clear in his green eyes, his voice dripping with vulnerability, it wouldn’t be much longer till he was claming up again, putting on his hard man persona. I wish he would realize that while they were a family it wasn’t a good dynamic. Sam had every reason to want out, it was just Dean who was stuck in the construct his father had built. But that’s a difficult realization, it doesn’t matter how much others point out, though maybe I shouldn’t be talking. “Dean, we are a family. I’d do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before.”

Dean looks like his heart was ripped from his chest, though that would hurt less, “Could be,” he says sadly, a last-ditch effort at reasoning. “I don’t want them to be. I’m not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you’re gonna have to let me go my own way.”

Hands gripping cold metal. Up, up, up. I never thought I’d climb up an elevator shaft, but there are firsts for everything. Finally, my feet hit the landing and I silently squeeze through the space of the elevator gate following right behind Dean. Meg’s voice seemed to echo in the silent dark, her tongue twisting with the ancient language. It sounded like something close to Latin, but not quite.

We moved crouched down, strategic steps taken to make as little noise as possible, our guns drawn and aimed at her back. Creeping in the dark. We hide behind some crates, convenient. The sound of her voice stops, the candlelight from her altar dancing against the walls. “Guys,” she says suddenly. She knows we’re here. I feel the boys tense on either side of me, they shouldn’t be so surprised. Being right all the time is a curse at this point. “Hiding’s a little bit childish, don’t you think?” she drawls.

“Well, that didn’t work out like I planned,” Dean announces. Her feet shuffle, the room so quiet you can hear the very small miscellaneous gravel crunching with her turn. She must be staring at us, the crates might as well have not been there with the way I can feel her intense gaze through the wood. “Why don’t you come out?” she asks, her voice so smooth and so teasing. We give each other a look, a shared understanding before reluctantly coming out from behind the crates, guns still trained on her. “Sam, I have to say, this puts a real crimp in our relationship,” she purrs. Her yellow leather jacket standing out in the dark. Why’d she have to pull it off so well? “Yeah, tell me about it,” he retorts.

“So, where’s your little Daeva friend?” Dean asks, motioning with a nod of his chin.

“Around,” she muses, “You know, that shotgun’s not gonna do much good.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart, the shotgun’s not for the demon,” Dean smirks, and there has to be something wrong with me to think that was hot in a situation like this. “So, who is it, Meg? Who’s coming? Who are you waiting for?” Sam spits, question after question firing quickly.

“You,” she smirks, eyes feigning innocence. Something creeps in the shadows, my gun is launched from my hands. The sound of skin breaking echoes in the room, my skin burns. I land on my back hard, the cold concrete floor ricocheting in my spine, blood drips down my abdomen in the shape of a claw mark.

****

My eyes flicker open, something tight around me. “Well, look who’s up early,” Meg teases, leaning against the altar’s table, looking at her nails bored. I move my eyes across the room, Sam and Dean tied up on separate polls close to each other. A claw-like scratch mark ran across Sam’s cheek and another on the side of his neck. Dean’s temple bleeds, blood dripping down the side of his face, another on his shoulder. Both of them knocked out.

I was placed towards the middle of the room, closer to the altar than them, a stupid decision. Rough ropes bind me, just like them, another stupid decision. A decision that makes it clear she doesn’t know what I am. I peer down at my abdomen, my shirt ripped with a claw mark, my skin already pinching itself back together. “Early bird gets the worm,” I joke. She walks slowly over to me, eyes trained down to meet mine. It’d be so easy to get out of the ropes and have my hands on her, just hardly half a second. Was it worth it to wait? Would she spill her grand plan? They always do. “Do you always keep your guests tied up?” I ask, wanting to get her talking. She stops by my feet, and slowly, ever so slowly begins to kneel, my eyes following her movement down. “Only the ones that trespass,” she breathes, her eyes gleaming with something dangerously playful.

“You know, I have to say your whole plan was quite genius,” I start, leading her into confession, “Even the victims being from Lawrence, ‘nice touch, good way to draw us in.”

She smirks, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Hey, Sam? Don’t take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend…” Dean’s voice breaks through the room, “is a bitch.”

“You killed those two people for nothin’” Sam spits, ignoring his brother's comment. Her head lolls towards his voice, the smirk on her lips deepening. She turns her full attention to him, both boys now awake. She twists her body towards them, her hands now on the ground, on all fours she slowly crawls towards them, her back perfectly arched, “Baby, I’ve killed a lot more for a lot less,” she drawls.

“You trapped us. Good for you. It’s Miller time,” Dean smiles, “But why don’t you kill us already?”

“Not very quick on the uptake, are we?” she draws closer to him, leaning in, “This trap isn’t for you.”

“Dad,” Sam murmured, the piece falling into place, “It’s a trap for Dad.”

“Can we start listening to anything I say?!” I exclaim.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re dumber than you look. ‘Cause even if Dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn’t walk into something like this. He’s too good,” Dean points out, ignoring my wonderful point.

“He is pretty good. I’ll give you that,” she moves over him, straddling his legs and sitting right in his lap, “But you see, he has one weakness.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“You,” she breathes, “He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud his judgment. I happen to know he is in town. And he’ll come and try to save you. And then the Daevas will kill everybody…nice and slow and messy.”

“Why you doin’ this, Meg?” Sam cuts in, “What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?”

“I’m doing this for the same reasons you do what you do…loyalty. Love. Like the love you had for Mommy—and Jess.”

“Go to hell,” Sam spits.

“Baby, I’m already there,” she smiles, voice like velvet. She slides over to him, “Come on, Sam. There’s no need to be nasty,” she leans closer, her voice dropping, “I think we both know how you really feel about me. You know, I saw you watching me changing in my apartment. Turned you on, didn’t it?” She seizes something in her hand that I cannot see from here until it’s sliding across the floor. His pocket knife. But this doesn’t seem to interrupt her, like she expected it.

“Get a room, you two,” Dean groans.

“I didn’t mind. I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun,” wet noises fill the room as she places kiss after kiss on his neck. “You wanna have fun? Go ahead then. I’m a little tied up right now,” he remarks. She continues to kiss down his neck until the sound of metal against metal breaks through the noise of her kissing. She gets up and walks behind Dean’s post, taking his pocket knife and throwing it into the corner somewhere. She rounds the post once more, standing as she looks down at them, “You two never know when to give up, do you?” She spins towards me, “Wanna give up yours now?”

I smirk, slipping from the ropes easily, “Oh baby, I don’t need a knife.” I get up, the shadows rushing forward, I hold up a fist, halting their movements, like rabid dogs on a tight leash. Her face contorts in confusion, eyes widening, “Now you and I can have fun,” I tease, “Unless, of course, you don’t like getting your hands dirty.”

“Trust me, I have no problem getting dirty,” she answers, eyes moving slowly down my frame. The real trouble is deciding how to handle her, there is so much I could do without breaking a sweat, or I can stick to basic fighting—keep it fair. She rolls her shoulders back, raising her fists in a basic fighting stance. But, maybe it’d be good to send a message. Maybe it would be fine to play dirty just this once……

A purple-tinted fog seeps into the room, tendrils curling along the floor like ghostly fingers. A quiet breeze snakes through the room, an eerie whisper being carried with it. It shoots through the room, darkening, shadows stretching and deepening, the candles extinguishing with a soft hush. The confines of the room dissolve, leaving only the two of us in a void of darkness, smoke swirling around our ankles like serpents. Her hands drop to her side, eyes darting around the room, “What is this?” she snaps. Hushed whispers fill the air, a cacophony of chanting, the words overlapping and blending into a horrific murmur. I appear behind her, my hands gliding over her eyes like curtains blocking out the dim light, “Open your eyes,” I whisper. The fog thickens, rising like a living entity, coiling around us, higher and higher, until I too am swallowed by its depths and fall away.

Suddenly, the room flickers with a harsh, red light, pulsating in erratic bursts, casting shadows that dance wildly. She covers her head with her hands, folding into herself as she stumbles forward, trying to escape the terror. In the brief flashes of red, she catches glimpses of the Daevas— for her eyes to see only. Her scream pierces the air, raw and primal, as the true sight of the Daevas sear into her mind.

The smoke and visions vanish as a sharp crash reverberates through the room, the altar table crashing to the ground as she falls into it. Freed from their binds, the Daevas surge forward, dark forms slipping through the shadows. Scratch after scratch appears on her skin, the unseen monsters marking her flesh. She screams again, a desperate, guttural sound, as she is dragged by her ankles, her nails clawing futilely at the ground. With a final, terrifying force, she is hurled through the window, the glass exploding outward, shards glittering like deadly stars as she falls to her demise with a sickening thud. “Fuck!” I curse, running to the broken window, her body sprawled on the concrete, blood-forming beneath her. Oh god. With a distracted flick of my wrist, the ropes that held the boys come undone– the only tangible, helpful thing I could do. I messed up. I messed up. “I didn’t mean to,” I mumble, stepping away from the window, “I was just trying to show h–I didn’t me–”

“What did you show her?” Sam asks, moving past me to peer out the window. I tried to find an ounce of an accusatory tone, but there was nothing to find. “The Daevas, I wanted her to be as scared as those two people were when they died…But! I didn’t mean to kill her, I didn’t mean to, I swear.” A familiar hand touches my shoulder, but I move from his hold, I shouldn’t be touched. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we know you wouldn’t have done it on purpose,” he tries to comfort but I am not worthy of it. I want to tell him he’s wrong. I can do something like that. I just did it now, she’s dead and it’s my fault. I did too much. I shouldn’t have scared her like that, it was cruel and unnecessary and she might still be alive if I didn’t. He’s wrong. Dean’s wrong and Sam should accuse me, and they should be scared. I’m not who they think I am.

“So, I guess the Daevas didn’t like being bossed around,” Sam acknowledges as if nothing had happened, as if I didn’t just kill her. “Yeah, I guess not,” Dean agrees, moving over to stand by his brother at the window, viewing my crime, “Hey, Sam?”

“Hm?” he hums in response.

“Next time you wanna get laid, find a girl that’s not so buckets-o’-crazy, huh?” Dean smiles, walking away. I hear him picking up their discarded items, the guns, the duffle, Sam joining him. I hear the click of the heavy metal door, we could use the emergency stairs, no need to be sneaking around, “You coming?” Dean asks. I run my hands down my face, glad my back is to him, I won’t be able to repent for this sin. Dad would know how I could repent, or, at least make sense of it. “Uh, yeah, yeah,” I nod.

“Why didn’t you just leave that stuff in the car?” Dean asks as we move down the hall, forced to help carry heavy bags of weapons and other stuff. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again—better safe than sorry,” Sam explains. Dean leaves it at that as he unlocks the door, pushing it open for us. It felt wrong to talk so casually after the death of someone else, someone I killed. It didn’t matter whether I meant to or not because either way she was dead and it was all my fault. I didn’t deserve casual talk. I know things happen on hunts, you see a lot of things and do a lot of things and I've had my fair share of both, and I know you have to move on—holding on is what gets you killed. But it’s easier said than done, I can’t just forget I killed someone. My thoughts halt as do our steps at the sight of a man standing by the window, the dark cloaking him.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, his brother flicking on the lights quickly. The man turns, the new light illuminating his familiar features. “Dad?” Dean breathes the question, shock evident in the way the exhale passes his lips. Meg was right, he was in town. “Hey, boys,” he greets and like the spell of shock broke Dean and him walk towards each other. Their arms wrap around each other in a big bear hug. I may not like John Winchester, not one bit, but I’m glad he can have this moment with his Dad, where for just a moment everything’s alright.

They pull away from each other and his eyes finally land on his youngest son, “Hi, Sam.” They do not move to hug, not even a muscle, “Hey, Dad,” he answers softly. There’s an understanding that seems to pass through them with just that gaze, maybe they didn’t need to hug or maybe it was because John just wouldn’t. His eyes move to me next and he gives me a quick nod, an acknowledgement of my existence and I give one right back. “Dad, it was a trap. I didn’t know, I’m sorry,” Dean rushes to say.

“It’s all right. I thought it might’ve been,” he answers, a man who was always two steps ahead and then some. “Were you there?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I got there just in time to see the girl take the swan dive,” the memory of the glass shattering and her screams getting further away flashes in my mind, “She was the bad guy, right?”

“Yes, sir,” both boys answer at the same time, their tones the same- just like they were taught. “Good. Well, it doesn’t surprise me. It’s tried to stop me before,” he informs.

“The demon has?” Sam asks.

“It knows I’m close. It knows I’m gonna kill it. Not just excoriate it or send it back to hell—actually kill it,” he explains, words sharp on his tongue. “How?” Dean pushes.

John smiles, “I’m workin’ on that.”

“Let us come with you. We’ll help,” Sam insists, and I don’t miss the warning glare his brother throws him. “No, Sam. Not yet. Just try to understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don’t want you caught in a crossfire. I don’t want you hurt,” John reasons.

“Dad, you don’t have to worry about us,” he counters.

“Of course I do. I’m your father,” John pauses, and if I were a bolder person I’d list all the times just in the last couple of months where he clearly hadn’t been worried enough to show up when his own sons were calling for help— when one of his sons was on his deathbed, “Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replies.

“It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time,” he said warmly.

“Too long,” Sam answers, and finally they embrace, arms tight around each other. When they pull away the family shares a teary eyed look, a relief to be back together.

Suddenly, John is thrown sideways, crashing into a set of cabinets as Sam is thrown back against the door. “Frick!” I curse, one hand in a fist as I hold them back once more, this time they fight harder against my hold, tugging at it. “Dean! Get them out of here,” I order. He rushes to his Dad, throwing his arm around his shoulder as Sam shuffles his way up the wall to hold himself. The Daevas tug on my hold again, like rabid dogs pulling on their leash with bared teeth. “What about you?!” Dean asks from somewhere behind me.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I answer. This seems to satisfy him enough for him to continue to leave, it’s only when I’m sure they’re gone that I light up the room with a blinding bright light. Pure light beams from my free hand, growing until it reaches every inch of the room, like the sun rising on a meadow. I squint my eyes against the bright light, not wanting to risk closing them despite the pain of the light. Their tugs immediately stop, some feeling like they were trying to pull away. I keep it up for a count of 10, there isn’t a science to this other then shadows can’t exist without darkness. I don’t know if there is a ‘right amount of time.’ But, with the light so blinding and the tugging completely gone I decide they must be gone for good.

I shut it all down, no more emitting light and no hold, before rushing out the door and down the nearest stairs. My shoes hit the asphalt hard as I head to the Impala, hidden in an alley behind the motel. Immediately I see the group of boys and hurry my steps. “They’re gone,” I inform, my chest rising and falling quickly, “They shouldn’t be coming back, that should be it.”

“All right, come on. In case it isn’t over, we should go,” Sam urges, throwing the duffle into the backseat.

“Wait, wait, wait! Sam, wait,” Dean insisted, “Dad, you can’t come with us.”

“What? What are you talkin’ about?” Sam exclaims.

“You boys…you’re beat to hell,” John points out, eyes taking in each visible wound.

“We’ll be all right,” Dean convinces.

“I’ll take care of them,” I add, it wouldn’t be the first time I healed them and it would never be the last. “You shouldn’t even be here,” John bites. I give a tight lipped smile, the best I can do to not go completely off, “Yeah, well look who saved your life.” He opens his mouth to say some other harsh thing when Sam cuts in, arguing with his brother, “Dean, we should stick together. We’ll go after those demons—“

“Sam! Listen to me!” Dean yells, “We almost got Dad killed in there. Don’t you understand? They’re not gonna stop. They’re gonna try again. They’re gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad’s vulnerable when he’s with us. He—he’s stronger without us around.”

Sam shakes his head, not accepting this reality, “Dad, no” he puts a hand on his father shoulder as if willing him to say Dean was wrong, “After everything—-after all the time we spent lookin’ for you—please. I gotta be a part of this fight.”

“Sammy, this fight is just starting. And we are all gonna have a part to play. For now, you’ve got to trust me, son.” But Sam shakes his head. “Okay, you’ve gotta let me go,” John continues. The alleyway falls silent, the air thick with emotion that would not spill. Finally, Sam pats his fathers shoulder once, then let’s go. John and Dean share a look, then he walks to his truck, parked on the street just outside the alley. “Be careful, boys,” he says before getting into the old truck and driving away. Who knows when we’ll see John Winchester next.

[captainsimagines]

meet me in the afterglow || Halsin BG3 || Part One

Summary: She aided everyone, himself included, and he hated how useless he felt. But if he were to simply open his eyes, he would see that she too was losing her mind.

Pairing(s): Halsin x Durge Drow Tav

Trope(s): Slow Burn; Fantasy; Established Canon Scenes; Male Love Interest POV

Based on the Song(s): Afterglow by Taylor Swift

Total Word Count: 30,000 +

If you would rather read on AO3, here is the link

This is a single one-shot, split into 2 parts.

Warnings: This story deals with heavy sexual situations, strong language, canon-typical violence, self-harm, fantasy elements, emotional backstories, past memories of necrophilia, the "Dark Urge", "resist dark urge" storylines, past rape/non-con, attempted sexual assault, and minor character death. You are responsible for your own media consumption. This work is strictly 18+ only. This is purely fanfiction.

Author's Note: Look at me, venturing into a new fandom. Well, I've been apart of it since December, but this is my first BG3 fanfic! Don't ask why it's so damn long and why I didn't split it into chapters. Easier this way in terms of posting, lmao. Anyway, it's summer vacation, I've got my teaching credential and Masters degree, and we're writing fanfics again!!!!!!! If you're not typically of this fandom... Hop on this train, you will not regret it. Buy the game. I swear. Love you.

xxMoni

---

The first time Halsin heard Tav scream was during the invasion of the Last Light Inn, when Mol was snatched by a devil and Rolan dodged a blade as he reached to grab her. Tav had climbed the roof in time to see her being flown in the direction of Moonrise, and that was that. It was an angry scream, one that surprised him and Jaheira alike. Since finding Mol’s eyepatch and defeating Ketheric, Tav hadn’t made a sound resembling it. 

Good, he figured. There was no sense in acting reckless when the facts aren’t known, and a level-headed leader would serve the greater good. He had wanted to slip and scream his frustration for years now, but who would that benefit? Halsin found that if he and his companions held it in for just a while longer, then soon they could find peace, harmony, balance—he had to believe that.

For three hundred and fifty years, Halsin explored the minds, souls, and the willing bodies of countless people. He has taken and been taken, suffered and accepted, led and also been led a fool. Besides the shadow curse, there was nothing that truly haunted him to the very marrow of his bones. He was everything an Archdruid was expected to be, and that included being an expert at hiding one’s fear to level the playing field. 

But recently, he’s been haunted by an odd feeling in his stomach. Thaniel and Oliver were healing together, Ketheric Thorm had been defeated, and he and his companions were readying their supplies to take the two-night trip into Baldur’s Gate. There shouldn’t be anything else plaguing his muscles, and especially not his digestion. Not even the bear could truly keep food settled for long. He suspected that as the land healed, he felt it. He felt each vine untangle, each pebble overturn, each sick creature drain and die. He was usually familiar with plant life dying and sprouting anew, but this was something else entirely. It was the undead dying, the sickness shriveling, the living succumbing and promising their return. It was a sickness extinguished, a sickness that apparently needed to pass through him and any other person connected to nature in the surrounding area. 

He excused himself after dinner, and waited for the oddity to start.

Just as he nearly slipped into trance, the flap of his tent smacked him in the face. 

“Now that we’ve healed this land, where are you going to fuck off to?”

He grumbled, opening his eyes to meet those of a seemingly unbothered Tav. 

Halsin had a bit of a crush. A crush on the violent, self-serving narcissist drow who was going to get them all killed before they faced the real threat awaiting them in Baldur’s Gate. Granted, Halsin formed a bit of a crush on most people he encountered, but Tav was different. The feelings had snuck up on him.

Tav often spoke of utilizing the gifts the Dream Visitor had offered them, but he had never seen her actually consume an extra tadpole. Tav loved to fill Astarion’s and Gale’s heads about godhood, about revenge, but Halsin was there when she almost murdered Araj for suggesting Astarion bite her, and even accidentally wandered in on her and Gale watching the stars he had conjured. Hell, she was the first to grant Karlach that long-awaited hug. And when Shadowheart had the chance to prove herself worthy to her dark Lady, something raw flashed in Tav’s eyes. Something that ultimately persuaded Shadowheart differently. 

The only thing Tav had done recently that really pissed Halsin off was recruiting Minthara at Moonrise. What kind of person forgave someone who threatened a whole Grove? A whole civilization? His people.

But that was the thing: Tav was a person willing to forgive. Well, maybe not forgive. Forget, more like.

And he had forgiven her for the murder of Alfira because, Oak Father preserve him, he believed her confusion. Her surprise. Her… urges. Hells, he came close to killing Kahga back at the Emerald Grove. 

“Who says I’m fucking off anywhere else?”

Tav snorted, his curt response certainly something he’d been working on for a while now. He had remained civil with her, polite even. But the way she spoke to him had him questioning his abilities. He had cultivated mountains of patience over his long years, but she was just too good at breaking off pieces. No way she would be able to flatten him, but he worried himself over the prospect. 

“You’re seriously going to follow us to Baldur’s Gate?”

“I am no stranger to the city.”

Tav plopped down beside his bedroll and fiddled with the strap around his arm. He fought hard to keep so much as a twitch from his face. “It’s a shitty place. You’ll probably find one tree. Maybe two.”

“Do you want me to leave your side?”

Her expression held steady. “No. Just wondering what your plans were.”

Despite her attitude, Halsin had no doubts about whether or not Tav wanted him to remain. He never dropped hints about him leaving after the shadow-cursed lands were no more, and he completely expected to make the trip with everyone else. They helped him here, why wouldn’t he help them to the end? 

“Then you’ll have me. I will remain at your side until you have no use for me, or until my body can give no more. You need not worry about sudden disappearances or ill remarks from my end.”

She rolled his words around in her mind, the points of her ears wiggling slightly. “At least now I can see you in city clothes.”

He sat up slightly, his smirk wide. “Have you been fantasizing about what I would look like in such clothing?”

“Armor is a drag. I’ve been fantasizing what everyone would look like in silks and cotton.”

He hummed, settling back down and placing his hands behind his head. She definitely was a weird one. He couldn’t say for certain if she fancied him or not. She had inquired about past lovers, but hadn't pressed further when he mentioned bedding alone. She had joked about feeling lonely at nights and went so far as to wink at him, but she gave those same winks at Wyll. She had even fought to venture into the Shadowfell with him, but that same ferocity rose when she encountered Rolan fighting shadows alone. She was difficult to read, but he had only himself to blame. So occupied by the shadow curse, he had failed to get to know her. Or any of his companions, really. 

“I think I liked dresses before all of this,” she shared, surprising him. 

“What kind?”

She thought about it for a second, honesty in her lilac features. “The revealing kind. Where the lining dipped to my navel and my thighs were out.”

He was no stranger to such clothing. He had indulged in similar attire in his youth. “I imagine you would look beautiful in them.”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“But I think I also really liked elven armor.”

Halsin’s laugh came out as more of a grumble. “Is your drow armor unsuitable?”

“It doesn’t show off my curves.”

He couldn’t contain his smile. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that. Her tent was pitched near Astarion’s, so he doubted she was looking to bunk with him tonight. This was her routine every night—check in with everyone, speak for a few minutes, maybe share a bottle of wine, and return to her own bedroll. Except this is the first time since rescuing Thaniel from the Shadowfell that she visited him.  

It was something he had thought about during their long travels. Did he say or do something that made her avoid him? Did she consider him a burden, only adding to their troubles without the promise of a cure for the damned tadpole? Volo had tried to do what he advised against, and Tav sported a pale blue eye because of it. 

But it looked good on her. Anything blue looked good on her. 

“You’re allowed to hate me, you know.”

He blinked an eye open, studying her vulnerable expression. Besides making questionable decisions and being rude to strangers they encountered, it was not enough to make him despise her. 

“I do not hate so easily.”

“You hate goblins.”

“They threatened my people. People in need.”

She hummed, “Taking in Minthara was like a slap to the face then.”

“There are other things to consider. Such as, you did not risk the grove when you first met her.”

“I killed a tiefling out of pure blindness. In my own camp.”

“And do you regret it?”

“I—I think I do.” She shook her head, as if arguing with her thoughts. “I also really wanted to kill Isobel.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have.”

He sat up and sighed. Tav rolled her shoulders, uncomfortable with his closeness. He did his best to slide to the edge of his tent, but his frame wouldn’t allow much distance. “Are you here… to fight with me?”

Tav grumbled under a breath, avoiding his eyes. “Not exactly.”

He nodded, though confusion still weighed him down. “Then tell me how to best speak on this matter.”

“I don’t understand you,” she admitted, scooting to leave his tent. 

They had something in common, then. 

“When you’ve been alive for as long as I have, you come to understand those around you just a little bit more. Speak or don’t speak, I will not draw my blade. I know it is what you crave. You have fought everyone in this camp with your teeth, almost killed Gale when he confided in you about the orb, almost staked Astarion before you allowed him to feed from you. And you held a knife to my face when you rescued me from the goblin camp. If you wanted to kill one of us, you would have done it by now. If you wanted to kill me, you would have tried.”

Tav laughed and crossed her arms. Halsin averted his eyes from her muscles. “Tried,” she drawled.

He smiled again. “You would not succeed.”

“I take that as a challenge.”

“Take it however you’d like,” he said, sighing as he rested his head back onto his bedroll. “Now, will I receive some peace and quiet tonight?”

Tav squinted her eyes, a glint of mischief peeking through her long lashes. “Annoying oaf of a druid.”

“Annoying brat of a drow.”

That made her grin, teeth and all. Then, quieter, honestly, “Maybe all that torture I endured made me forget. Maybe it made me the way I am. Better today, but…”

Gods, he almost forgot. The odd necromancer they had encountered beneath Moonrise. What she said she had done to Tav, over and over, he could not imagine. First to be kidnapped, reduced to a wailing mess, cataloged like meaningless scraps, and pinned back together only to be ripped open again? And still, Tav did not remember. Thank the Gods she didn’t, and that the necromancer’s slices were simply numb visions. But to smell your own blood on a mind flayer pod, to have a vague recollection of betrayal, to walk right back into your prison…

He kept his voice soft, and tried to make his eyes speak better words than what he could currently form. “Do you mean violent?”

Any ounce of wisdom he carried seemed to die in front of her. She made his tongue twist, his mind rattle.

“Perverted.”

He said, forcefully, “You’re not perverted.”

“That’s why I speak with you, Halsin.” Tav opened the tent flap and stepped through. Her smile dropped, and he was no longer granted the privilege of a real one. “You say all the wrong things.”

---

“I’ve thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.”

“You’ll find I’m exceptionally greedy,” Tav responded, clinking her beer with his wine. Rolan looked to the floor, fumbling as he tried desperately to flirt back. Halsin almost wanted to help the poor wizard, but that would probably do more harm than good.

“Darling, you’ve made the tiefling blush! How sweet!” Astarion observed, flicking his polished nails across his lips.

Tav shrugged a shoulder, then downed her beer in one go. “Don’t sweat it, Rolan! I have that effect on everyone!”

“Oh,” he lamented, his lips turning downward. Almost as suddenly, he corrected himself. Shoulders straightened, Rolan cleared his throat. “I thank you instead for clearing the road to Baldur’s Gate. When you can, make a visit to Sorcerous Sundries. I’ll give you a lovely discount on some scrolls.”

“Gale would certainly—”

“Gale would be appreciative indeed!” their resident wizard cheered, reaching to shake Rolan’s hand. “I plan on doing a little perusing of my own, of course. But any promise of a discount on some scrolls is certainly something I wouldn’t pass up! I say, Rolan! You and I need to speak one-on-one soon.”

Rolan stuttered over a breath. “That—Well, I’ll probably be preoccupied with my apprenticeship. But yes, that would be quite informative.”

“Gale, stop flirting with my favorite wizard. I wanted him in my bed, not yours,” Tav joked, winking at the blushing tiefling. Cal and Lia, listening at the other end of the bar, sputtered through their drinks.

Gale gasped, “Your favorite wizard? My word, how ugly of you, Tav! I thought we had something special.”

“Your—Your bed?” Rolan choked out, his smile growing. Halsin looked to Tav to tell her to cut it out, but what he saw was… authentic. Tav wasn’t joking, nor was she toying with the tiefling. She genuinely wanted to spend a night with him. Their banter had stretched from the grove to these cursed lands and Tav was nothing if not direct with her intentions. 

He and Tav shared banter… So it led Halsin back to his looming questions with no answers. Did he say or do something that made her avoid him? Was he a burden?

“Offers on the table, Rolan. I don’t ask twice,” she teased, ignoring Astarion’s gag and Gale’s responding chuckle.

“That sounds—” Rolan started, but his attention was pulled by a few of the tiefling children running up behind him. In their flurry of questions, he met Tav’s eye. “Apologies.”

Tav waved a hand and tried her best to smile at the children, who were now pulling at Rolan’s robes. Cal and Lia came to his aid, even going so far as to grab the children around their waists and run in the opposite direction. 

Rolan cleared his throat. “As much as it irks me to admit… I hope our paths cross again in Baldur’s Gate.”

Tav let her disappointment show for half a second before turning in the direction of the exit. Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel had claimed Isobel’s old room, while Wyll, Astarion, and Gale claimed the room where Art had been resting. Halsin had already mentioned he wasn’t going to rest tonight so he could help the tieflings pack, but he wondered where Tav was going to sleep. The only other room still standing was currently occupied by Rolan and his siblings, while the tiefling children were bunking with Dammon in the barn.  

Halsin quickly caught up with her, clearing his throat to gain her attention. “You were very forward with the tiefling.”

Tav shrugged, stripping her gloves from her sweaty hands. “We could die tomorrow. Might as well let my true desires show.”

“And that’s what desires you?”

She smirked. “Got something against tieflings? Or is it wizards, Halsin?”

“Not at all what I meant.” 

He followed her quietly until she led them to the lake’s edge, just a few feet away from Dannis and Bex. Tav chucked her shoes off and tore the corset from around her waist. It was a black and red corset she had looted from Minthara’s office back at the goblin camp, but her fellow drow seemed to not recognize it. Since rescuing her, Tav had made it her mission to try and get Minthara to notice. As if to say, I rescued you but I also bested you once before. Though he hardly spoke to the sharp-tongued drow, he understood her avoidance. Minthara had gained alliances in an unlikely place and vowed to fight by their side, an oath as strong as all others, and did not waste her breath on a petty argument. Especially an argument with her narcissistic Underdark kin.

“I meant to say, that I admire that in a person. I have been alive a long time and you so little, and yet you reach for what you want with ropes of experience.”

It was true. Halsin was no stranger to honey on the tongue or the caress of another. Sometimes he forgot that others have not racked up a roster like he had. Though, he wasn’t exactly keeping track. Every lover he had chosen had been sacred, willing, enthusiastic. It was nice to see others indulging, even if he did not feel the call right now. 

The bear hadn’t felt the call for a while now. Even back in the Emerald Grove, his only companion had been his hand. He didn’t know what changed. 

Tav sat down and leaned back on her hands, watching Dannis and Bex as they swayed in each other’s arms. When they had rescued Dannis from Moonrise a few nights ago, Halsin had been witness to their emotional reunion at this very lakeside. With as many people on his mental list of lovers, it would make sense that he had been in love before. But watching them reunite and cry in each other’s arms… Halsin realized he had never felt love in the way one was supposed to. Lust, admiration, respect—those feelings he was familiar with. Feelings that were reciprocated and cherished. This was different, foreign. 

Was he broken? Had the bear truly taken over that aspect of his life so much? Druids became more like their wildshape the more experienced and older they grew, and it wasn’t unheard of that some animal attributes bled into their daily lives. Or their physique. Nature had been his one calling as Archdruid, and though the realization that he had sorely missed out on the connection Dannis and Bex shared plagued his heart, he didn’t regret devoting his life to the Grove.

“I woke up on that nautiloid with absolutely no idea of who I was. I knew my name, and that was it. Along with a burning rage and desire for blood, I strangely felt free. In a way. This is me letting loose. Being the person I feel like I could have been,” Tav explained, her brow furrowing. Dannis and Bex shared a final kiss before retreating into the inn, giving both her and Halsin grateful nods. Tav sighed, “My memories, or the scraps of them at least, are tainted in red. I want new colors, Halsin.”

He sat down beside her, drawing his knees up so he could lay his arms across them. “I always imagined the color of lust as a light purple. When bodies connect in the most intimate of meanings, it is that streak of purple only the sky can mimic. A purple that only occurs in nature.”

“Poetic.”

“I’ll leave the poetry to Wyll.”

She watched the lake sway, now absent of dark creatures at its shore. He wondered if shadow-cursed creatures actually had also thrived underwater, but no one had reported such horrors. He wasn’t ignorant to think that the fish hadn’t shriveled, that the water wasn’t undrinkable, that the echoes of the Underworld hadn’t been waiting for bare feet.  

“I gave you all colors, you know.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “Karlach is pink. As much as my blood yearns for the blood of others, I do not like the color red. Karlach is pink because she makes the darkest of places lighter. She makes my days lighter.”

He wouldn’t have assigned her that color, but Tav’s reasoning made sense. Karlach had a lot of blood on her hands, but blood would fade the more one scrubbed. 

“Gale is purple, of course. That damn robe he got abducted in is scorched into my brain,” Tav laughed. “Astarion is a dark blue. When I look at him, oddly enough, I have this intense feeling that his eyes were blue before he was turned. Blue like the sky he’s been cherishing these last few months.”

Halsin would be lying if he said Gale in purple didn’t stir something within him. After acquiring new robes or armor, Halsin always volunteered to dye it. Purple was instinct for Gale, but he had always found himself dying Astarion’s clothing red. Perhaps now he would reconsider.

“Lae’zel is orange,” Halsin added, grinning when Tav clapped her hands and cheered.

“Exactly! She doesn’t touch any other fruit besides those!”

He continued, ignoring the odd jump of his stomach. “Shadowheart is the color white. Her new hairstyle has nothing to do with it. You know, I was nervous when I saw her leaving camp with a dagger tucked away. Glad to know my nerves were unfounded.”

“Black washed her out,” Tav agreed. Her smile faltered as she picked around the dirt absentmindedly. “Black, however, is Minthara’s color. She radiates such… torment. Mentally, that is. As much as she tries to mask it, I can see right through her. And I think she sees right through me. We’re both terrified, and too angry to admit it.”

Terrified. In all the time he had been traveling with his companions, Halsin didn’t stop to think about what would happen if they lost. Tav had created this image of pure leadership, where everything that needed to be solved had a simple solution. Even Lae’zel portrayed as much. He did have moments where Tav’s questionable actions led him to believe someone would die, but not that anyone would kill them. 

“You just admitted it to me.”

Tav grumbled, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them. “The Oak Father will have your balls if you utter it to anyone else.”

“Didn’t know he answered to you.” He couldn’t help the blood flushing his cheeks.

“The gods love to hear me whine.” Tav's sarcasm coated her words and eye roll alike. Then quieter, angrier, she said, “I remember screaming for some.”

His chest caved in slightly, a burst of sympathy melting along his ribs. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when he was tied to that bedpost in the Underdark. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when the shadow curse prevailed and his fellow Druids didn’t run fast enough. He had believed the Gods abandoned him when the last of his family passed and he lowered them into the ground. But ever since, the Gods have answered his prayers. His Drow patrons couldn’t keep their disputes civil and he escaped after three, confusing years. He had sprinted fast enough to avoid the dark tendrils lapping at his paws and was fortunate enough to lead Rethewin’s survivors to safety. He was able to say a final goodbye to his mother. Even now they listened when he was rescued from that horrible goblin camp.

He didn’t quite catch if the Gods had answered any of Tav’s prayers yet since she herself doesn’t remember anything that happened prior, but he had it on good authority that every battle they’ve survived since had been blessed.

“And Wyll?” he asked, his tone softer as he reverted the topic of discussion back to color assignment.

“Green,” she answered quickly. “He reminds me of a park I used to walk around. A distant memory, a broken one. But I see him sitting in that green field, surrounded by wine and grapes and a lanceboard.”

He hadn’t spoken to Wyll all that much yet. Karlach and Gale were the two he found himself conversing with most often. Wyll always spoke of Baldur’s Gate, and though Halsin enjoyed hearing about their companions’ lives beforehand, he found that he did not have kind feelings for Wyll’s father. When he tried to maneuver the conversation away, Wyll always brought it back. 

And it made sense. Just as Halsin was preoccupied with the shadow curse and his role in its creation, so was Wyll and how he would prove to his father that his transformation was for the good of his citizens. Perhaps when his head was clear and his father found acceptance, Halsin would be able to speak to Wyll freely. To speak without thinking about how the city would be better off in Wyll’s hands instead.

Halsin wanted to punch Duke Ravengard in the fucking face. 

“And me?” he asked.

“Guess.”

“I assumed green, to be honest.”

Tav shook her head. She turned to him fully, the lilac of her face bright beneath the moon. For the first time since they had met, she showed him vulnerability. He knew it was killing her to do so. “You’re gold.”

Something foreign fluttered in his chest. “Gold?”

“You shimmer when you wildshape. But also, when you’re standing in the sun, your gray hair shines gold instead. You’re so damn joyful all the time and it reminds me of the sun. You’re sunlight incarnate, Halsin.”

He had been called wise, inspirational, large, and handsome. He had been called ruthless, uncontrollable, wild, and arousing. Never in his three hundred and fifty years had he been compared to sunlight, or directly called it. 

But he was sunlight to her.

She shook her head, a light chuckle beneath her breath. Then she stood and walked back in the direction of Last Light. Slowly, waiting.

“What color am I?”

She shifted her stance. Afraid of her own question, the answer it might bring. The truth of it. Halsin did not see her as a red tone. Far from it. Even her sleek red-orange hair wasn’t enough to classify her. Though red yearned for her, she did not want to claim it. There was a fire behind that fight, a fire that licked higher the more she resisted its call. Even in the midst of battle, drenched in blood, she did not harvest its bounty. Her and Gale were always the quickest to the stream, washing away the brutality. Gale out of pure disgust. Tav out of need. 

“You and I are at odds most of the time. We are two colors that clash, yet find a way to coexist in one setting. You are silver, Tav. The same color as your sword, of the lash of your words, of that fire in your eyes.”

“A silver menace, am I?”

He shrugged, too in his own head to truly argue it. “Silver is also the color of the ripples in water.”

“Ripples are the consequence of a disturbance.”

“They are proof of influence.”

She crossed her arms for warmth. Backing away, she pointed one finger at the sky, her grin nearly obscured by shadow. “And the color of the moon.”

---

The second time Halsin heard Tav scream was in camp a few nights later. A breathless one, but no less bone-rattling. The sound reverberated into his bone marrow, sucking out half and poisoning the rest. His first thought was Mol, that he had to save her this time, that a repeat of the grove was unacceptable and he finally had a chance to make things right. This was a job for the Archdruid. No tiefling would hurt under his watch. 

His second thought was that Tav was dying, and he needed to get up so his silver menace had a fighting chance. 

“Get away from him!”

Halsin woke from his meditation and caught a glimpse of a short, gray creature scurrying into the bushes. The further it retreated, the quicker its laughter came. A sound that scraped against his spine-bones, horribly akin to a goblin’s. 

He looked over his shoulder and watched as Tav held her shaking hands in front of herself. She breathed slowly, shutting her eyes as whatever troubled her began nudging at her once confident composure. 

“Tav?” he said lightly, slowly standing to his full height. In the campfire light, she was beauty incarnate. All her fine features threatened to stop his heart, his senses. And when those senses catapulted themselves into his brain, he saw pure fright on her lovely, scarred face.  

She trembled as she stepped closer to him, gagging on her next words. “Restrain me.”

“What? What’s happened?”

“Halsin,” she croaked. She glanced around camp, fidgeting even more as Shadowheart and Astarion poked their heads out from their tents. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to give into these urges if you don’t restrain me. I can’t control it—I’m trying—but I’m going to slaughter you in your sleep and all of your thoughts about me will be true—”

“Calm, Tav. I am awake, I am unharmed.” He took a step closer. “These urges… They are the ones you mentioned when you asked if they were possible effects of the tadpole?”

“Halsin,” she whispered, terror laced within those two syllables. “You piss me off, but I don’t want to kill you.”

That made him chuckle. “I will not let you.”

As quickly as he finished that sentence he saw the glimmer of a blade behind her back. She lurched forward, aiming for his heart. He reacted too late, but not late enough to get stabbed. An arrow whipped between them and lodged in Tav’s shoulder, sending her to the cold ground. Halsin yelled, panic gripping his stomach from the sight of her blood. 

“Wyll, give me the rope,” Astarion ordered, his skin somehow paler. He threw his bow to the side and immediately began tying Tav’s feet together. Wyll held her down by the shoulders, cursing when she managed to twist her neck far enough to bite him.

“What’s happening?” Karlach demanded, running up to the group. Nervous, caring hands burned with panic instead of the usual fury.

Tav thrashed, screaming wildly as Wyll bound her hands. He did his best to lean down and whisper in her ear, his horn smacking her cheek. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know this isn’t right, I’m sorry. 

“Dear Gods,” Jaheira breathed. “Not another one.”

Halsin had witnessed Jaheira mid-battle and post-battle. He understood that the older druid put on a face, the same face he perfected when he was at the grove. To be stoic in the face of chaos, of evil, was a necessary talent. But here, Halsin saw the mask fracture as she examined Tav’s mannerisms, her moans, her darkening eyes.

“What does that mean? Speak plainly, Jaheira,” he told her. The jump in his voice surprised him.

She huffed, sliding to Tav’s left side so she could check her pulse. At the same time, Shadowheart casted a calming spell. “I have only met one other who resisted the urges. The call for murder, of blood on the tongue, of death in every orifice of the body.”

Minthara blinked, her brow scrunching. “It cannot be!”

The pure terror lacing Minthara’s exclamation—ice pricked his veins.

“A Bhaalspawn,” Jaheira confirmed. “A tadpole-infected Bhaalspawn, at that.”

“A Bhaalspawn?” Karlach choked, though Halsin swore it was on a laugh. “In our camp? If my parents could see me now! Oh, this would make for the best How was your day? story around the dinner table!”

Gale rubbed at his chest, an awkward sound coming from him before he spoke. “That means Orin knows her from before the tadpole.”

“It means Orin tortured her and planted the tadpole herself, I am sure. When she betrayed me, she spoke of another that I now know was Tav. What she did, how her screams sounded—I was not fully listening as she was making an example out of me as well,” Minthara shared, her tone deadly. It was the most Halsin had ever heard her say in one sitting.

“Why wouldn’t the Emperor say anything?” Wyll cursed, quickly snatching his hand back as Tav tried to bite him again.

“It wasn’t its secret to tell,” Lae’zel said, though there was more hatred in her answer than understanding.

Tav shot forward, headbutting Jaheira and flipping onto her stomach. Just as her teeth nearly plunged into Astarion’s forearm, the vampire smacked an annoyed hand to her forehead. “Ah, ah, ah. We ask before we bite.”

“The spell wanes. Calming her emotions is not possible,” Shadowheart said, gritting her teeth. Jaheira, paying absolutely no mind to the bruise on her forehead, took over for the cleric.

“Hit her over the head with this pan,” Karlach offered, offense painting her face after Gale smacked it from her hands. She went to retrieve it, this time holding it over her head so Gale couldn’t reach it.

“Jaheira and I will stay with her,” Shadowheart spoke, her worry etched deep in the frown lines by her lips. “We will need—”

“My sword is yours,” Lae’zel volunteered, pulling her blade out to lie across her lap. She sat with her back straight, eyes focused. A soldier on guard, disguising her concern for a friend.

Halsin and Wyll carefully flipped Tav onto her back. “Are we absolutely positive this is what afflicts her? Maybe she inhaled some spores from your pack—” he tried to reason with the older druid. 

“Urgh—To taste a druid’s blood would be a carnal delight—to dig his heart out from the depths of his ribs and feast upon the muscle. To mutilate his corpse over and over and over—”

Jaheira’s chuckle was void of humor. “Ignore the wisdom of an old crone, why don’t you?”

“Halsin, are you sure you want to listen to this?” Shadowheart asked.

Yes!—he wanted to scream—he was a healer, it was his duty, he would do it for anyone else.

But something else ate away at him as he watched Tav squirm and suffer, biting at her own cheeks when the absence of his flesh famished her. This felt personal somehow, as if everyone else was merely an obstacle on her way to him. He was her target. 

Yet, he didn’t feel threatened. If he was her target, then so be it. She was the one person his body wouldn’t let him abandon because it knew she wouldn’t abandon him.

Tav choked on her saliva as she yelled, “Your bones would be put to good use inside my—”

“I can handle it,” he announced, the nerves in his shoulders loosening. Karlach and Wyll reluctantly returned to their tents as Halsin settled down beside Jaheira. 

“Come back to us, little one,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper. “I know you are still in there.” 

Tav whimpered, registering his attempt at calming her. Helping her.

“Feel the grass beneath your cheek. The soil wetting your skin. Let the Oak Father tend to your mind. Let nature pull you from this dread. It can take it. You can will it.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

Astarion diverted his gaze, swallowing a gulp of air his body didn’t need. He blinked rapidly before stalking into the trees, Gale trailing close behind.

Tav was his best friend. Devastatingly enough, the one friend here who had not yet claimed their own autonomy. Someone who was being controlled, forced to move and act at the will of another. His spawn blood stole his choice and allowed others to steal bits of his soul. Tav’s tainted blood stole her choice as well, but forced her to steal the souls of others. 

To be at the will of something sinister, to be forced to say and do awful things because something compelled them to… Halsin’s heart clenched at the comparison. But it leaped as it finally understood why Tav and Astarion were attached at the hip. How they could possibly heal each other. 

According to Tav, Halsin said all the wrong things. Maybe Astarion was her one source of truth.

“Do not apologize to me. There is no need.”

“I am sick.”

“You are fighting,” Jaheira clarified.

Tav sobbed, whipping her head from side to side. “I’m sorry, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart waved a hand, her smile small. “I didn’t feel like sleeping, anyway.”

The hours passed slowly, painfully, until the worst of it cleared. Lae’zel woke Karlach and Wyll to inform them, and Jaheira retreated to the dimly lit fire to regain some strength. Shadowheart sat back and waited, another spell prepared. But Tav sat up with her help, then calmly sent her away. 

It was just the two of them, quiet enough that Halsin could hear the beat of her heart.

She breathed in deeply, her burnt-orange hair falling across her face. She looked so… small. Defeated. Nothing like the fighter she had presented herself to be these past few weeks. Sweat stained her night clothes, yet she dug her toes into the dirt to find a sliver of warmth. 

“They say silver is supposed to keep evil spirits away,” Tav laughed brokenly.

He nodded. “That they do. That it does.”

“And yet, I can still see myself in the mirror.”

Halsin didn’t think she was trying to insult Astarion in the same sentence, but he understood what she was trying to say. A vampire equaled an evil spirit, and thus Astarion couldn’t see himself in mirrors. What plagued Tav was evil no doubt, and yet she was forced to see herself.

“Silver also promotes healing.”

She shook her head. “That’s your job.”

After a long pause, she whispered, “No one can heal from this. He’s in my blood. I am his.”

They didn’t say anything else. 

Tav watched the weakening flames until the sun came up, and Halsin watched her.

---

“Um, excuse me? I can’t find my mum.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

Honest to the Gods, Tav could have simply smacked the poor girl and the physical lashing would have been less traumatizing. The young girl visibly recoiled, taking a small step back and almost tripping over her orange cat. Halsin reached out, but she moved further away.

Minthara snickered at Tav’s comment, though she didn’t aid in the verbal beating of the child herself.

“She had these spots all over her face and chest. She went out for some herbs and was supposed to come back already. Said she’d be four days at most. That was a tenday ago, though,” the girl mumbled, Yenna, and played with the loose thread of her sleeve.

“Sounds like your mom’s dead.”

“Tav!” Halsin scolded, something alarmingly bold rising within him. Tav made no indication she was affected by his outburst. Neither did Minthara.

“May I remind you you’re speaking to a child. In the middle of a refugee camp,” Gale said, brushing his hand through the warm air. His tone was lighter than his own, thankfully. The only other time Halsin had seen Rivington so crowded was days after the shadow curse rippled through the land and pushed the first round of refugees in.

“Which makes my observation that much more factual,” Tav stated, boredom polluting her fine face.

Astarion choked out a laugh, resting a delicate hand over his heart. “Oh, darling. I’m sure we can find you another squirrel to kick that doesn’t have opposable thumbs.” 

Tav rolled her eyes. Astarion continued, “You were so quick to shelter poor Arabella. What’s different now?”

“I would die for Arabella. I don’t give a shit about her.”

Yenna, surprisngly, chuckled. Tav snapped her gaze to the girl, raising an eyebrow. 

Halsin cut off their line of sight, stepping in front of Tav. He asked, his tone ghostly like a warning, “Do you give a shit about children?” 

Again, Tav gave nothing away as to whether his threatening aura unnerved her. Instead, she side-stepped him and reengaged the girl. “What uses do you provide?”

“Gods, you’re miraculous,” Astarion swooned.

Yenna straightened, lifting her freckled chin. “I can cook.”

“Gale cooks for us.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Ah!” Gale bent a knee, the crack obvious. “That would be I! Do you know your way around spices?”

Yenna grinned, sticking her chest out as she placed her small fists on her hips. “Mum taught me! Said I could rival the best chefs in Baldur’s Gate someday!”

“It’s settled then! I have a new apprentice.”

Minthara clicked her tongue. “One more mouth to feed.”

Gale gave Yenna a miniature version of their map and showed her where to find their camp. The girl scurried away, calling after her cat. Minthara and Astarion quickly left as well in search of some fashionable day clothes, leaving Halsin to deal with Tav’s attitude. 

The drow watched as Gale engaged in yet another bright conversation with a local, her scowl deepening. Confusion settling in.

“What color does the girl give off?” he asked her, a futile attempt to quiet both her annoyance and his anger. She stayed watching Gale and did not move when he settled right beside her, their shoulders brushing.

“Don’t know yet,” she said. 

He shook his head. Though it didn’t measure close, Halsin was slowly approaching the level of outrage he had felt when confronting Kagha. “You were too harsh.”

Tav hummed, then turned to strut down the hill to buy some fish. Completely insensitive and horribly remiss. “Best show her what to expect from me early on, no?”

She handed the fisherman some coin and waited as he bundled the fish. His stomach grumbled, but it wasn’t enough of an attempt at distracting from the matter at hand. 

“Lay aside your pride for a moment. Show kindness to children, would you?”

“That’s your job. Not mine. I have bigger matters to attend to.”

Whatever happened to the gut-wrenching apology she spewed a few nights before? What happened to the kind soul he saw save the tieflings twice over without question, the soul who defended Astarion every chance possible, the soul that almost regurgitated her breakfast while building the courage to tell Arabella her parents had died? 

“I didn’t think you so ugly.”

He said it before his mind weighed the consequences.

“Oh? Well, I know that’s not true. I have plenty of suitors. I have fucked plenty of people. No complaints.”

A mask just as fitted as Astarion’s, it seemed.

He followed close behind, sneaking a refugee some coin as she traveled the road back to their camp. He called out, but she did not turn to him. 

“Your beauty is not what I am commenting on. You are turning ugly inside, and I do not blame your blood for it. No sane soul deprives a child of food and shelter, even if it’s for one night.”

She shrugged, her hair blowing in the wind.“I am not sane. Don’t you get it, Halsin?” 

He nearly ran into her when she stopped and turned, crossing her arms in defiance. “I am weak, and I will give in to these urges soon enough.”

He snarled. “I didn’t take you as fragile and pathetic.”

Her eyes flickered with something… pained. As if he stung her. Then as quickly as it appeared, it disintegrated into the poisoned pot she stored most of her emotions in.

“Maybe I should have killed you the other night.”

“Strike me with your words all you want. I can take it.”

But it actually did strike him deep for some reason. So badly it nearly made him wince. She laughed, the sound piercing through the air and slicing him in two. 

He didn’t talk to her the whole walk back.

---

“Do you hate me?”

Halsin perked up at Yenna’s small voice. He nearly fell forward with the weight of his head as he forgot he was lounging in wild shape by the campfire. He located Tav and Yenna by the barn, Scratch and the unnamed owlbear running circles around them. 

“Hate is a strong word,” Tav mumbled, the cleaning of her boots uninterrupted as Yenna sat down next to her on the log. She kept a respectable distance, twiddling her thumbs. 

“I seeked someone kind-looking,” Yenna explained.

“I am quite beautiful.”

“I didn’t say that.” To that, Tav did halt her work. She turned to meet Yenna’s eye, the poor girl trembling as she tried to redeem herself. “Wait! I only meant that you looked kind, too.”

Tav straightened, her brow scrunching. “I’ve never been told that.”

“Don’t your friends tell you?”

“They’re not my friends.”

A blatant lie, Halsin thought.

Yenna frowned. “Oh. That’s sad.”

Clearly exasperated, Tav set down her boots. “What do you want, Yenna?”

The girl’s blue eyes widened, a small smile sneaking onto her face. “You know my name.”

“No, shit. I have functioning ears.”

“Well, if you don’t hate me, then why were you so mean to me?”

Tav shrugged, but didn’t pick up her boots. Instead, she leaned back and pulled her long hair into a bun. Yenna watched her, fascinated by the fair highlights in Tav’s hair. Yenna had mentioned to him that her mother kept her hair short out of necessity, that it was easier to steal the essentials without the threat of leaving a strand of hair behind. Now, Halsin bet she would grow it out.  

Tav, the silver ripple in the water. 

“I’m dangerous, kid.”

“There’s a bear in our camp right now.”

“Besides that.”

“And a Sharran—”

“She’s reformed.”

“And a vampire!”

Tav pointed a finger. “The kindest vampire you’ll ever meet, too.”

“How can he be kind, but you are not?” Yenna argued, squinting her bright eyes. Tav met her stare, unfaltering, and in that small moment Halsin recognized Tav’s unmistakable admiration. With Mol, that admiration spawned the moment she foolishly asked for her to steal the idol. For Arabella, it had been when Tav found her parents in the House of Healing—the knowledge that it would crush her spirit, but not her soul. Yenna’s growing confidence in a singular conversation was what was winning her over. 

Tav sighed, angling her gaze to him by the campfire. Halsin quickly feigned sleep. “I almost hurt that bear for fun.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone had to tie me up and hold me down until my mind quieted.”

Shame laced each syllable. Yenna scooted closer to her on the log. “So, you were mean because you didn’t want to hurt me with your hands?”

“I’m surprised I haven’t killed the dog or the owlbear,” Tav muttered, then jutted her chin up, “Or that cat of yours.”

They sat in silence for a good minute, Yenna watching Tav continue to wash her boots and Tav side-eyeing the girl. 

Halsin actually believed he should have been harsher with Tav when they first encountered the girl, but perhaps he failed to see right through her. Tav had aided him always, aided multiple others and merely joked about coin in return. And when Tav had burrowed into his past, with his permission of course, and saw the weight of responsibility he had put on his own shoulders… They saw in each other what others couldn’t: the inescapable need to form such a mountain of righteousness so that it casted a shadow over their countless wrongs. But it was near impossible climbing the height they had measured themselves.

For what Tav had almost done to him, why subject an innocent child to the possibility?  

“Thank you for telling me,” Yenna said, then softly poked Tav’s upper arm. A childish gesture, one that seemed to shock Tav still for a moment. 

Clearing her throat, Tav said, “Just keep your distance from me while I sleep, okay?”

“Where’s your tent?”

“Right next to Astarion’s.”

“Good. Vampires don’t die easily.”

There was a noticeable quirk in Tav’s upper lip, a movement that had Halsin’s stomach swooping and the bear audibly groaning.

“Set up your bedroll near Karlach’s tent. She’s the only one here who is physically capable of stopping me.”

“What about the Githyanki?”

Halsin thought about it for a bit, too. If Tav were to have another uncontrollable episode and she did not provide them warning like last time, who would be able to restrain and who would succumb? Halsin would like to believe his reflexes were spotless, but he had been nicked in battle one too many times already. It was Astarion who watched his back, muttering about what a disposable, yet practical shield he had proven to be. Astarion could definitely outmaneuver Tav on dexterity and flexibility alone. Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart would probably react too late. Jaheria would put up a good fight. Lae’zel and Karlach were the only two Halsin knew could survive the bloodshed.

“Well, she camps far away from us,” Tav said, pointing to the tent closest to the barn’s exit. “Not because she doesn’t like us, but because if there’s ever an attack, she’ll swing first.”

“And she’ll go down first.”

Tav winced. “I think that’s how she shows she cares. It’s the only way she’ll ever let it be known that she’d die for us.”

Oak Father preserve him, he never noticed that before. The bear whined, and Halsin turned his heavy head to try and catch a glimpse of the fighter in her tent.

“I’m not so scared of you anymore,” Yenna declared, smiling brightly. She was missing her left canine. 

Tav hummed, “I’ll make sure to treat you extra poorly in the morning.”

---

“Final question,” the blacksmith said, his voice lowering an octave. “Would you be able to turn your weapon on those closest to you?”

Tav lifted her gaze, irises darkening. “What kind of question is that?”

Halsin made to step forward, but the blacksmith clocked the movement before he fully could. A twisted smile painted his sweaty face. Tav did not balk, nor did she raise a weapon. She merely inspected him, tilting her head to the side as if the angle offered more. 

“It allows me to know just how sharp I should make your blade, how heavy I should make the handle. Should your blade drive through the meat of the one you love most, oh so easily? So easily that the spray of their blood angles directly into your waiting mouth? Should I make the handle light so that when your troubled hands tremble, you are still able to strike true?”

Astarion shook his head as if the words he was hearing were coming from the tadpole itself. He muttered a quiet what the fuck beneath his breath.

“Forgive us,” Halsin interrupted, his face drawn tight. “But we are no longer in need of your services.”

The blacksmith took an audacious step right into Tav’s personal space. Halsin acted quickly, throwing his hands out to push at his armored shoulders. The blacksmith stumbled, but his smile did not falter. 

“You have already tried to steal this family’s breath, have you not? You have imagined what their insides look like, what wonderful necklaces you can wove from each string they offer?”

Halsin growled, his eyes burning gold. “I will savor your own if you do not walk away right now.”

Tav looked up at him, her surprise sincere. As if she truly believed he wouldn’t risk his life for hers. He had told her he would back in his tent in the shadow-cursed lands, promising his ears as well for when her mind needed relief. At this very moment, he would draw his staff and return whatever vile energy the creature before them harbored back to the Oak Father, where his vengeance striked true. Anything for her, for it was the least he could do.

But before anyone could pull a blade, the blacksmith cracked his own neck in a gruesome display of brute strength. His shoulders lifted then popped. His back bent forward, and his feet turned inward. And in a single burst of red, a pale woman stood in his place. Even paler eyes accompanied her vicious aura.

“Blood-kin! You would have this mountain of a servant speak for you?” she laughed, her sultry voice penetrating his chest. It made his heart beat wildly, made the bear cower. “Oh, but I do so enjoy the taste of druid.”

Tav snarled, her fists clenching as she stopped herself from striking a fellow Bhaalspawn. “Orin.”

“Took you long enough,” she judged, wringing out the final cracks of her neck. “It seems my poking and prodding did little to disturb your mind-matter. Or, did it?” 

She winked at Halsin, then circled the two as if they were trapped in a glass box. “Do you not remember who you are? Who we were? What you have done?”

“I remember enough.”

Orin giggled, and swiped a bloody hand across Astarion’s chest. The pale elf stood his ground, but Halsin saw the way his throat bobbed.

“Tell your orc to move aside. My eyes crave the fighter you have become. Though, I much prefer you dripping with innards.” Orin smiled until her red teeth practically took up half her face. A pretty face, Halsin secretly admitted to himself. But there was no lust behind that truth. She looked up at him, taking that same hand that touched Astarion and running it down his own chest. The armor protected him from feeling such grimy fingers, but she pushed and swiveled them the longer he stood still. 

“I can easily step through you,” she threatened, standing on her tip-toes so her foul breath met his nose.

“Step through me, then.”

When the feeling of her slick tongue met his chin, Halsin froze. His stomach dropped a million miles into the Oak Father’s soil, and his nerves splintered one by one. He was back in the Underdark, chained to the most spectacular of bedposts, throwing his head back in shame as the drow matron rode him, as her claws tore across his throat—

Tav gripped Orin by the back of the neck and flung her several feet away. Orin caught herself on an unfinished blade and used it to stand again, paying no mind to the slice in her palm. Her smile held, but a few strands of blond hair broke free from her neatly-kept braid. 

“Have you fucked this one, blood-kin? Have you sucked him dry? Have you come on his thin lips? On his wonder of a cock? Have you killed him, fucked his corpse, and revived him yet?”

“You truly are the bitch of the Gate, aren’t you?” Astarion bit, picking at invisible dirt beneath his fingernails. “Let it be known that if you step through the druid, which I would love to see if I’m being honest, you would have to go through me next. And I am very hard to kill, darling.”

“A challenge! To kill the undead over and over and over again! So many possibilities.”

“Yes, how wonderful. If your bitch-self is able to do that, you would then face the githyanki. And there, you absolute swine, is where you would crumble.”

Tav stepped in front of Halsin, even daring to raise a dagger at her sister. “They are not the only ones who would aid me in your defeat, Orin. I’ve recruited Minthara, and she holds the most brilliant of grudges.”

Orin finally frowned. “Father will see us battle soon enough, Tav. That is the name you chose for yourself all those years ago, no? Oh, wait. Excuse me. The name your mother chose for you.” 

Tav's jaw tightened. 

“How she screamed and whined and begged you not to kill her and your adoptive siblings. How she writhed even as Uncle lifted you from her corpse.”

“I look forward to sinking my teeth into your fucking neck, sister.”

“And I will writhe with the pleasure of it, my dear slaughter-kin.”

Orin disappeared, and Halsin regained feeling in his legs. He reached for Tav, and for the first time since they had met, he took her hand into his own. Her fingers intertwined with his, the size difference settling something dark within him. 

“I can teach you my technique,” Astarion said, his light voice clearing the stale air. “It’s all in the turn of your jaw, see. Then place your canines delicately over the carotid—”

“Tav,” Halsin whispered, squeezing her hand.

“She’s a shapeshifter. A fucking doppleganger. Orin can infiltrate our camp and kill us all.”

Astarion moaned, his worry expertly concealed. “She won’t be able to. We know one another.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “If I repeat it multiple times, maybe I’ll believe it, too.”

“You’re scared?” Tav asked, absent of judgment entirely. Her tone was more sad, if anything.

“She’s terrifying,” Astarion confirmed with a laugh. Then, more seriously, “And she will not touch you.”

Tav shook her head, her grip on Halsin’s hand strong. “I don’t think she’s going to stop coming after us until I accept her duel.”

“Dueling for what exactly?” Lae’zel finally sheathed her sword, but her yellow eyes followed each gust of wind, each insect that flew across her vision, each movement her companions made.

Tav grimaced as she said, shame dripping off the two words, “Bhaal’s chosen.”

Lae’zel straightened. “Is that what you want?”

“You have no opinion on the matter.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

Tav pulled her hand from Halsin’s, and he immediately felt the coldness seep through his skin. The action was almost enough to deafen him from Tav’s next announcement. 

“Let’s see what Gortash has to say.”

He scoffed, though he didn’t mean for the sound to signify displeasure. “His opinion is allowed?”

“He knows about Orin. More than me, considering. I should use all the weapons in my arsenal.”

It took everything in him not to outright fight her. Instead, he nodded and immediately regretted it. “You know best, I suppose.”

Her readied insult died as she didn't expect him to fold so easily. She was left looking up at him, studying his eyes for any change. She was fighting herself, fighting something besides her need to battle his every word. 

She cleared her throat, hiding from his gentle stare as she asked, “Could you make me that tea later? The one that’s a little bit spicy.”

He bowed slightly. “Of course.”

“And you—you can share a cup with me, if you want.”

Halsin swore the gold glimmer he possessed dripped along his ribs. “Until later then.”

He watched Tav walk away with Astarion at her side, their arms locked and her head resting on his shoulder. What he would give for that level of closeness with someone—with her, even—instead of people simply using him and vanishing within the month.

“She is strong. We are strong. We will assassinate Orin and leave a trail of blood for her followers to lick clean,” Lae’zel firmly established, her presence doing nothing to quell the sudden emptiness plaguing him. 

“Is it wrong to doubt our abilities?”

Lae’zel clicked her tongue. “Am I to give the old druid wisdom?”

He chuckled, “Advice, more like.”

Ever since embarking on this mission, Halsin questioned his right to give advice at all. The Grove almost fell because he went chasing after the past, he nearly banished Minthara without hearing her plea, and he allowed Mol’s capture because he was too enthralled by a comatose Flaming Fist. Jaheira could take up the mantle of wise druid. He wasn’t worthy of it anyway.

“There is no room for doubt in this fight. We must press on, and worry about the consequences afterwards. Pray that there is an afterwards, that there are consequences.”

He and Lae’zel decided to buy some desserts for the group, wholeheartedly believing that sugar might make everything weighing their shoulders down just a little bit more light.

---

“Tell me about your time in the Underdark, please?”

Halsin never thought he’d bring the topic up ever, especially to a friend. Sometimes there are things best kept hidden away for the risk of all the original emotions carved into his skin bleeding freely again. He had never told anyone, truly. When hinting at it, he kept the story brief. The more serious aspects were always downplayed, and he purposely skipped information so that he didn’t need to reteach himself how to forget.

But as he sat on his bed at the Elfsong with Tav cross-crossed on the floor, sipping the spicy tea he had made, he felt the need to tell her a little more. He had a feeling that she would be able to handle it, and that he would be able to bear the repercussions.

So he told her. Every last detail, down to the smallest he was sure he had forgotten a hundred years ago. But this time he could not smell the drow matron’s perfume, or taste the patron’s poisonous saliva. He couldn’t feel their lingering touch, no, not when Tav held out her empty teacup and softly asked for more. 

“Perhaps that’s why you hated me in the beginning.”

A genuine laugh jumped from his chest. He savored the growing smile on her lovely face. “I have never hated you. Was I skeptical about a female drow saving me from the goblin camp when Minthara camped right upstairs? Yes.”

She smirked, then took a long sip of her filled tea. The events from earlier that day had seemed to evaporate in each sip, and it made him damn near giddy to know it was his tea doing that. 

Tav caught herself before she could lower her gaze, her eyes meeting his hazel ones. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Though it was something plenty of people had uttered before, it still gave him a sense of calmness. Of reassurance. “Once you’ve lived for as long as I have, bad memories begin to turn into something distant. Numb, almost. And with enough time, their past associations change.”

“You’ve… you’ve convinced yourself it didn’t happen?”

No. Triggers existed, but they were rare for him. Orin’s tongue had transported him to that bad place, but Tav’s touch brought him back. “More like I have convinced myself that it was not as bad as I once thought it to be.”

He survived. And though it was entirely non-consensual, he had enjoyed some days. There was shame in that, shame he will carry forever. 

“It wasn’t your fault. You deserved better, Halsin.”

His shoulders fell before he could collect himself. Tav noticed, like she always did. 

“You did what you had to in order to survive, and they met a violent end. A fitting end.”

He actually never found out what became of his captors, but it wasn’t likely they survived a week-long ambush. “I—Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

“The stress of today. Of yesterday. Of what’s to come. It’s really taking its toll.”

She nodded, looking down at her tea. “Don’t tell anybody this, but I’m terrified of what’s to come.”

The pure honesty in her voice… Halsin couldn’t breathe. 

“If you ever suspect I am Orin, ask me what Shadowheart’s favorite flower is. It’s a night orchid.”

The thought of Orin infiltrating their camp at all was enough to frighten even the bear, so much so that when Halsin attempted to bring him forward, that gold glimmer sparked and faded at his fingertips. 

“Shouldn’t the question be about you instead?”

“Shadowheart has only ever told me that. It’s one of the only things she remembers about herself. Orin would never know.”

Smart. He tried to think of something his companions had told him in secret, or something he had told them, but his mind fell blank. It wasn’t that he failed to get to know them properly, but that whenever he would lend an ear, he was simply the first of many. Which, in retrospect, was a proud thing. They were comfortable telling him first, but he did not hold their secrets for long. 

“If you ever suspect I am Orin, ask me about my mother. If my response isn't that she's doing well, you will know.” He was harboring no secrets of his own, besides the stirring of his heart for the drow sitting in front of him. “Everyone knows I am the last of my line. Orin would know it.”

“And if she takes someone else’s skin?”

���You know your companions well enough, no? It was me you were having difficulty with.”

Tav chuckled, and gulped the last of her tea. Standing, she went to grab his empty cup from his hands. “Thank you for the tea, Halsin.”

And before his mind could attach its wits to his mouth, he softly returned, “Anytime, my heart.”

Tav stilled, the cups rattling against each other as she held them close to her chest. Halsin counted the passing seconds, grappling with his common sense as his mouth formed around invisible words. 

Since joining this merry journey, his wisdom had plummeted to the depths of the Nine Hells. Stupidity flourished in his old, druid soul—

Tav scurried back to him, a dark blush coating her entire face. She planted a quick peck to his cheek, right on his tattoo. 

The gentleness of it lingered until he fell into a deep trance.

---

“Get away from me!”

Halsin startled awake, tripping over the damned sheets of his bed. He had never had blankets before. Or a mattress. Sure, when he shared beds with lovers he rested for a few hours, but he did not indulge in city culture while at the Grove. The only person who had a mattress was Nettie, and only because her back needed the support. 

Halsin wiped at his eyes to find Astarion backing away slowly, finding refuge by Tav’s bed. When the back of his knees hit the mattress, Tav stirred. She was up in an instant, a dagger pulled from underneath her pillow. 

“How in the Hells did you get in here?” she hissed. Meeting his eye across the room, he understood the signal to wake the others. One by one, as Tav and Astarion attempted to calm his siblings, Halsin shook his companions awake. Lae’zel and Jaheira took to the dark corners, Wyll and Gale spread out but lay low, Shadowheart drank a potion of invisibility, and he, Karlach, and Minthara picked up the heaviest of weapons to stroll straight into the quarrel with. The other vampires stared at them with bright, glowing eyes. Bristling, nearly twitching with each excited breath they took. 

Why didn’t Astarion’s eyes glow? Had the tadpole taken that feature away as well?

Tav succeeded in persuading Leon and Aurelia in seeing the truth behind Cazador’s lies, much to Astarion’s displeasure. He wanted her to lie, to tell them that they could all ascend by killing Cazador together. Halsin’s chest seized as he witnessed the craving of power in Astarion’s demeanor, and as he caught Tav hesitating in her speech. 

One of his siblings saddled closer to Karlach, mindful of the flames, but took a sniff nonetheless. Karlach recoiled. The spawn swallowed, ignoring Karlach’s reaction and Minthara’s glare, all to catch a whiff of his own blood. The spawn’s eyes glowed brighter, their irises vibrating uncontrollably.

The red glow was hunger. 

Astarion was no longer hungry. 

“By the absent Gods, Astarion… I believe you,” Leon said. But Aurelia clutched her stomach and groaned, whispering to Leon about how they couldn’t refuse orders. That Cazador was forcing them to kidnap Astarion, and a deal between them might as well be a joke. Leon pushed his sister behind him as he braced for a fight. Devastation glowed in his eyes, and he muttered a quick apology before he pulled a dagger from his pocket. 

Astarion raised his chin, empathy shown on his face. In his tone. “You can tell Cazador that when I find him, I will tear him limb from limb. I will smile upon his rotten corpse.”

Tav received the first slash. By stepping directly in front of Astarion. The pale elf’s eyes widened as he smelled her blood, her sacrifice. The very concept of mercy seeped from his mind altogether. He cut through his siblings desperately, dodging their blades and spells. 

Shadowheart stuck a blade in the spine of the smallest of the spawn, and fell backwards as they simply disappeared. Called back to their Master. Her blade lay bloody on the rug before it was suddenly picked up by Leon himself. 

And before he could drive it into her throat, Lae’zel burst from the shadows and tackled him. Her roar cracked through Halsin's eardrums, and an equally grating one sounded as she buried her blade deep in his abdomen. Same as his sibling, Leon disappeared from the Elfsong. 

It was pure luck he and his companions outnumbered them. He had just finished shooting an arrow through the shoulder of one aiming for Jaheira’s heart when he heard it. 

A quiet, garbled gasp. 

Tav gripped the dagger’s handle with both hands, leaving it inserted in her stomach. She merely stared at Aurelia. The spawn stared back, her lips trembling and head shaking in disbelief. 

Halsin was behind her in an instant, gripping her hair and swinging her to the floor. The spawn yelped, the last of her siblings infecting their camp. She scrambled backward, whatever she saw in Halsin’s eyes frightening her enough to abandon her own bow. He lifted her and slammed her against the wall, taking pleasure in her groan of pain. 

“Cazador would never let you die here, and yet you drive a blade through my friend’s skin?” he yelled, slamming her again. 

She cried, “Astarion! Please! He ordered us here, he ordered us to kill anyone who stepped in the way! I could not refuse. I could not refuse, I could not refuse, I could not refuse—“

Again and again she repeated it, tears staining her cheeks and drenching her collar. She thrashed, her throat clenching on itself. Again, again, again, again—

“Let her go, Halsin,” Astarion begrudgingly ordered, his bloody daggers limp at his sides. “She cannot disobey.”

“What and let her kill us? Let her take you?” he screamed over his shoulder. 

Minthara stepped forward, observing Aurelia with a sneer. “No,” she drawled. She sunk the broken tip of an arrow in the spawn’s throat. “We merely send her back.”

In a snap, she abandoned her orders for the sake of forced survival, following the rest of her empty-handed siblings. Halsin immediately dashed for Tav, kneeling in front of her to inspect the wound.

“Let me,” he said, his heart pounding.

“No.”

“Tav—“

“I told him I’d protect him and I almost failed tonight. I deserve this.” Still, she did not let go of the blade. The second she pulled, she would bleed out.

Halsin forced himself to breathe normally, shock enveloping his senses. Was that why she got involved with everyone and everything, put herself first in the face of danger, so she could somehow relieve their pain and take the brunt of it? 

“You deserve… pain?” he asked carefully. He had met others who self-harmed before, but he had never treated them directly. Nettie had always taken the lead role in those cases. And perhaps he wasn’t the best person to ask for help either, because his aged brain could only suggest they stop. 

Now, he understood why Tav did it—why she believed she deserved it. And instead of simply telling her to stop, he wanted to heal her from the inside-out so no thoughts like that ever afflicted her again.

“I deserve to be broken and pulled apart all over again, Halsin. I deserve to remember that torture Orin made me suffer.”

She tried to step around him, but Lae’zel’s glare halted her. He caught her arm before she could find an alternate route. 

Her breathing quickened. He loosened his grip, but still managed to tug her closer. To grip the blade’s handle himself. “It is a blessing you do not remember any of it.”

She smiled ruefully, fatigue dimming her eyes. “What do you think my punishment should be? More stabbings?”

“None whatsoever. Now, please let me tend to your wound.”

“If she really wants to break me, all she has to do is give me my memories back,” she laughed, though it was pained. From self-hatred or from the wound, he did not know. “But in her eyes, it would be a gift.”

Without much struggle, he laid her down and wordlessly instructed Wyll to bring fresh water and clean rags. She stared as he worked around the wound first, silent but present. Though no emotion painted her face, Halsin knew he wasn’t being scrutinized. There was something deeper there. Something akin to admiration, something holy. 

When Wyll returned and gripped Tav’s hand as Halsin quickly pulled the blade out, Halsin let his mind settle. He drowned out her cries and worked tirelessly, stitching her insides with magic and muttering sweet words under his breath. He didn’t think she was listening, but he said them just the same. 

“I couldn’t let them take him,” Tav breathed, her eyelids fluttering. “I think I was just as bad as Cazador, and if he had been taken…”

“You must not compare yourself to true evils, my heart. For you are not the person in absent memories, nor the person Orin wants you to be. I have it on good authority that Astarion would agree, and would kill you himself if you even matched Cazador in cruelty. For that, there is hope in your atonement yet.”

Somehow a smile broke through her exhausted face. “You are too nice to me.”

Halsin pulled the bedsheet over her healing stomach. And because she was barely conscious, he found the confidence to say, “Trust me, I am more than what I ever was when I am with you.”

---

“There’s absolutely no way, you little shit.”

Halsin had to blink so Tav’s words were processed fully. The way she spoke to children… At this point in their journey, there was only a sliver of guilt as he admitted he found it sort of funny.

Mol puffed out her chest, fists on her hips and face absent of an eyepatch. “Surprised to see me here? Well, right back at ya! Glad to see ya made it here in one piece!”

Tav listened intently as Mol described what she’d been up to all this time, all the trinkets she acquired roaming the Lower City, her new position in Guild. 

“Get away from my pockets, child,” Jaheira sneered, but there was a hint of pride hidden in her voice. In her slight grin. Something akin to respect. 

“I don’t need your scraps, ya old weirdo! I’ve got Nine-Fingers up my sleeve, a certain devil protecting my hide, and a handsome ol’ wizard slipping me scrolls whenever he can!”

Jaheira was unruffled by her insult, which made Mol even more assured. But the second she met Halsin's stare, a muscle in her jaw jumped, giving her away.

“Tell me you did not make that deal with Raphael, Mol,” Halsin pleaded.

“None of your business, tree-hugger.”

Wyll sighed, closing his eyes. “Raphael may talk sweet, but he’ll cut you quicker than you can beg. Whatever he’s promised, know that it cannot be met without repercussions or consequences. I should know, Mol.”

Tav set a gold chalice back on the wooden crate, leaning over to check out Mol’s jewelry collection instead. “Is that how you escaped Moonrise? And got your eyesight back?”

Her monotone voice confused the small tiefling—Why would two men care more about her situation? But Halsin recognized the trick. No sense of urgency, unlike all the other times she and Mol had met, would get her talking. Wanting to expand on her deal with Raphael just so she could prove that all she’s accomplished so far measured up to the way Tav saw her. 

“What’s the big deal now? I got out, and now I’ve gotta hold up my end.”

“Which is?” Wyll pressed. 

“He gave me a damn eyeball back! The deal could have been a lot worse.”

“Mol,” Halsin grumbled. 

“Thievery is my domain, druid. I’m his little thief.”

Wyll leaned in. “That’s all that was exchanged?”

Mol's nose curled. “Where’s ya head at, ya thick warlock? Of course that’s it!”

Wyll’s shoulders dropped. Halsin had never spoken to Mizora in the time she lounged around the Elfsong. Never asked Wyll to elaborate on their daily check-ins. Never asked about the other missions she had sent him on. Whatever Wyll shared with him, the group, Halsin was grateful for. 

Now he couldn’t stop wondering what his hands would look like wrapped around Mizora’s throat.

And he couldn’t stop the worry from hitting him square in the chest as Tav said her goodbyes. Would they leave Mol to the Guild? To Raphael’s slimy grasp? She and Yenna would probably get along, and Gods knew Yenna needed another girlfriend besides Karlach. 

“Here,” Mol said, handing Tav a pouch of coins and a sealed letter. “I trust you’ll deliver this for me?”

“Stupid assumption.”

Mol rolled her eyes. “Deliver it, will ya? It’s going to your favorite tiefling wiiiiizaaaarrrrd.”

Tav mimicked her voice, flicking the young tiefling off before turning on her heel. 

They can’t leave her here, they can’t leave her here, they can’t leave her here… He can’t leave her here.

“Astele would sooner die than harm a child of the Gate,” Jaheira whispered to him. “And the child is smart enough to gain her trust in time.”

“This is no place for a child."

“No, it isn’t,” Jaheira agreed, raising an eyebrow. “But what of Geraldus? He made his choice, and it was an honorable one. I tried to stop him and got put in my place by our resident cub. What of Arabella, wandering alone and told to simply trust the Weave? We let her go, and our hope reigns. What of Mattis and Umi and Bex and Dannis? We cannot save everyone, but we can help them along their path.” 

“Is leaving Mol here helping her?”

Jaheira looked over her shoulder, eyeing Mol as she showed a child around her own age the proper hand movements to reach inside a pocket. “It is acceptance. It is trust. It is the knowledge that we are capable of stepping back when we have to. Mol has proven herself a hundred times over, and this deal with Raphael will only be a lesson. Besides, what hypocrite you are for telling the same devil you would consider his offer about the crown instead of disagreeing immediately?”

Perhaps Jaheira was right. For years, Halsin had put the needs of others on his shoulders regardless of their weight. Unoccupied now, his days felt empty.

Tav was doing the same and it seemed like only he could see the true consequence of it. Everyone else in their camp was occupied with their own predicaments, Jaheira now having to find and stop Minsc, so no one had seen Tav’s height lowering. Without the threat of the shadow curse, he was no longer blind. Though their companions cared for Tav’s wellbeing, they could not see past their own mist. He did not blame them—he was strong enough to help her, nourish her, lift her. By helping Tav, he would help himself.

“Does this change our plans with Raphael?” Wyll asked, worrying his bottom lip. 

“No,” Tav promised. She pushed the doors open and ignored the grumbling from the two guards eyeing her every move. “We kill the bastard, steal the hammer, and make damn sure Mol never finds out.”

Easier said than done.

---

The third time he heard Tav scream was when she delivered the final blow that brutalized Lorroakan’s insides. With her sword lifted high and Karlach’s boot in his neck, Tav sliced open his abdomen and pulled out his large intestine. Wet and red, Tav squeezed, seemingly savoring the squelching noise that bounced off the windows of Ramazith’s Tower. 

And when she moved aside to let Dame Aylin through, Halsin savored the sound of his spine splitting upon her blessed knee. 

They had stopped at Sorcerous Sundries right after seeing Mol, the coin purse all too tempting for Astarion. When they arrived and took immediate note of the bruises scattered across Rolan’s handsome face, Halsin knew they wouldn’t just be dropping off the coin. 

Rolan had done a good job at keeping his composure until the questions began. 

“I can take the beatings. When I mess up a spell, his beatings are a practical way to make me get it right the next time. My track record is impressive—”

“Discipline is to be given with purpose,” Lae’zel had bit, snarling. “Your bruises are scattered. Careless. Smack a soldier’s hand for fumbling their blade, not their cheekbones. Break a child’s fingers for stealing, not puncture their stomachs. Lorroakan is toying with you, tiefling. That is no good teacher.”

And when Rolan confirmed it, Tav’s face had fallen flat. Scarily detached. Lae’zel had a similar reaction, but she nodded her head as if agreeing with the unspoken decision amongst the group. 

Lorroakan would be dead before the sun set. 

Now, Rolan panted as he hurried to their side and examined what was left of his old Master. “He’s really dead. The bastard’s dead.”

Tav looted Lorroakan’s corpse and passed Gale the magical trinkets she would have no use of. 

“And I seem to be out of scrolls,” Tav commented, wiping blood from her forehead. Standing up with a groan, she did her best to give Rolan a true smile. But the fight was tough, so much so that she had spent most of her time throwing healing potions to Karlach, who insisted on being in the middle of it all. “Would the new Master of Ramazith’s Tower kindly sell me some? I’d be willing to pay double.”

Rolan’s eyes watered, but that signature arrogance seeped through as he straightened his shoulders and sketched a bow. Silver menace, Halsin thought. He and Tav were so similar.  

Rolan’s eyes lit up as he remembered, “I promised you a discount.”

Tav waved a bored hand through the air. “You promised Gale a discount.”

Rolan closed his eyes for a second before throwing himself into Tav’s arms, holding her as tightly as his sore arms allowed. Tav stiffened, her cheek squished against Rolan’s hard chest and the top of her head directly beneath his chin. She met Halsin’s eye and found only encouragement. 

She wrapped her arms around the tiefling and squeezed, her eyes closing in comfort. 

“Master Rolan… I quite like the sound of that,” Rolan joked, clearing the sentiment from his throat. “I shall move Cal and Lia in at once!”

“I’m going to need as many wizards in this upcoming fight with the Absolute. I would like my favorite wizard at my side.”

Astarion snickered beside Gale, even going as far as poking his elbow into his ribs. Gale simply waved him off. 

“You will have the full force of Ramazith’s Towers at your service.” Then, softer and sweeter, “Thank you, Tav.”

Tav practically sparkled. Halsin forced himself to look away, only to meet Karlach’s knowing gaze. 

“I’m just sorry I can’t kill him again,” Tav said. “Know that you are always welcome at our camp. That you can always ask for our help with bitchy customers or entitled explorers.”

“And you will always have a room here if you need it.”

---

Halsin found her on the roof of the Elfsong, Lakrissa having whispered the hint when he inquired about Tav’s whereabouts. With a wink and a promise of a drink later, Lakrissa confirmed what he had worried about. People were starting to notice his feelings, his desires… People were starting to see right through him. 

Tav finished tying her hair up when she looked over her shoulder and smiled. It hit him so hard he fumbled over his own feet, a blush crawling up his neck. Tav pretended not to notice, and said nothing as he moved to sit on the cushion beside hers.  

As she looked over the balcony’s edge, watching the birds fly in triangles and the leaves float through the wind, Halsin watched her. Her skin was lighter than Minthara’s, and the pale burn stretching diagonally from the top right of her forehead to her bottom left cheek definitely set them apart. He wondered if she picked up that scar from battle, from her early days as a Bhaalspawn, or from the torture she had endured and forgot at Moonrise. She had never commented on it, nor did anyone bring it up. Yet, Halsin prayed it was a simple story like his own scar, nothing fancy, and that the brutal violence that seemed to follow their heels was altogether absent. 

With her hair up, he was able to outline the scar. Unable to control the desire to run his thumb down the extent of it. But he reeled it in, and sat beside her with his hands in his lap. 

“You know… I at least have an excuse for my violence. Lorroakan was just a bastard,” Tav suddenly shared, a worn chuckle breaking through. “But then again, going off of my logic, Orin has a valid excuse, too.”

“Orin is a different breed.”

Her mouth fell into a frown. “If she would have been kidnapped and infected with a tadpole, you would be sharing your tea with her. Rolan would be thanking her. You would be confiding in her.”

Halsin did not believe that true for one second. Orin was frightening, and the added effect of a tadpole was sure to make her everyone’s worst nightmare. Still, he replied with, “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Tav grumbled, unsatisfied. What else could he say? That she got out but her sister didn’t? That she was given a new chance at life and her sister was still wreaking havoc underground? Was he supposed to feel sorry for Orin? 

“I am one God’s chosen,” Tav whispered, then turned to him with a flicker of hope in her mismatched eyes. “But do you think I can pray to another god?”

“Yes.”

“Is your Oak Father free?”

“Silvanus?” he asked, the fluttering of his heart nearly booming in his ears. He wondered if she could hear it, if her own matched his rhythm. “Look at where you sit. You are surrounded by his creations, even if they are muted in this city. The air you breathe, the ground you walk on, the flowers you smell. Silvanus asks for little in return, other than nurture nature, each other, and yourself. If you are worried about whether or not Silvanus will hear your prayers, do not be. He hears them, and does what can be done.”

“I have killed hundreds of people. I have mutilated their corpses, stolen their coin, desecrated their gravesites.”

“Forgiveness is something all gods offer.”

“But do I deserve it?”

No longer a boom, but a crack echoed through his ears. 

“Does Astarion deserve it after all the souls he brought Cazador?” he asked.

“He’s changed,” Tav declares, defensive, “And the gods never answered him.”

“Perhaps his change and his current situation is answer enough.”

Yet another thing that maddened him. Why did no God answer Astarion’s pleas? Why was he discarded, as were his siblings, and forced to endure two-hundred years of pain? Why did Astarion have to change at all to gain recognition? He was split on whether Silvanus would help an undead creature, one who couldn’t even harvest the sun's bounty. Did the Oak Father consider Astarion an undead with a soul in need of saving, or an undead with nothing but a masked scent?

Would the Oak Father consider Tav a soul worth saving after she had stolen the very souls he sprouted? Was change enough for both her and Astarion that he would practice benevolence?

Tav sucked in a deep breath. Shame suddenly etched across her face, as did an unsatisfying flush in her cheeks. Her mouth opened slightly around an invisible word. He waited, and offered an encouraging smile.

“I don’t remember kissing anyone who wasn’t dead,” she admitted, her voice wholly dejected. As if this one admission was enough to squander any acceptance from Silvanus. “My memories are vague, of course. But I do remember one man. His heart was beating. I don’t think I ever killed him.”

Halsin had to tread carefully or else the reopening of her wounds could prove dangerous. 

“Did you want to kiss your victims?”

She paused. “I think Orin wanted me to.”

“Do you see Orin in those memories?”

“I see her laughing.”

What in the Hells was their dynamic like? Though not related by blood, Orin had played the role of evil elder sister and Tav the role of evil little one. But had Orin been the most depraved of the two? The most abhorrent and wicked? Was Tav a subject of immorality, but able to control her urges more often? To be a Bhaalspawn and to not resist the urge to maim… Tav’s blood was diluted, while Orin had been pumped full.

If Orin had been kidnapped and infected, Halsin wholeheartedly believed he would have died by her dagger that night, that the Grove would have fallen, that the shadow curse would have never been lifted. 

“She may have ordered me to do that stuff, but I still did it. I killed to honor my father, but kissing them? That was to satisfy Orin. To satisfy something darker than the urge. And when we saw Rolan today… I snapped. All I could see was his unwillingness to adhere to Lorroakan's insane orders. I saw his fear. And if any of my victims had felt that way, then avenging Rolan was as much of an apology as I could ever give them.”

To live a life with the knowledge it wasn’t entirely full, that there was a separate personality all along…

Halsin cleared his throat, shuffling the slightest bit closer to her. She stayed where she was, but marked his movement. “Do you remember anything else about that man you mentioned?”

Tav thought about it for a second. Something curious flashed across her face, but he couldn’t name it. “I—I just remember a gold hand.”

Dragonborn, maybe? He didn’t voice the theory obviously. 

But what he said next surprised him enough that his mouth dried instantly. 

“Would you like to kiss me?”

Tav’s eyes widened. “I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you.”

She chuckled, embarrassment evident in how she twiddled her thumbs. Her nails clinked together, the shine of the purple metallic polish sending a shiver down his spine. Oh, how it would feel to receive fresh, consensual scars from her. 

“The Oak Father won’t call it a disgrace?”

“I am positive he won’t,” he assured her. He moved closer, careful to not loom over her. Their knees touched. “I can be your beating heart.”

“And you want this?”

This was the time to be truthful. To bathe in the confidence he had cultivated and perfected by his hundredth year. To admit to her that what he was feeling was something else entirely than what his body had told him to feel for years. “For a long time, if I’m being honest. I go where my heart leads. It would be a lie to say you haven’t surprised me. Encouraged me, astonished me. You are magnificent. A beacon of hope, even if the shimmer is burning you from the inside-out.”

“I don’t want to simply be another notch on your belt.”

“Do not ever reduce yourself as such. My heart does not stir lightly,” he tried to reason, tried to pretend that her words didn’t hurt.

“But that’s what it is, Halsin. I appreciate the gesture, but I respect your place in nature. You are a creature who cannot stay in one place for a long time, and granted I am, too. Though I see myself moving with only one person on my arm, forever. If I ever beat this curse of mine, I want the choice. I want the opportunity. And I want to be someone’s only choice, selfishly.”

“I—”

“I am not asking you to change yourself for me,” she said, her breath quickening. “I know there have been plenty of lovers and there will be plenty more. But I have stolen loves from so many people. I have stolen their opportunities. It does not feel right to indulge, and it doesn’t feel right to indulge with you.”

“Perhaps I mistook our relationship, or rather our… tension, wrongly” he explained, masking his pain.

She let out a frustration moan. “I want you, but only if you’re just mine. And I can’t have you, because that’s not my fate.”

She believed that she did not deserve him. That he was a prize? Halsin couldn’t think of himself as such, nor could he believe that she was punishing herself so. But as he remembered how she stepped right into the path of danger when Astarion’s siblings attacked, how she did not want to be patched up, it finally made sense. 

Atonement. Atonement in the form of punishment. The punishment of loneliness. 

Like Gale, who hid himself away after absorbing the darkest Weave. Having no one to speak to besides Tara, besides letters with his mother. Who tried his hardest to create distance between him and Astarion, but failed when the vampire lured him with nothing but sweet, honeyed words. Like Karlach, who tried her hardest not to sneak away at night to visit Dammon. But with the Elfsong so close to his newest forge, she could not help overstepping her self–inflicted choice. Like Wyll, who made a deal with a devil and accepted exile. Who couldn’t speak the truth and fell into the belief that maybe he wasn’t ever meant to. Who would rather his father hate him from afar than know what he had become.

“What do you believe is your fate?” he asked, perhaps a little too harshly.

“To help all of you. Save Baldur’s Gate. And then die.”

He stood, his muscles straining as he tried to relax. He gripped the balcony’s edge. She did not move from her spot, frozen as she stared and burned through the back of his head.

And like Gale, Tav had chosen to blow up any chance at long-term redemption. Like Karlach, Tav had chosen to burn when it was all over. They had all chosen wrong.

How to prove to them that they were worth everything and more, how to prove that the world was better with them in it? How to prove to Tav that he wasn’t sure he was a wild heart anymore, and that maybe, just maybe, she was the reason. 

Selfish as she was apparently, he wanted to prove that he was ten times worse.

“A single kiss then. I ask nothing more, and expect nothing else in return.”

The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow upon her scarred face. The heat was touching her, and oh how he envied it so. “Why?”

He turned, lifting his chin so that all she could see was sincerity. “Because you have been deprived of it. Because you are over a hundred years old and do not remember the caress of another. Because Bhaal has made you desensitized.”

“So, pity then?”

“Because it would be your choice.”

She glanced down at her hands, at the brick beneath her cushion. Whatever quarrel she was having with herself looked tiring. And Gods did he want her to relent. 

“Out of everyone here,” she breathed, “I don’t know why I only want to kiss you.”

His own breath came faster as she stood and walked to him. Placing a hand upon his chest, she caressed the fabric. Curiosity bloomed in her irises, and he let her roam for a minute or so. Let her have the chance at feeling another living being. She rested her palm over his heart, and muttered her count.

“Ten,” she said, closing her eyes, “Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

“Endless,” he confirmed, reaching up to take that same palm in his hand. Though he recognized the lust in her eyes, he also saw the fear. He was so much taller than her, so much older, and in her opinion, good. But she had forgotten the bloodthirst he had in the goblin camp, the hand he had wrapped around Kagha’s throat, the fact that Isobel had fallen all those years ago because of his blade. If they were comparing their misdeeds, they were equal.

“Whenever you say stop,” he said, leaning down so their lips brushed, “We stop. Okay?”

Tav did her best to nod, but Halsin recognized that dazed movement anywhere. She was floating. 

“Come back to me, little one.”

With that, the glaze in Tav’s eyes disappeared. She leaned forward, pressing further until their lips moved as one. Halsin used a single finger to lift her chin, the kiss slow. He was in no hurry to rush it, no hurry to end what should be their only kiss. This was a transaction of sorts—

Tav wrapped a desperate hand around the back of his neck, pushing her upper body against him. In turn, their kiss deepended. Nearly ravenous, but full of all that bashfulness she had expressed earlier. When was the last time he had participated in such a chaste kiss? In his youth, surely. His past lovers were scattered, none staying around for more than a month. And he was just as guilty when it came to long-term predicaments. The bear roamed, and he answered its call. 

But here, with Tav’s lips molding so beautifully into his own with innocent need, he experienced the combination of love and lust. He wanted to continue kissing her, no matter where it led. He wanted to kiss her tomorrow, no matter the bear’s torment. He wanted to kiss her always, and be all she ever wanted. 

Tav pulled him in deeper, hungry, gaining more confidence as he followed her lead. He didn’t need to teach her anything, it seemed. Whether this was instinct or because she too felt the overwhelming desire to burrow into his skin, Halsin was more than happy to be her practice doll, more than happy to explore all impulses. Good or bad. 

Gods save him, good or bad. 

“Kiss me harder, please,” Tav pleaded, the gravel in her voice causing him to harden. He made sure his hips didn’t meet hers. But she was pushing deeper, stepping forward and neatly entangling their legs together. Halsin backed up, mindful of the balcony’s edge. He sat carefully and let her push herself between his open legs, and at this angle they were practically face to face. Tav kissed him harder, slipping her tongue over his bottom lip. A question. 

He opened his mouth and finally tasted her, groaning lowly. When they arrived at the Gate, their fruit assortment expanded. Here they were able to indulge in more than just apples and oranges. Tav tasted of kiwi and the lemon she squeezed in her morning tea. She tasted of the butter buns he always caught Karlach stealing, of the cinnamon cookies Yenna had tried her hand at baking yesterday. He knew he tasted of that same tea, but Halsin had found himself indulging more in grapes and cinnamon rolls Cher Rover saved specifically for him. Separating from Tav now would be a crime to everything sweet. 

“Halsin,” Tav rasped, her slender hands coming around to cup his scarred cheeks. He kept his own at her waist. “A single kiss.”

“A single kiss,” he repeated, sharing her breath. He dove in for more, their statement ignored and the two unbothered. They could extend this single kiss for hours and technically be right.

She suddenly gasped, stiffening against him. Her face pulled tight.

“Tav?” Halsin tried, worry spiking to the point he tried standing. Tav did not move, her grip on his shoulders too strong. 

Her eyes were watery with sorrow as she opened them. “I had a vision of pushing you off the balcony.”

Halsin held his breath. She made no move to do so. 

A nervous laugh escaped him. “I could just shapeshift into a bird, my heart.”

She waited, her mouth opening and closing awkwardly. The mere absurdity of the situation drew a short laugh from her, her eyes clearing simultaneously. She slid her hands down his neck, then settled them on his chest. Pulling back so their noses brushed, Tav nudged him slightly in question. Halsin nodded, completely basked in the glow of her exploration. Tav traced his curves and grooves, his scars and age marks, starved for touch alone. And when she reached his waistband, he pulled back to ask the same of her. 

She nodded, and he moved his hands up. 

Together they learned the whispers of their fingers and just how long they could hold their breaths. Together they slid their bodies closer, moving against one another to apply the necessary pressure needed to reach that delectable edge. Halsin kept his thick thigh planted between her legs, groaning as Tav rolled her cunt against it, chasing her high at a slow pace. 

Though she was desperate to feel such bliss with a willing partner, she did not rush it. Halsin didn’t want her to either. He would stay up here for hours, learning her likes and dislikes, learning how to properly sketch the length of her body with his tongue. 

“Gently,” he coaxed, bringing a hand up to tangle at the back of her head. He pulled her face from the crook of his sweaty shoulder and held her there, burning their gazes together as she took his order into consideration. She slowed her movements but bent deeper, so much so that her weight alone forced him to swallow down the savageness of the bear. “That’s it. There you go. I want you to learn your body first before you learn mine.”

“Fuck,” Tav rasped, bringing both hands to his head to mimic his grip. Halsin bit his lip to keep from pushing his hips up. She moved faster, no doubt the glow in her stomach at a full frenzy. 

“So beautiful,” he continued, his voice now at the lowest register he’d ever heard. Everything about this felt different—her scent relaxed his very core, her weight fought and won against the weight of his responsibilities, her noises sank deep into his chest and melted along his ribs. In his three-hundred and fifty years, he had never experienced such a connection. He would like to believe that he had been attentive to past lovers, but Tav… He wasn’t even actively providing the pleasure and yet she had destroyed his concept of sex from the inside-out.

“Make yourself come,” Halsin said, tempting her even further by pulling her in for a searing kiss. Tav whined, her hips losing their rhythm—

The hatch opened before Tav reached her climax, paralyzing her against Halsin’s chest. He held her tighter, and shot daggers at their intruder over her trembling shoulder. 

Wyll stood on the ladder wide-eyed, clutching his chest as if the scene before him had prompted heartburn. His face flushed with embarrassment, and he stuttered over his apology. “I can just… go get fresh air in the street.”

As the hatch shut, Tav removed herself from Halsin’s protective grip. He could not stop his body from reaching out for her.

“Tav.”

Backing away on wobbly legs, she did her best at offering a practiced smile. “Goodnight, Halsin.”

Later, when they rescued Minsc and dealt with the aftermath, Tav avoided his eyes and overcompensated with their newest arrival. Loud jokes, prolonged questioning—it made Halsin want to hide away forever, or until his beating heart called another’s name.

---

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Tav whispered, though her moan gave her away. Her slender fingers rose along his hips, tugging at his waistband. He had left his shirt behind, embracing the chill of nature. If he was going to bed Tav in the flowerbed near the Elfsong, he would do so with as little clothing in the way. The quicker his flesh met hers, the quicker the fire in his heart would settle. Though, Tav’s panting gave it the oxygen to thrive. Her tongue licked the flames, burning him brightly, to the point he dropped to his knees with all thoughts scorched except one. 

He devoured her, swiping his tongue along her slit and soaking up all she gave. She yelped, her fingers combing through his loose hair. She had taken his braids out one-by-one hours ago, massaging his scalp and whispering sweet-nothings along the sensitive skin of his pointy ears. Now, she gripped and pulled, relishing in the vibrations his groans made against her most intimate flesh. She pulled him in deeper, slapping one hand back against the stone of the building. Their companions could surely hear them—the windows were knocked open. And the thought invaded just as quickly as she came on his eager tongue: Astarion or Shadowheart—Gale—watching from the windowsill and getting themselves off at the same time. Learning from watching Halsin feast, from watching his cock drive into the beautiful woman wailing his name. 

“Halsin,” Tav breathed, pulling him up to stand. He let her use her strength, let her be in charge, guiding him in all places. “Fuck me. Fuck me until I can’t help crying your name. Fuck me and claim me as yours, forever. Come inside me, mark me as yours.”

The bear nearly broke loose, territorial to the highest extremes.

Halsin drove into her slowly, deeply, the squeeze stealing the air in his lungs and threatening to knock him out. She felt divine, like nothing he had ever felt before. He had many lovers, but none had wrapped around him with both sex-crazed madness and lo—

Halsin sucked in a gust of air, shooting upward in his bed. The beds at the Elfsong creaked when one changed position, and he had no doubt he had awakened someone close by. The nearest bunk to his left was Minthara’s, and Astarion to his right. But neither moved to indicate they heard him or scented his obvious arousal. 

Cursing softly, he laid back down and tried to steady the beating of his heart. Tav was far away enough, bunking near Karlach tonight, that she wouldn’t suspect anything. Hear anything. And he prayed the two nearest him wouldn’t hate him for this. 

Halsin reached below the sheets and gripped his hardness, shutting his eyes as that touch alone threatened to make him audible. Slowly he dragged his hand up and down, stopping at the tip to swipe. The quicker he got this over with, the quicker the shame could come and go. 

Tav had not sought him out after their kiss and… heavy-petting session, but he had seen the heat in her eyes. A promise that she had enjoyed their time together, his touch. The memory of that silver fire had him moving his hand faster. He reached to cup his balls with the other, biting his lip as the pleasure at the base of his spine grew. He remembered how her hips moved over his, how her mouth tasted, how her arousal smelled. How he had to keep the bear caged, and that made his grip on her even tighter. But it seemed Tav liked that, liked his roughness, and wanted to deliver the same amount. 

The pleasure built and built, until it finally erupted. Halsin choked on a shout, grinding the side of his face into the pillow. Pulling until he milked himself dry. He lay there panting, eyes shut as the guilt slowly crept along his extremities. 

“Darling, I at least have the good graces to please myself in the comfort of my own tent or in the bathroom.”

Halsin froze, and his stomach rotated when Minthara’s voice answered the vampire.

“Lies, Astarion. You haven’t pleased yourself in weeks. You have the wizard to thank for that.”

Astarion choked on his retort, but said nothing to contradict it.

---

“You’re here. Orin was telling the truth.”

Tav crossed her arms as she glared at Gortash, clicking her tongue when she noticed his eyes wandering. She was wearing thin armor today, tight around the waist and non-restricting around the neck. Halsin had stared for a long while before they had left their rooms, readjusting his trousers when she purposely bent down to grab her weapon of the day. She had winked, lifted her skirts to expose her thigh, and whispered a promise of lifting it higher when they returned. 

Now, as Gortash made a meal of her, it unsettled something greedy in Halsin. He had no right to shield Tav, but there was grime in the villain’s eyes. And he was done convincing himself he would feel this affected with just any lover.

Tav ignored Gortash’s initial surprise, allowing Wyll to take the lead.

“My father, Gortash. Let him go—”

“Oh, but I wasn’t talking to you, Wyll Ravengard,” Gortash snapped, a smile still playing on his pale lips. He gave Wyll an unimpressed once-over, then turned back to Tav. “My favorite little assassin… Tell me, how has the holiday been?”

"I could've done with less cultists, you absolute lunatic."

Wyll held his breath.

“I know it was Orin who kidnapped me from Baldur’s Gate. I want to know why.”

Gortash wasn’t exactly handsome, especially not when he frowned. The action seemed to drag his stress lines further. But he held himself like a man with power, and with power came confidence. 

“By the gods, they weren’t kidding. You truly don’t remember any of it, do you?” he said, huffing a simple laugh, one that scraped the walls of Halsin’s skull. “Why, it was us who orchestrated this grand design in the first place.”

The entire audience hall seemed to freeze as they processed Gortash’s outlandish claim. 

Tav swallowed, her lilac cheeks losing all color. “What?”

He made his way down the stairs, his robes swinging with each powerful stride. Tav stood her ground, but Karlach pointed her long ax at the new Archduke. Halsin inched closer to Tav as well, but he was more mindful of the rattling Steel Watch targeting Karlach.  

Gortash dismissed the metal monstrosity. He stood close enough now that Halsin smelled the city and a hint of rosemary on him. 

“The tadpoles, the brain, opening a Hells gate, the cult, everything. And Orin went and betrayed you, wanting the stones all to herself. Betrayed us.”

“It was… It was me? All of it?”

“Our raid of Mephistopheles’ lair will be spoken about in the Hells for centuries.”

“The crown…” Tav whispered, the memory of its abduction no doubt swimming in her mind. Then guilt clouded her features—for all of it. The infestation, the deaths they caused, Gale’s obsession with Karsus’s forbidden magic. She was spiraling, blaming herself for all it—

“My pretty little mastermind,” Gortash practically purred, raising a hand to gently swipe it down her cheek. Halsin growled, a low glimmer of gold coming off of him. Gortash grinned savagely. “I have tried to keep everything in order in your absence. All the things you entrusted me with.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Karlach screamed, alerting some Flaming Fists. Again, Gortash dismissed them with a simple wave.

“How do you know him?” Karlach inquired further.

Tav turned to the tiefling. “I—”

“Don’t tell me you forgot. Orin really did a number on you, didn’t she? Always a lapdog, she was. Begging to be Bhaal’s chosen ever since she learned how to whine. But she is careless, and too distracted.”

Gods, it made so much sense. The tadpoling center under Moonrise, Orin’s vendetta, Gortash’s odd truce. His chest ached with the need to hold her, to remind her that that wasn’t who she was anymore. She had changed, brought about a change in Astarion, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale, Minthara—

Him. 

If he could take her away from all of this, meet her in the afterglow, he would sprint and never look back. She had done so much good these last few months and Gortash’s jealous speech was a threat to her already fragile sanity. 

“You… You worked with strategy. You had a purpose. You were determined. I tolerate Orin, but I liked you.”

He followed Tav’s distressed gaze to the golden glove encasing the purple netherstone. 

The gold hand.

“We worked all through the night, you and I. Perfecting this scheme. When you disappeared, I admit I worried for your safety,” Gortash said, his irises darkening. “I missed you.”

Halsin didn’t have to move—Tav reached for his hand and gripped it tight. Gortash noted their connection, but his smile only grew. A more tame twin of Orin’s, it seemed.

“What was I to you?” Tav insisted. “What were you to me?”

“This cannot be happening,” Karlach cringed, several dramatic gags accompanying her declaration.

Gortash rolled his eyes. “A travesty Orin erased so much. Perhaps I shouldn’t reminisce with your companions present.”

“Tell me what I did.”

Karlach gave an incredulous gasp of protest, but Tav remained adamant. 

“What you did… Enthusiastically, might I add. Seeing you now is overwhelming. The way your lips tasted, how your eyes would roll to the back of your head, your neck bared for me. I heard there is a spawn in your company… Do you give your neck to him? Do you scream for him like you screamed for me?” 

Tav snarled as Karlach exclaimed, “Liar!”

“Do not be a child, Karlach,” Gortash snapped. “Tav and I, two adults, were together even while you were by my side. I’m surprised you never met.”

“A secret,” Tav confirmed, though her statement came out more as a shameful question.

“It saddens me that you don’t remember anything but that. Perhaps we can come to an agreement over this Ravengard business.”

“What did you have in mind?” Wyll chimed in, seemingly unmoved by the revelation. If his relationship was something other with her, Halsin would too disregard Gortash’s claims. Tav’s past sex life was none of his business, neither was it Wyll’s, but the fact Gortash had such a lively role in it… The one living soul Tav remembered touching…

Something dark stirred in the pit of his stomach, its claws begging to rip open its cage and eviscerate his opponent. The bear had disemboweled plenty of enemies, but this one—this one Halsin wanted to tear apart with his bare hands.  

Gortash lowered his voice as he spoke next, enough of a signal that the surrounding Fists turned their heads. 

“I will hand over Duke Ravengard right now with a promise to keep him safe, if…” he trailed off, bowing his head to chuckle. “Listen to me bargaining. How unbecoming of me. I am a dealer, not a trader.”

“Speak plainly, Gortash,” Wyll pushed, the hair-raising tone causing Gortash’s brows to rise.

He turned to Tav. “If you agree to spend the night with me, Ravengard walks freely.”

“No deal.”

They were the first words Halsin had spoken since entering the audience hall. He couldn't give less of a shit for intruding on what was obviously Tav’s decision. 

“Halsin—” she hissed.

Gortash laid an elegant hand over his own chest. “How marvelous! Does he speak for you? Is no your answer, too?”

“It’s a no because I don’t want to touch you.”

“You begged for it before.”

Tav bared her teeth. “I won’t anymore.”

“Wyll? If you’re anything like your father, you’ll have some sense. Your father’s freedom, for her cunt.”

Wyll recoiled, his disgust multiplying as Gortash raised his hand yet again to brush Tav’s cheek. This time, however, Halsin shoved the man away. 

And was promptly held back by two Fists. Thrashing, Halsin fought to keep the bear within.  

“May the gods smite you, Gortash. May this land turn on you in your hour of greatest need,” Wyll threatened, taking the words right out of Halsin’s mouth.

Gortash raised a single brow, unimpressed. “Interesting company you keep nowadays. If you won’t give me what I desperately crave,” he drawled, causing a visible shiver to crawl up Tav’s spine, “then we shall explore other roads.”

“One more word from you and I will kill you.” The Fists were hesitant to grab Karlach, and the look she shot at them severed the idea completely. "And that was a trade, you dumb motherfucker!"

“Oh, but you’ll want to hear this, Karlach. I am on your side. I want nothing more than to save this city and rule side-by-side with Tav here. I am a fair man. And to show you I am a man true to my word, I shall warn you.”

“Threats? Seriously?” Karlach fumed.

“Not from me. By now you’ll have found out that Orin is a shapeshifter. And I warn you that she will strike soon. One of these nights, when you feel safest, she will deceive you.”

“And what do we owe you for this information?” Tav spit, lifting her chin.

Finally, Gortash intertwined his hands behind his back, seemingly aware that Tav was not going to take his absurd deal. Strangely respectful in that sense. 

“Kill Orin, reclaim your birthright, and make an ally of me.”

“Despicable piece of shit.” 

Gortash gestured at the Fists to release him. Halsin remained where he was, and he could have sworn relief flashed across Gortash’s face.  

“Kill Orin, bring me her stone, and I might just prolong the protection of your father, Wyll.” He turned back up the steps, his confidence stitching itself back into his body as it realized the audience was still looking at him. “Think about it, Tav. I am no liar, and my respect for you knows no bounds.”

That night, Tav drank herself to sleep and took residence in one of the booths downstairs. As annoyed as Alan was, he didn’t force her to leave. With the candles blown out, Tav remained curled-up on her side and blissfully unaware of the world around her. Responsibilities that once shackled her were drowned out, reality but a speck on the horizon. 

Halsin covered her with a blanket before retreating to the steps in the far corner. He sat at an angle where he could see her, foregoing sleep, and did not leave until the hangover roused her.

x

Part 2

[latelyanobsession]

D with Billy please

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking, cleaning, etc?)

Billy has had the occasional thought of settling down, but that's all it ever is. Thoughts. Dreams maybe? He's not good at holding onto partners in the long term. It always comes to a crashing and abrupt end. So why aspire or wish for something that will never happen? Not for him anyways.

When Billy settles into his longest relationship those thoughts begin bubbling back up to the top again. On lazy weekends when you've stayed the night, he'll lean in the doorway gazing at your still sleeping form. Picturing what this would be like if you didn't leave. You sit on the counter as he maneuvers the kitchen, trying his best to act and look like he's a master of this environment. Coughing when he opens the box of pancake mix too aggressively and gets a faceful of powder.

Billy is not by any means an expert with domestic chores, but he's got enough know-how to survive. He's a relatively clean guy. Cleans up when he knows company's coming or wants to impress someone. Otherwise, things are in a state of 'organized chaos'. Empty and discarded beer cans tossed hither and yond, his clothes are typically thrown in a singular pile to be gathered by the armful when laundry day arrives. Clothing that can be worn again, such as a pair of jeans or a muscle tank he's only worked out in once this week, gets draped over furniture. His cigarettes are always ashed on a plate or an ashtray, which he may or may not empty until it's full. He leaves his cassette cases laying open and not away if the tapes are in the deck. Others set next to them to be played next. He also already has the habit of keeping all his grooming and beauty products in his room, fearing that they'll be discarded.

D - Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Souvenir taker. Not in the sense of stealing underwear, although a pair or two have gone missing. It's broader and more complex than that. Billy's a bit of a concrete thinker at times, and having something of yours, especially if that item was present during a significant moment with you, he'll be inclined to swipe it. He'll keep that item fondly, using it to firmly ground him in the pleasant memories and relive those moments when he can't be near you. He makes sure to take things that you may think you've misplaced or that if they go missing you'd chalk it up to the hazards of everyday living.

You've had fragrance caps, tubes of half-used chap/lipstick, bottlecaps, pens and pencils, scraps of scribble paper, a shoelace, and other odd items go missing. But you figure it's just the way you lose things, or a sibling took something, or maybe you forgot it at the pool, etc. And you never suspect that Billy is socking all these items away like a magpie.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I plan to write a story about heists, often from the point of view of the investigators' side, but I don't know where to start (or at least, my brain cannot make anything as interesting as I see in the media). Is there any advice on how I can plan it? Thank you very much!

Writing a Heist Story

A Worthwhile Score - The most important thing you need for a good heist story is a worthwhile score. What is the object/thing they're after and why is it important/valuable? How can everyone in the crew get a cut of this object/thing? What makes this thing valuable enough that it's so protected/hard to get in the first place?

Stakes - The second most important thing you have to establish is why the heist is taking place and why it matters. What does the heist crew stand to gain if they're successful, and/or what do they stand to lose if they're not? In Ocean's Eleven, Danny stood to win back his wife's affection while ruining the man who stole her from him. If he failed, not only did he not achieve either of those things, he also risked losing everything by going back to prison.

Sympathetic Motivation - If you want the reader to root for the heist crew, you need to make sure they have a sympathetic motivation--or at least one the reader wouldn't disapprove of. For example, in Ocean's Eleven, the heist motive is revenge against the guy who stole Danny's wife, so not the most sympathetic cause, but not a despicable one. And when we see that Benedict is a jerk who doesn't even treat Tess well, and that there's still something between Danny and Tess, we're able to root for him.

A Solid Crew - Another important element of good heist stories is a solid crew, meaning each member of the crew has to have a solid reason for being there. That means they need to play a vital role in the heist by providing a vital skill no one else can provide. They also need to have a believable motive for wanting to be part of the heist, especially if they're not being hired or rewarded with a large sum of money. And finally, it's nice to give each crew member a compelling personality, interesting characteristics, and unique relationships with other crew members.

A Complex Scheme - If your characters are trying to steal a piece of art from a museum, they can't roll up on the museum, break a window, knock out a guard, disable the alarm, obscure a camera, take the piece of art and off they go. That's too easy. Anyone could do that. There needs to be big, seemingly insurmountable obstacles that only the skills of the unique crew can overcome. Like, instead of breaking a window, one crew member's unique knowledge of the tunnels beneath the museum could get them in--but only if they can avoid detection from the night crews who work in the tunnels. And instead of knocking out a guard, there are several guards, and only the super stealthy wraith-like martial arts expert can do it without being caught.

A Backup Scheme - The one thing that's true about complex schemes is they almost always go awry. That said, you need to figure out what goes wrong, why, how it affects the original scheme, and how they re-route in the moment to get things back on track. Really good heist masterminds will have a Plan B and Plan C, but even these won't be without their kinks. All of these unforeseen pitfalls, unexpected obstacles, and potential failures keep the tension high and make things interesting. Watching the crew deal with things when they go off track is part of the fun of heist stories.

I hope that helps! ♥ •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[kafus]

i did some ridiculous technical BS in pokemon again

NOTE: not only is this post a very very long infodump from yours truly, it is also specifically an infodump involving a lot of pokemon glitches and exploits. even though i don't tamper with my games and everything achieved here can be done on original hardware with no hacking or what-have-you, some people still may consider this Cheating based on their own personal standards of legitimate gameplay. i ask that you please don't try to start arguments with me about pokemon legality and just take it all as an interesting technical infodump about gen 3 pokemon okay thank you <3

SO. i decided that before pokemon bank eventually shuts down one day in the probably-not-so-distant future and makes old gen transfer impossible, i need more ribbon master pokemon (AKA a pokemon with all the ribbons it can possibly receive from its gen of origin to the most recent gen it can transfer to) from gens 3 and 4. i've been meaning to ribbon master a pokemon from gen 3 based on my favorite singer, KAF (you don't need to know anything about kaf for this story whatsoever but you should check her out LMAO) and while musing over what pokemon would suit her best, it came to me.

FARIGIRAF IS JUST KAF'S FURSONA!! the monster teeth hoodie with the eyes. even has the dangly bits. like come on it's perfect. AND girafarig is obviously available in gen 3 so i could RM a kaf girafarig and then evolve her once i got to SV. Cool! Awesome! but here's the problem. I CAN'T SETTLE FOR JUST A NORMAL GIRAFARIG. I HAVE TO GO ALL OUT!!

i started brainstorming my ideal gen 3 kaf girafarig, and came to the following conclusions:

i obviously want the girafarig to be shiny. i mean come on

i want her to be a girl for obvious reasons, and gentle nature to match her personality. just because Armor Tail is better on Farigiraf i also want it to have girafarig's second ability, Early Bird. i'm not concerned with IVs because i think random IVs add flavor and that would add more tedium than i was already dealing with

i want her to be japanese language origin since kaf is a japanese singer (i can nickname her かふ that way too!)

i want the original trainer (OT) name to be PPさん (PP-san) in reference to the person who scouted out kaf's talent in the first place - he goes by Piedpiper online and my friends and i call him PP as a joke sometimes

i want the trainer ID to be 02018 because 2018 is kaf's debut year

since girafarig only spawns in gen 3 in the ruby/sapphire/emerald safari zone, i wanted to hatch a girafarig egg in firered/leafgreen for the kanto origin, which is impossible otherwise. FRLG are also really important games to me, leafgreen being the first pokemon game i ever owned or played, so that's a bonus

now you may be looking at this entire list and being like. What the fuck. how do you intend to shiny hunt girafarig with all of these hyperspecific parameters, especially in FRLG where the everstone passing nature doesn't exist and flame body doesn't even exist to hatch eggs faster. you will be doing that long after bank shuts down. and you're intending on doing this on original hardware too??? WELL. that's where ACE and RNG manipulation comes in babey. i am GOING to attempt to make this comprehensible even if you've never touched ACE or RNG manip in your life, even tangentially, but sorry if this is a bit of a mess it's pretty technical LOL. the rest of this post is going below a cut cause it Goes Places!!

ACE and RNG manipulation explained (kinda)

first off a quick overview of ACE, ACE stands for arbitrary code execution, which is the ability to run your own (arbitrary!) code within the game. this can be set up with a series of elaborate glitches, that break open the gen 3 pokemon games into letting you run your PC box names as code, enabling you to do pretty much anything you want. to be upfront, i'm not an expert on ACE - i understand it in an overarching conceptual sense and am able to follow ACE guides just fine, but i cannot write my own ACE code, which essentially requires you to know some GBA assembly. doesn't really matter for the purpose of this story though.

you can see an example of a tiny snippet of a larger ACE code with the PC box name below. it looks like gibberish but that's because every character used in the name corresponds to a specific internal value, which when all run together, is code!

i need ACE in FRLG because resetting for, or RNG manipulating (more on that in a moment), trainer ID (and secret ID, also more on that later) is pretty much impossible. ACE will allow me to change my TID to 02018 by essentially just telling the game to do so with my PC boxes. this requires me to set up ACE in emerald first since that's the only game with a viable entrypoint, and then use emerald ACE to make glitch pokemon that can activate ACE in FRLG when traded over.

as for RNG manipulation, that's a bit more straightforward, especially if you've ever watched a speedrun of... pretty much anything with random chance in it. games with random chance are not actually fully random because computers can't really be fully random, and in the older pokemon games with unencrypted and less advanced RNG (random number generator) algorithms, this is pretty easy to exploit.

this is a heavy simplification, but whenever you encounter a wild pokemon in RSE or FRLG, the amount of frames that have passed since the game was turned on are compared to a number that was generated upon boot, called the RNG seed. if you've ever played minecraft you can compare this to world seeds - the pokemon RNG seed determines all possible wild encounters in that play session in a similar fashion as minecraft determining the infinite terrain layout. this comparison determines every aspect of an encountered pokemon; its species, nature, IVs, and so on. so, if you were able to time your wild encounter (or any other type of pokemon encounter) down to the 1/60th of a second frame, you can get the game to spit out whatever pokemon you want at you! you just need a bit of typically invisible information first - the RNG seed, and if you're RNGing a shiny, your secret ID aka SID, which is like an invisible second trainer ID generated alongside your TID that is paired up with the TID and compared against any pokemon you encounter to determine if it should be shiny or not. both of these things can be figured out without hacking or tampering with games/save files.

the most common program used for all things RNG manipulation is called pokefinder and you can see an example of it spitting out what shinies are available on hoenn's first route in the first 100000 frames of the game being on with an RNG seed of 0 and my old TID/SID combo below. it's pretty damn cool to me tbh, i love RNG manipulation and i'm way more versed on it/experienced than i am with ACE

TLDR; rng manipulation is essentially a frame perfect, speedrunning-adjacent trick to get the game to roll the RNG in your favor, including for perfect IVs or shininess. for reasons that will become clear later, this is much easier to do in emerald than any other gen 3 game, so i will be using emerald for the RNG manipulation of the girafarig egg

with ALL of that context out of the way, this was the gameplan:

play through a fresh file of japanese firered (i don't own japanese leafgreen, RIP) all the way through the postgame to unlock trading with hoenn with the name PPさん, not worrying about TID for now. the guide i was following did not have a code for changing name with ACE in japanese FRLG specifically, so i figured playing the game again real quick would be a better alternative to trying to teach myself assembly in an afternoon LOL

set up ACE in my new emerald file i completed recently

use ACE in emerald to generate the glitch pokemon needed to run ACE in FRLG and trade them over. finalize the setup process over in FRLG too

look up possible gentle, ability 2, female, and shiny egg frames, and pick one that looks good to RNG manipulate in emerald, noting its PID (an encounter-specific ID number, pretty much)

figure out what SID, when combined with a TID of 02018, will cause that egg frame to be shiny - that way when the egg is traded over and hatched in firered, it will be shiny

do the RNG in emerald, trade over the to-be-shiny egg to firered, and hatch it after changing the TID/SID with ACE appropriately!! bam female, gentle, early bird, shiny, JP origin girafarig with an OT of PPさん and a visible TID of 02018. Pog!!

to execute that gameplan would take me an entire day, though...

step 1: play through firered

ok gonna be honest this is the ONE part of this entire process that i did not play on original hardware. i wanted to get to the Cool Parts of this process so i decided to play through firered on emulator. absolutely terrible picture sorry but i do actually own japanese firered, so i could dump the game legally to my computer to use speedup in mGBA with a little device called the Joey JR which connects the cart to my computer by USB like so

after that it was pretty much a relatively normal playthrough but obviously with emulator speedup. i used solely my starter blastoise to, well, blast through the rest of the game LMAO. after just a couple of hours or so i was right before the elite four, which i completed while in the car after moving the save file back to my cartridge with the same device, since i had to leave the house to go to a doctor appointment. i tried to take pictures of me beating the game but the sun was not doing the photos any favors lol. blastoise ended up being level 76 by the end. was easy with surf and an ice beam TM from the game corner (i just bought the coins)

unfortunately beating the game isn't the only requirement for trading with the hoenn games, so i also had to complete the whole sevii islands postgame quest... which required me to have 60 registered owned entries in the pokedex, which i wasn't really doing while speeding through the game initially, so i had a lot of mons to catch. i was still out of the house at this point (and playing at normal speed lol) so i wasn't really taking pictures, but i did make a stop at the power plant to look for an electabuzz despite it being an inefficient 5% since i needed a spare anyways for my leafgreen file unrelated to this story lmao. took a pic of it since it took a while to show up. anyway soon enough the dex had 60+ entries! i've played FRLG so many times that the encounter locations are memorized in my mind... i did all of this with no googling asdfkasfd

at this point i got home and was able to do the ruby/sapphire postgame quest on emulator with speedup again, so it was pretty easy. moved the save back to cart and i was done with step 1! obviously this didn't actually take me 21 hours of playtime, that was the emulator speedup's fault loool. from here on out i didn't touch any emulators again!

step 2: set up ACE in emerald

ACE time! i've actually set up ACE in an old emerald file before but i wanted to do it again fresh. i was following a guide pretty much to a T so i'm actually going to skip over the details of some of the steps since you can read about those more in depth over at the guide i was using if you want

TLDR; you have to trade for the NPC trade pokemon, DOTS the seedot and PLUSES the plusle, then EV train DOTS a specific way. these EV values cause DOTS to turn into a glitch pokemon egg 0x0611 when corrupted with the pomeg glitch (more on that in a bit), which, when hatched, runs the PC box names as code, aka ACE! why does it work? if you really want to know, there's plenty of stuff online about it, i'm not the best person to ask haha

it's worth noting that volbeat is really annoying to capture in emerald as it's literally only available as a 1% in one patch of grass, so i caught an illumise instead and bred them until a volbeat hatched lol. was much more efficient

also lol "Take good care of DOTS!" sorry i will be corrupting your son into demonspawn that lets me wield godlike control over your universe

after getting the necessary NPC trade pokemon all ready and moving them into a specific pattern in box 2 (i cloned them with the emerald tower cloning glitch) i had to perform the pomeg glitch. this involves using a pomeg berry to decrease a pokemon's health to 0 without causing a whiteout. this is achieved by getting a pokemon with at least 8 HP EVs to 1 HP and then using the pomeg berry on it, decreasing the EVs and taking off a point of health in the process (it's slightly more steps than this but whatever). i decided to use the camerupt i had during my playthrough of the game for this purpose. just took him to fiery path to get poisoned and walked until he was on 1 HP and healed him with an antidote lol

by doing the pomeg glitch and entering a wild battle, the game gets a bit confused since all the pokemon in your party are fainted and just sends out some sort of glitch decamark pokemon. in this situation, after viewing my camerupt's summary in battle and exiting back out of the summary screen, i was able to corrupt the DOTS and PLUSES sitting in my PC by scrolling up above the usual limit of the party menu, which reaches into data used by the first two PC boxes and fucks them up, ending up with, assuming that i EV trained correctly, a glitched egg that is about to hatch in a nest ball named DOTS with pokerus. this will run ACE when hatched! (if you want more info on this corruption pomeg stuff, check out the bulbapedia article for glitzer popping. yes that's what they named it)

step 3: use emerald ACE to set up firered ACE

so once again you can find a lot more detail on this process over at the guide i was using, but the TLDR of the matter was, i needed to put a bunch of codes into my PC box names to generate a few different glitch mons. specifically, i needed a egg that would hatch into a crobat (yes, fully evolved lol) with a singular glitched out move, that when used in battle in firered, would cause ACE to happen similar to how hatching the corrupted DOTS egg causes ACE to happen in emerald. i also needed a specific buggy shiny umbreon and a very strange glitchy egg.

even though this step was mostly a lot of tedious typing on the gen 3 keyboard (+ i had to redo things once because i made a typo at one point in the process LOL) it was so much fun! the game breaks in so many ways that you would just... never see during normal gameplay and it makes for some really good pictures and whatnot

first of all, when you hatch the 0x0611 egg, it hatches into a decamark of varying colors, in the case of the picture below it's almost imperceptible because the whole sprite is just a black circle, blending in with the background (sorry for the quality on this one, it's a screencap of a video clip i took).

additionally, trying to scroll over the hatched decamark in the PC or viewing its summary screen will crash the game, so to get rid of it, it has to be moved to the front of your party in the party menu, and then you go to the PC to release it through the deposit menu. since the cursor just defaults to the first position of the party and you don't have to scroll over to it, it's possible to release it from here.

oh yes and the umbreon/other glitch egg? similarly screwy - actually after generating them, their sprites are glitched out until you reset the game, so they look like this. behold their nonsense summaries:

after i had all i needed to trade to FRLG, i cloned an extra set of them with the emerald tower glitch again just in case i messed something up and got to trading! here's me receiving them on the firered side:

and last but not least, i'm a little obsessed with the way the glitch move looks in FRLG on the hatched crobat, absolute nonsense:

i finalized setting up the FRLG ACE (check out the guide i linked earlier for more info) and put everything into their proper positions, but before i could actually execute any code... i needed to know what SID i was going for!

step 4 + 5: look up potential egg frames in emerald and find an SID

soo now for looking at potential girafarig eggs. instead of using the program pokefinder which i mentioned earlier, i used a program called pokenav egg rng tool, which is exactly what it sounds like, a tool specialized for rng manipulating eggs with the pokenav in emerald. using it, i was quickly able to generate a whole list of gentle, female, ability 2 (early bird) eggs, and i picked one that was around 1300 frames in since that made for quick resetting attempts, but not so quick that i could barely make my inputs in time. the one i picked was frame 1381. with a TID of 02018, the PID D2C5EF55 would be shiny with an SID of 14962, so i noted that for later in firered. (i figured this out using an old program called RNG Reporter which is what i'm familiar with but i don't recommend using lmao. it's the "Pandora's Box" feature of that software though if you happen to look it up)

i won't make an entire guide on how to do emerald egg RNG here because it's a lot of steps, but i might at some point because the most up to date method isn't super well documented. anyways, here's a very paraphrased version of the process (this is also assuming that you aren't dealing with "redraws", which i wasn't... like i said very paraphrased):

get a pokemon with the ability lightningrod in the front of your party (i used electrike) to make pokenav calls happen more frequently, and a pokemon with flame body or magma armor (i used slugma) to make eggs hatch faster

get a male and a female of the pokemon you want to hatch, in my case girafarig. if you were RNGing IVs, the parent's IVs would be relevant, but i am not RNGing IVs so i didn't care and just caught the first girafarig i could in the safari zone

an egg is attempted to be generated every 255 steps after the parents are deposited in the daycare together, so by timing the usage of a max repel in such a way, it's easy to save the game exactly 10 steps before an egg is generated. do this

using a timer such as eontimer, soft reset and try to take that last 10th step on your target frame. this will also trigger a pokenav call (or lack thereof) and by looking for the phone call you got in the call column of the egg rng tool and whether or not an egg generated at the daycare, you can tell what frame you hit. didn't hit your target? just soft reset and try again, calibrating the timer for your own human error. this can take a while since the timing is precise to 1/60th of a second

once you hit your target frame, woohoo you did it just take the egg and hatch it! if you're RNGing IVs you would actually save before taking the egg and then RNG the IVs separately but that's a whole different thing i'm not explaining here since i wasn't RNGing IVs

i've avoided mentioning it this entire time till now, but emerald is particularly easy to do rng manipulation in because due to a programming error, the rng seed is always 0 - all encounters are predictable and you don't have to dedicate a frame perfect input to getting the right seed, making emerald rng a matter of one frame perfect input instead of two (there ARE ways to get emerald to generate a proper rng seed but that's unrelated here). additionally, its pokenav system means you can see if you got the right egg BEFORE taking it and hatching it... doing egg RNG in any other gen 3 game is basically a death sentence due to multiple untelegraphed frame perfect inputs that have to be executed in a row, plus really long wait times due to hatching eggs on a slower bike without flame body. there's a reason i was not doing this on four island in frlg.

but yeah now i knew what egg frame i was going for and was all prepared to do the RNG, so now it was onto actually executing it all:

step 6: getting kaf girafarig babey!!

before doing the RNG manipulation in emerald, i needed to change my SID and TID in firered finally! this required me to run two different codes, one for SID and one for TID. it was actually pretty painless since the code is nearly identical for both, you just swap out the values of each ID and one character changes in one box name to decide whether you're changing TID or SID. you can find the list of codes i was referencing here.

i was saving my one allotted video clip in this post for changing the TID with the glitched crobat move though because LMAO

^ shoutout to my qpp @/spikyearr for this one i fucking chokedSKFDDSFK

anyway, after doing that i went through the process of the egg rng in emerald (unfortunately no pictures because it's kind of hard to take pics mid-rng) and actually saved before taking the egg so that i'd be able to soft reset after hatching it - i just needed to check to make sure it was gentle and everything, and then i could soft reset, take the egg again, bike around to decrease the egg cycles in emerald since hatching in firered is super slow, and then trade it off before hatching it to go be hatched in firered. i knew it wouldn't be shiny in emerald, so i wasn't concerned with that. it only took 40 or so minutes of attempts before i got her!

and then AT LAST after spending my ENTIRE DAY ON THIS SHIT (like 10x the amount of time on the ACE stuff for the TID instead of the actual RNG itself LOOOL) i just had to trade the egg to firered and hatch it and i was golden!!!!! AAAGH here she is next to my kaf plushies!!!

also a picture of her summary screen after being traded to my english leafgreen!! i am assuming this will be easier to read for most of the people reading this post LOL

THAT'S IT. POST OVER THIS WAS SO LONG. IF YOU MADE IT THROUGH MY RAMBLING GOOD JOB. I HIT THE PHOTO LIMIT HELP ME

anyways yeah i'm gonna be ribbon mastering her and idk i might post about the process as i go. not immediately though i have a platinum playthrough to finish teehee. also if any of this was interesting to you i highly recommend trying out RNG manipulation, it's a really fun way to play pokemon games! gen 5, BW specifically and not their sequels, is REALLY beginner friendly for RNG manipulation as the timing is a lot less precise. check it out, there's plenty of guides online!!

[swampstew]

Trafalgar Law, B-6 ~ Master/Servant

Summary: Part 3 to Trafalgar Law as a Fylgja: A supernatural being associated with fate, usually an omen of one’s impending doom, who can shapeshift - his favorite form is a Snow Leopard. You're his new little pet and this a little treat on how your life with Law would be.

Part 1 | Part 2 Author's note: This needs to the final part for Fylgja Law, I'm exorcising him from my brain space and back into the friendzone where he belongs (for me, Raven, personally.)

Warnings: Spicy, pet play kink, master/servant relationship, Monster Law, hybrid Law/leopard form. Adding dead dove in case people take issue with monster fucking/hybrid fucking or whatever. Word Count: 643

Law is quick to bring you into his home. He doesn’t mind you keeping the apartment if you want, but he wants you around at all times when he has the time to be home. Being a Fylgja and moonlighting as a surgeon means he seldom has down time. Any time he does, he wants to spend it with you.

When he’s gone, you do whatever you want to entertain yourself in his absence. You won’t need to work because his pay is phenomenal, but if you do its fine by him – so long as you wear a token of his ownership on you. A stunning golden choker with a dangling crystal heart charm. Never take it off unless you want to be in the doghouse.

You take care of his place when you’re under that roof, not because he expects you to but you do it anyways, and you always wear your cat ears – that’s the only rule. Your real catsuit only comes out whenever its play time. He loves shopping for you too, absolutely adores seeing you wear the outfits he buys.

He always starts by having you change into your ‘house’ outfit, the same outfit he gifted you that first day he made you his pet. He washes your hands and feet, drying them with a soft towel before slipping your gloves and socks on. He slips on your panties and bra and you admire the way he restrains himself when his eyes eat you up with a predatory gaze. If you give him a teasing look he’ll flick your cat ear and give your ass a slap. Law looks ravenous by the time he clips on your collar. Before he can indulge – can’t forget your tail plug.

Law will make you purr, hiss, mewl, and downright yowl with what he knows about the human body. He wasn’t an expert at first but when he figured out your cues he was on them like a hound. Loves taking care of his Kitten, in every single way. He saved you and now you’re all his so he wants to spoil and protect you.

He’ll fuck you however you want. Human form, hybrid form – he’s game for anything, he’ll make sure to never hurt you and heavily enforces safe words and check-ins to make sure you’re not lying to him or yourself about being in situations you may not enjoy. Enjoys watching you in the mirror, alone, with him, him making you pleasure yourself, he just loves watching you and watching himself fuck into you. It releases a deep growling that normally doesn’t come out during any other times you are together.

If you’ve ever in your life thought – I wish I could quit everything and become someone’s pet, Law’s the guy you want to be adopted by.

Also: the King of Aftercare. He knows that he’s rough sometimes, especially when he’s shapeshifted (oh yeah, he’ll appeal to your appetite if you want a different breed of cat. Or marine animal), so he performs medical care under the guise of aftercare but honestly you don’t mind it much. He disguises his prodding for discomfort as massaging your muscles, ‘stretching you for the next round’ to make sure nothing is broken or sprained, applies several kisses to remedy any scratches or bite, and teases you with playful snatching of comfort items to check for concussions or brain damage. He’s a natural worrier.

But then – the snacks he brings, taking charge of clean up, the vibe he sets to just hang out with you in post-sex comfort, making you laugh and feel cherished as he feeds you little bites and just talks with you. He might treat you like a plaything, a pet, but make no mistake, you’re his little house cat. He’s in it for life. Well, the rest of your life anyway.

13 tiles to go, 37 calls made so far.