#maybe i should go grab gale

[aro-attorneys]

Idk what it is w allied NPCs who refuse to jump in combat. Why are you dashing through the difficult terrain that's also an AOE spell? You are wasting a full action here just. Jump out. Idiots.

[inkyquince]

Okay so maybe in just brain rotted... And I am BUT.

Love interests fucking GRABBING the dark urge for a kissy after the meeting with gortash. Man's turning up the rizz and flexing his stubble and eye bags and his anti-anxiety robe and his voice is low and seductive as he calls the durge an old *friend*.

Like, Karlach wouldn't even wait to be out of the room. Not even take a few steps away. Fully turn to you, grab you by the shoulders and fucking LIFT you up to plant a big smooch on you. Much to Gortash's bemusement and horror tbf. And the rest of the court's.

Gale would be more subtle, stepping close as you head towards the stairs and quickly press a kiss to your cheek with a soft smile. No way anyone would think it's a platonic look of adoration, even if his stomach is still twisting with the revelation that it was YOUR actions that led to this.

Astarion? Yeah, your conversation wouldn't have even ended before he's doing his slutty lil lean against you, resting his chin on your shoulder, still seemingly fully absorbed into the conversation. After it ends, he presses a kiss to your neck and idly follows after you, bemused by his own spark of annoyance at Gortash and his reaction to it. Mostly just exasperated by it though.

Wyll is filled with outrage for his father, for karlach and now for you. The implications seeped in Gortash's words and yet when you had joined up with the group, you had been left in the trash heaped, bloodied and stricken with amnesia. He's disgusted. So on the way out, he takes another look at his father and then slips his hands into yours. Raises it and gently kisses your knuckles on the way out. Even some of the court coo at the cute, gentlemanly gesture. Gortash looks mildly grossed out and Wyll takes that win, even with the prospect of meeting back up with Mizora in a few seconds.

Lae'zel would bare her teeth at him, smack his down and break his face in, if.... Well, if everything else wasn't going on right now, and it would upset the tin soldiers. So she settles for the next best thing, as resentment and possessiveness curl her tongue. Just gripping your waist and pulling you closer should do it. But she must add in a quick, harsh bite to your lower lip. Yknow, just in case.

Shadowheart? Gods, to make it clear, she's dying to press you against the wall and slide a thigh against your crotch, but yknow. Polite company. So instead she just slips her arm around yours, pulls you closer and whisper into your ear. Looks more salacious than it is, as she whispers that your past isn't who you are now and then drops a kiss to your earlobe. But it should to the trick.

Halsin isn't an envious creature. He really isn't. This man wouldn't care about your current other partners, so why should he care about past ones? Potential past parents, nonetheless. But, he'd never turn down the chance to pull his love close, especially in front of the man that caused all this trouble to begin with. Pull you close and tuck you into his side, maybe even kiss your temple.

Gortash? Gortash has missed his favourite assassin. He's waited for you, even with Orin hissing about your demise, and he never truly believed that such a piece of subpar, inbred Bhaalspawn could compare to you. The one who stole the Crown, the one who helped mastermind, the one who your father had chosen first. So what in the world was your little fan thinking? After a sweet, pleasant conversation, to start to paw at you? A fool no doubt. They might have gotten a few lovely weeks with you, but he had been with you for far longer, and he was finished waiting. No, he didn't see them being a problem.

[happy-beeeps]

Sweat it out

Summary: tav comes down with a nasty flu, and one of her travel companions begins to worry... and maybe realize his feelings

WC: 1.3k

warnings: none i think! idiots in love

f!tav x reader

It’s quiet outside Astarion’s tent as he paces back and forth. Halsin has been inside with you for far too long, and the lack of communication has him worried. How long has it been since he hasn’t ended the night with your words, your breath near his? Weeks, months?

He doesn’t like to think of it. In fact, he’s doing an excellent attempt at thinking about anything else as he paces, and fails to notice the clatter of their camp members walking over to him.

“Chin up soldier, the rest of us seem okay, it probably has nothing to do with her tadpole.”

“Karlach is right,” Gale agrees, “it seems unlikely that the rest of us would be spared the same fate if this truly was connected to our wormy affliction. She will pull through.”

As much as it pains him to admit it, Gale is right. For all logical sense, this should have nothing to do with the mind flayers—but the thought offers little comfort (few things hinging on Gale’s ideas rarely do.) 

It has started this morning, you had remarked how your head felt wrong. You felt wrong. You had ignored it, had soldiered on. As the day progressed, you complained of aches that had not been there, of chills that ran down your arms. Your skin grew pallor, covered in a sheen of sweat. By the end of the night, a cough ragged at your chest, and you could do nothing f else but whimper to yourself. The slightest motion had set tears out of your eyes, your skin burning itself to rid your body of whatever was happening.

Only Halsin, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart accompanied you now, the two healers were working overtime on an attempt to find your ailment, and Lae’zel was not easily persuaded to leave behind one of her dearest friends.

Astarion thinks of the dagger pressed to poor Wyll’s throat when he kindly attempt to guide her towards a spot nearest the fire.

He’s worried about you. This isn’t new, he’s made peace with the reality that he cares for you, he just hasn’t figured out how to say it. Now, he fears the opportunity may be slipping from him.

It’s Halsin’s booming voice that calms his nerves, he and the other two step out from the tent, his grin palpable even from where Astarion is standing. “She’ll be fine. It’s a nasty virus, I’ve given her a brew to aid in the healing, and I’ve created tonics for the rest of us.”

As he passes them out, Shadowheart walks up to Astarion, who is quickly making his way towards your tent. “You… don’t need a tonic. On the account of you being, you know. Not really alive.”

“You’ve got such a way with words, really,” he breathes, but his eyes flicker to the flap of your tent, “so I can go see her?”

Lae’zel speaks up, placing a firm pat on his arm as she walks by, “she’s certainly been asking for you.”

* * * 

You have two clear, feverish trances.

The first is of your mother. A memory that’s not uncommon, one you drift back to anytime you attempt to rest an illness away. Its familiarity brings comfort as you attempt to sweat this bug out, and ignore Halsin and Shadowheart’s proding over your body. 

The other is… newer. One you hadn’t expected. You’re in a secluded section of camp, feet tapping against the water, skin swathed in moonlight. Your wearing nothing other than a long, white shirt, unlaced dangerously along the neck. This is no more than two days ago. 

You follow the memory along, watch from your eyes as you trace circles along your bare thighs, until you look to your side. Astarion is there, eyes swimming with emotion, as he gnaws on his lip.

Memory Astarion reaches out, grabbing your hand, weaving your fingers together. “I’m glad you’ve convinced me to stick around after our escapades, you are entirely addicting.”

Memory you leans against him, pressing your weight against his. His skin is cool, the chill sending tiny bumps along your exposed legs. “I’m glad you’ve decided to humor me, Star.”

You’re mortified when your eyes flutter open, your mouth in the process of muttering his name, to realize he’s here. Next to you. In your tent. As you sweat through probably a third pair of smallclothes.

“You rang?” He’s cheeky when he speaks, but his hand goes to palm your stomach quickly, as if he’s checking to make sure you’re here, you’re still you. The concern is sweet, and it sends an all new kind of flush across your body.

“Feel so sick, Star.” Shit. Is that tiny little voice coming from you?

He moves then, gentler than he’s ever moved before, carefully contorting his body around yours and pressing you against him. In an instant, it’s like a salve to your soul. You’re covered in him—his smell, his weight, his temperature. The chill itself is a whole other soothe to your aches. 

“I know you are darling, but Halsin said you’ll be better soon.”

“Can’t get you sick,” a cough takes your lungs briefly, “who’s gonna pick the locks for us then?”

He laughs, and smooths a few stray hairs out of your face. “I won’t. Officially medically cleared, according to Shadowheart. On the account of my ‘not being alive.’”

You move to nod your head, but the pain makes you stop. Astarion is quick, and he cushions the movement with his hand before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I hear you were dreaming about me?”

“Maybe. Lots of trances. You know how it goes.”

“Was it particularly scandalous? Is that why my little love is so keen to swear?”

“Don’t have it in me to hit you.”

“You wouldn’t dream of it.”

It’s a calm silence that takes you next, Astarion stroking your hair as you listen to the distant clamor of your friends. You break it, after another moment.

“I remembered my mother.”

You don’t often talk about your family, and he knows this. He moved just slightly so you can see his face, curiosity and warmth covering his eyes. “What was it?”

“When I was little, I got sick, nothing bad but still sick. My mother, she’d rub my hair and sing to me,” you pause to close your eyes, as if you could will her here right now, “she’d go to our kitchens and shoo the cooks out, she’d make me her special soup, and when she brought it to me she’d promise me she’d teach me one day.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“She was. Smart too. She always knew things about me that I didn’t know.”

“Oh, like what?” Astarion’s face shimmers with a laugh and you use the last bit of your strength to attempt a shrug and burrow into his chest.

“She used to tell me she knew I’d end up with someone older. Don’t know if she knew how old.”

After your words, as if in cue, your chest begins its steady rise and fall, and Astarion recognizes the twitch in your fingers. You’re trancing again. Which means he’s stuck with your words and their heavy implications.

Still, with the way your overheating body simmers against his cold touch, he resolved that he doesn’t mind their weight, not at all. In fact, he’d like more of your burden.

You don’t slip out of your trance that night, but feel the briefest ghost of a kiss on your forehead.

When sunlight rolls around, your eyes blink awake. You’re weak, you can feel it, but better. You go to sit up, but realize quickly Astarion’s weight is still against you, one arm cradling your head to his chest, one arm twisted beneath you. 

You’ve never quite felt so comfortable, so held. You don’t remember what you told him last night, don’t remember exactly what he said. Instead, you decided to live in this moment now, and pray to all the gods you’ll get to relive it again soon.

[vixstarria]

Mark me as yours

This takes place immediately after and is interlinked with 'Missionary with the lights off' but from Astarion's rather than Tav's POV - check it out if you haven't already, the fics complement each other.

Soft sassy Astarion, F!Tav, Gale, minor appearances by other origin characters, Astarion POV

Fluff, humour, banter, pining, non-explicit sexual references

A day in camp in the life of Astarion. Features brooding, sewing, doing laundry, being dramatic, engaging in improper use of archmage of Waterdeep, reading erotica, and more!

Approx. 2,000 words

You frowned at the stuffed bear you held in your hands, weighing up your desire to showcase your skills against the absurdity of the task at hand.  

The whole thing was coming apart and needed to be washed and restuffed if you were to do this properly. What was inside, anyway? Fur..? You supposed you could go hunt something furry. Or maybe save yourself the time and just give Scratch a quick partial shave, he wouldn’t mind – the mutt lying at your feet was stupid enough to like you. To prefer you over anyone else, in fact.  

You reached down to give him a fond, absentminded pet.  

And then there was the matter of not letting it burn to a crisp the moment Karlach touched it. 

“Is there a flame ward enchantment on this..? Can you reapply it?” you asked Gale, who was nearby at his usual spot by the fire, concocting something edible for the rest of your group. 

“There is and I sure can,” he replied.  

Great. You had gotten yourself into a group project with the wizard to rescue a teddy bear.  

“Don’t tell me this is what Wyll was so concerned about earlier...” Tav had finally made it out of your tent and sat down next to you, looking somewhat less disheveled than how you’d left her.  

“The bag of holding finally tore. Naturally I was the only one competent enough to fix it.” 

You gestured with your thumb towards a towering pile of assorted crap that Wyll and Lae’zel were still sifting through: Lae’zel inspecting and setting aside any weapons and armour she deemed worth keeping, and Wyll sorting through an array of scrolls and potions no one was ever going to use, or would forget were in your possession if the need for them ever did arise.  

“Darling, this is your fault, you know,” you added. “Must you pick up everything?” 

“Karlach made me do it. Also I don’t know what you’re talking about, I am prudence and sensibility personified,” she said. 

“You’re uh... You’re also bleeding,” Gale said, pointing at her neck. 

A trail of blood had started running down from the puncture wounds, which must have reopened.  

Shit. 

Before you could reason yourself out of it, your instincts kicked in and you pressed your mouth against her neck, licking the blood off. By the gods, she actually leaned into you as you did that, not away. You glimpsed a guilty, sheepish smile she threw at Gale, as you pulled away.  

“Idiot... Here, apply pressure, I’ll get the amulet,” you said. 

“I’m the idiot?! You’re the one who ran off to resolve a sewing emergency, like a good little seamstress, before sorting me out!” 

You strode over to your tent, in part to grab the amulet of Silvanus, in part to discreetly tuck away the erection that had immediately started developing as soon as you tasted her blood.  

Hells, am I 239 or 15? you thought, annoyed with yourself.  

“An amulet? I was wondering why you’d stopped visiting me in the mornings...” you heard from Shadowheart. 

“We have a system,” Tav replied.  

“Clearly,” laughed Shadowheart. 

A scene from the night sprung up in your mind as you went about your day: 

She’d fallen asleep on your shoulder, half lying on you, her nose buried in your neck.  

It was... nice. Really nice. And you didn’t think this bizarre scenario would ever happen again.  

And yet, pleasant as it was, she still felt too far. You needed to feel her closer. Perhaps you were being greedy, but after all these years, why should you get anything less than exactly what you wanted? 

Carefully, very carefully lest she stir awake and leave, you rolled over onto your side, holding her against you.

She was still asleep. Good...   

You cautiously slipped lower and lower until your head was at her chest, delicately wrapping your arms around her torso. 

Then she stirred.  

Shit. 

Without waking, she sighed, drawing you into a tight embrace, clutching you against her chest, complete with throwing a leg over your hips to pull you even closer. 

You finally relaxed, your arms wrapped around her waist. 

Perfect... 

She felt so warm... She smelled of comfort. 

You could indulge in this for the night. You would wake up before she did anyway.  

You drifted away, lulled by the beating of her heart. 

You didn’t have any nightmares that night.  

“Is your boyfriend coming?” you heard Karlach somewhere in the distance.  

You cringed at the juvenile term. Still, you were curious how she would answer.  

“He’s on laundry duty,” she responded. “Just us gals today.” 

“So your idea of doing washing is to pawn everything off to me,” said Gale. 

“Vampires and running water, remember,” you said. “Also you don’t look like you’re exerting an awfully large amount of effort yourself... Although I must admit, this is ingenious.” A little flattery wouldn’t hurt.

Gale sat at a riverbank at a deeper section of the river. Some sheets and clothing were being tossed and spun in a small bubbling whirlpool within the water, together with foaming slivers of soap. 

“Surely few archmages possess such finesse and creativity?” you continued. 

Gale sighed and motioned for you to throw your bundle in as well, expanding the whirlpool.  

“Just toss your shirt in too, it's splattered with blood,” Gale added wearily.  

Her scent lingered on it. The last thing you wanted was to wash it off.

You pulled the shirt over your head and hurled it into the whirlpool.  

“Not Tav’s creative nailwork, I presume..?” Gale asked with a wince, looking at your back.  

“Nope” was all you said, as you pulled a book out from your pocket, making yourself comfortable on the bank. To his credit, the wizard did not probe further. 

‘Mark me as yours’ 

Those words had been echoing in your mind over and over all day.  

It couldn’t have meant anything.  

A little expression of some vampire fetishism finally poking through – you shouldn’t have expected any different from her, she did offer you her blood consistently, not even asking for anything in return.  

Still, you’d felt like something inside you might burst from your desire and thrill when you heard those words.   

And then everything that followed after... 

You had actually lost yourself for a short while. Not dissociated and detached. Lost yourself. In bliss. In the scent of her skin, in the sounds of her need for you, in the sensation of her blood merging with yours and flowing through your veins. 

And now she was walking around somewhere, with telltale bitemarks on her neck for all the world to see. Scandalous... 

No, it couldn’t have meant anything.  

‘Mark me as yours’ 

Still... What a pleasant little fantasy... 

‘Yours’ 

“You’ve been smiling at that page for ten minutes straight now,” Gale’s voice snapped you out of your musings.  

“It’s my favourite page,” you retorted. 

“What’s it about?” he asked snidely after a short pause.  

“I have no idea,” you confessed, begrudgingly, snapping the book shut. If the wizard knew what was best for him, he would abstain from any further comments.  

“She’s quite fond of you,” Gale said sombrely after another pause.  

“Is this about to turn into one of those ‘You break her heart – I'll break your face’ talks?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

“Oh gods no,” Gale laughed. "No, I would go straight to incineration... You just strike me as the type that needs to have the obvious spelled out for them.” 

“I am not entering this type of discourse with someone who’s presently washing my spend off my bed sheets,” you said, laying back and shutting your eyes, to bask in the sun. No answer followed. 

Not even a minute had passed when a shadow fell over you.  

Odd, you thought. There hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky. 

You opened your eyes to see a giant water bubble hovering a few meters above you. Was that... a bedsheet floating in the middle..? 

Worth it, you thought just as the undulating bubble spilt and crashed over you.  

You coughed and spat, trying to untangle yourself from the sheet, as the unleashed torrent nearly swept you off the bank. And yet, above all else, you found yourself curious. 

The water had no longer been running as part of the river, true, but given its sheer volume and the velocity at which it hit you, it should have hurt more than merely your pride.  

You made it to the edge of the bank, and cautiously dipped a finger in.

Nothing...

You proceeded to submerge your hand, then your entire forearm, to your elbow. 

Nothing.  

Of all things... Why this? Why not your reflection? Why not the blood craving? Oh well. Beggars, choosers... 

You were laughing.  

“This tadpole,” you turned and shouted at Gale, unabashedly stripping yourself of your pants, as Gale turned away, muttering something about going blind, “is the best thing that’s happened to me in centuries!” 

The best? Maybe second best? It had some tight competition, but you supposed nothing would have been possible without it, so it reigned supreme. 

You leaped into the river, diving and letting the gentle current carry you downstream for a while.  

You knew what you would be doing later that evening with her.  

“What have you got there?”  

She slid onto your lap like a cat that refused to take ‘no’ for an answer as it sought attention. You had been idling away your time by your tent, with some pulp you had picked up earlier. The rest of the group had been drinking and roasting something at the campfire.  

“Trash. Disappointingly boring trash, this time,” you answered. 

“No pulsating flesh tunnels in this one?” 

“Alas... There were not one but two mentions of ‘velvet-wrapped steel’ however, and plenty of ‘sword-sheathing’.” 

“To the hilt?” 

“Is there any other way?” 

“Wouldn’t want to sheathe it only partially, I suppose...” she mused. “Come join us. We found some half-decent wine. And you don’t have to be alone all the time, you know.” 

“Spare me, I’ve had enough of Gale’s lectures and Wyll’s tales for the day. And besides, ugh, all those chewing noises!” You made a gagging sound. 

None of them want me there. 

“Oh don’t be such a delicate princess,” she rolled her eyes. “How’s this: it’s our joint meal time. It would be rude and completely unfair to exclude anyone. You should sit down with everyone, bite down on my wrist and make a great deal of slurping.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

Delightful. Simply delightful. 

“It will be funny!” 

“I fear you might be the only one laughing, darling.” 

That is hilarious, I can just imagine Gale squealing or getting sick. 

“Is there anyone else you’d care to make laugh?” she asked with a slight upturn of her lips. 

Not in the least. 

“I could die again knowing I have accomplished something if I ever make Lae’zel laugh. But perish the thought – I am perfectly happy right here with my literature.” 

“Well, if you don’t want to join the group, perhaps I will stay and you can...” She snatched the book from your hands and tossed it aside, leaning in and bringing her lips up to your ear. “...Release your kraken in my field of rose petals,” she purred in a sultry voice. 

“Stop,” you choked back a snicker.  

“Get tangled up in my beef curtains?” she continued with the same tone. 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“Sink your meat shaft in my cream tart!” she persevered.  

“By the gods, woman, I am never having sex with your again.” 

“Suckle the nectar from my weeping core!” 

“Alright, fine, I’ll go, anything is better than this.” You got up, pushing her off your lap. 

“Taste my forbidden, oozing fruit, Astarion!” she cried out from the ground behind you as you covered your ears and shouted “LALALALA”, making your way towards the campfire. 

You would endure the prattle of your companions.  

Then you would take her for a moonlit swim in the river.  

Then you would see if she might spend the whole night in your arms again.  

Perhaps she could sleep in your shirt and leave her scent on it again – it was foolish to sleep completely in the nude out in the wild after all, what if there were intruders? 

Everything was going according to plan, you reminded yourself.  

~~~~~

Next in series - Down by the river

Series master list

AO3

Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny

Also @spacebarbarianweird - you haven't asked for a tag but sounded interested

[justagalwhowrites]

Halcyon - Ch. 10: People Might Think You Care About Me

You and Joel spend the holidays together. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 9, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Again, I'm here begging HBO to give me something to use for young Joel PLZ

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Mention of dieting and diet culture. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 5.8K

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“I can’t believe my kid is going to like you better than me,” Joel said, sitting in the middle of the living room floor with a roll of wrapping paper spread out in front of him. “Scissors.” 

You handed them over before grabbing the tape, putting a piece on the tip of your finger before folding the paper around the box - a friendship bracelet kit - that you were wrapping for Sarah. 

“I mean, first of all, your kid already likes me more than she likes you,” you teased, turning the box to do the other side. “She has good taste…” 

“You’re the worst.” 

“Second,” you said, ignoring him. “It is a joint gift, you’re getting tons of cool dad points out of this.” 

“She’s gonna know it was your idea,” he said, adjusting the gift he was wrapping. “Hell, she’s gonna know that only one of us could have gotten tickets and it ain’t me.”

As if on cue, Swiftie - Sarah’s kitten - pounced on the box Joel was wrapping. 

“Yeah, this one knows, too,” he said, scooping her up with one large hand and setting her down. “I miss when she wanted Barbies. Shit was easier.” 

You laughed. 

“Be happy she’s excited about anything enough that she’s going to freak out over Taylor Swift tickets,” you said. “She’s about to be a disaffected teenager, enjoy it while it lasts.” 

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he muttered, “She’s stubborn enough as it is.” 

“You’re in for it, Miller,” you said as your cat, Puck, climbed on your lap. You reached around him to finish taping the package you were wrapping. “She’s going to give you so much shit…” 

“What if she’s just like you, hm?” Joel teased. “Gonna have a nerd for a kid…” 

“Hey, I was a nerd who snuck out at night to go get drunk with the boneheaded jock,” you teased back. “You really want her to be just like me?” 

“Jesus, you’re right,” Joel shook his head, finishing wrapping his present. ���I’ll have to keep her far away from anyone like me for the sake of us all.” 

You snorted and finished wrapping your own gift before scooping Puck into your arms, nuzzling into his fur and giving him a kiss on the head before settling with your back against your couch as you looked at the lights on the tree.

It was Christmas Eve, the first one in years you were spending without Gale and you’d never been more thankful for Joel. 

Last year, you and Gale were separated but you’d felt so alone that you’d texted him the afternoon of Christmas Eve and spent most of the night and next day in bed. You’d tricked yourself then, pretended there was a chance in hell of the two of you getting back together and things going back to the way they used to be. 

That hadn’t happened. You’d spent New Year’s Eve in bed, too. Except that time, you were alone. 

You’d been afraid that was going to happen for you this holiday season, too. You asked Anna what she had planned for Christmas, fully expecting her to want to spend the day together. She had other things in mind. 

“Honestly, ever since Mom died?” She’d shrugged. “I love using it as a day to just chill. Binge watch TV I’ve been meaning to catch up on, eat a pile of Chinese food, maybe take a bath… It’s pretty boring but I love it. And since I’ve got this little bundle on the way, I’m extra looking forward to it this year.” 

“Oh,” you forced a smile, trying to hide your disappointment. “No, that sounds great.” 

“Oh God,” she clamped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide for a moment. “Did you want to do something? I’m so sorry, I should have…” 

“”No,” you waved her off quickly. “No, you’re good! I don’t want to disrupt your plans…” 

“You can join if you want!” She said. “I mean, for everything but the bath part, that might be a little much now that we’re not kids anymore.” 

“No,” you said again. “You have fun! Tradition is tradition and you need the break. Maybe I’ll do the same.” 

You should have known that she would have her own way of doing things. You’d all but abandoned her during your marriage, sending perfunctory text messages and holiday cards and flying her up for a long weekend every year or so but, otherwise, you went weeks without talking. Of course she had Christmas plans that didn’t involve you. Why would she have any that did? 

Joel, however, had done what he’d always done since you’d moved back to Texas: Made room for you in his life. 

“Know you and Anna probably already got plans but,” he’d shrugged two weeks earlier. “If you don’t… want to spend Christmas with me n’Sarah? Tommy, too, assuming he doesn’t con his way into dinner at some girl’s house. S’OK if you don’t, just figured… I dunno…” 

You’d smiled, bigger than you’d really meant to. 

“You want me to spend Christmas with you?” 

“I want you to spend most days with me,” he shrugged. “But you know, we gotta go out in the world and make money and shit. Anyway, Christmas. You in? Could just move in until the New Year if you really wanted…” 

The last part wasn’t going to work with your obligation to go try to write a book once Christmas was through. But you had spent the last two nights at Joel’s, bringing Puck over to play with Sarah and Swiftie as the three of you watched Christmas movies and binged cookies. No papers to grade, no lawyers calling because your attorneys’ offices were closed, no pressure because you already had time set aside to write. You could really relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity and relaxing with Joel and Sarah was quickly becoming your favorite thing in the entire world. 

But all that relaxing had meant there was a small pile of presents that weren’t wrapped that needed to make it under the tree. It was Christmas Eve and time had run out. 

“You need to stop procrastinating,” you said, getting your egg nog that was now mostly liquor off the coffee table and taking a sip. “Can’t get away with that shit when you’re a business owner.” 

“Just watch me,” he teased. “Besides, you’re one to talk, you made any progress on that book?” 

“That’s what next week is for,” you said, giving the cat a kiss just as he started to get restless in your arms. You set him down. “Fingers crossed having nothing else to do will make me churn out the words.” 

“Wild to me that you make money from what’s in your head,” Joel came and sat next to you. “Not that I think you shouldn’t, if anyone should it’s you. Just that anyone does at all is insane.” 

“Well, I may not make money off it for long if I can’t write anything else,” you sighed. “Know what? Let’s not talk about next week. I want to live in this moment - the one where we don’t have any worries and the presents are all under the tree and Sarah is passed out - for a while longer yet.” 

Joel hummed in agreement and you leaned your head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly. You could smell his skin and cologne and there was still a little bacon scent from when he’d made breakfast for the three of you that morning. 

“Think she’ll have a good Christmas?” Joel asked quietly, the two of you watching the lights twinkle on his tree. 

“Hell yeah,” you smiled a little. “You really are an amazing Dad, Joel.” 

He scoffed. 

“I’m serious,” you peered up at him. “You’re lucky to have Sarah but she’s lucky as hell to have you, too. She’s going to love it.” 

“Speaking of parents… anything new in the Anna situation?” Joel asked cautiously. 

“It’s a girl,” you sighed. “But she seems to be keeping up with everything, thank God. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe this is the kick in the ass she’s been needing…” 

“Was for me,” Joel shrugged, making your head rise with his shoulder. 

You sighed again. 

“Just seems like an awful lot to put on a kid,” you said. “And you might have been young and dumb but you didn’t have the shit Anna’s got on her plate. It’s a bit of a different story with her.” 

“She might surprise you. But either way, we’ll make up a room for the little sucker here,” Joel said. “Just to be safe.” 

“Regardless, that’s next year Goldie and Joel’s problem,” you said. “And thank fuck for that.” 

“Yeah, fuck those two,” you could hear the smile on Joel’s voice. “Let’s put the wrapping paper away and go to bed, something about Santa and knowing when you’re sleeping and all that.”

You cleaned up the living room and tried not to pay attention to the nighttime routine you’d fallen into with Joel in the few days you’d been staying with him. You had your own sink in Joel’s bathroom, one that had your hair products and face wash lined up alongside it. You had your own side of the bed with your own nightstand where the book you’d been reading the last few days was nearing its end and waiting for you. If you thought about it too much, you’d miss it when it was gone. If you thought about it too much, it might seem like something you could keep.

Joel made his customary space at his side and you nestled into him, your head on his chest where you could hear his heart beat. His fingers trailed up and down your arm. 

“There are upsides to a kid, you know,” he said quietly. “Christmas morning is one of ‘em. Just wait.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Stop keeping me awake and we won’t have to wait long,” you said. 

Joel snorted. 

“Yeah yeah. Night Goldie.” 

“Night Joel.” 

Sarah came careening into Joel’s room before 7 a.m., slamming into the bed so hard that it made your teeth rattle. 

“Dad! Aunt Goldie!” She shook you both. “Wake up, it’s Christmas!” 

“Yeah, alright,” Joel groaned, taking his warm arm from its place around your shoulders. You groaned, too. “You stay here with Goldie while I go put the coffee pot on and get set up to record you…” 

Sarah groaned. 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” he said. “Sit tight, five minutes.” 

You rolled onto your back and blinked the sleep from your eyes, Sarah bouncing impatiently on the bed. You lifted your head enough to look at her, curls sticking every which way, and you dropped back down onto the pillow with a groan. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, kid,” you said. 

“Yeah, that’s what my dad says,” she said cheerfully and you could picture her smile as she did. 

“Alright, come on out,” Joel called from the living room. Sarah rocketed off the bed and you laughed as you got up yourself, trailing behind her and trying not to yawn. 

“Oh cool!” Sarah flopped down beside her stocking and started going through it as you got to the living room. Joel was sitting on the couch, his phone set up on a tripod in the corner and pointed at the tree. “These are those face mask things I said I wanted! And the headbands for soccer!” 

“I do pay attention now and then, baby girl,” Joel said, rubbing his eyes. 

“Don’t you mean Santa pays attention?” You asked, sitting next to him on the couch. Joel handed you a cup of coffee, made exactly how you liked it.

“I know Santa’s not real, Aunt Goldie,” Sarah rolled her eyes and gave you a look. “I’m 11, not a kid.” 

Joel snorted. 

“Sorry,” you said. “My mistake.” 

“Don’t spoil Santa for Goldie,” Joel said before reaching down on the ground next to him. “Speaking of which…” 

He handed you a fat stocking and you frowned a little as you took it. 

“You made me a stocking?” You asked, tears pinching at your throat. “No one’s made me a stocking since I was in high school…” 

“Then you’re real overdue,” he smiled a little and went back to watching Sarah as she unwrapped a chocolate Santa and stuffed the entire thing in her mouth. “Alright, let’s not eat all the candy in one sitting…” 

“But it’s Christmas!” She said, voice muffled around the chocolate. 

“Still gonna get sick,” he replied. 

You started unpacking the stocking, pulling two pairs of fuzzy socks out of the top. 

“Because your feet are always freezing,” he said, looking back at you. “Figured one pair for here, one for your house…” 

“Thank you,” you smiled, going back into the stocking. There was some of your favorite candy, one of the face masks Sarah had, a bottle of gold nail polish. 

“We can do a spa day!” She beamed. 

“We can,” you laughed, looking at Joel who just shrugged, a small smile on his face. 

At the bottom of the stocking was a chunky gold pen, thick plastic encasing glitter and you turned it over in your fingers, frowning for a moment at just how familiar it felt. 

“Saw one like the one you had when we were kids years ago,” Joel said. “Bought it on a whim, thought you might want it.” 

You wanted to say thank you but you couldn’t seem to make a sound, the words caught in your throat. Instead, you just threw your arms around his neck and he laughed a little when he caught you, his hand sliding over your side and around to your back. 

You stayed close to Joel and watched as Sarah tore through her presents, the envelope with the concert tickets safely in Joel’s possession. 

“Hey Sarah,” you said eventually. “Can you hand me that box under there that’s for your dad?” 

Joel frowned as Sarah got the box, setting it on the coffee table in front of Joel and hovering as he went to open it. 

“Didn’t need to get me anything,” he said. 

“Too damn bad,” you said. “Don’t get too excited, it’s nothing crazy.” 

He opened it. Inside were two shot glasses, leather wrapped with a monogrammed M burned into it. 

“I thought you needed some accessories for the flask,” you smiled. 

He laughed. 

“We gotta break these in,” he said, looking them over. “They even look like they match…” 

“May have gotten Tommy to send me pictures,” you said. “Keep going, one more thing in there.” 

He shifted the tissue paper before pulling out a cassette tape, frowning at it for a moment. 

“What…” 

“I know your stereo is old enough that it plays tapes,” you said, palm out. “Hand it over.” 

He laughed once but obeyed and you went to put the tape in, adjusting the volume so it wouldn’t be too loud. It crackled a bit at the start and then Joel’s voice - almost 20 years younger but still so familiar - filled the room.

“My name is Joel Miller,” he said. “I play guitar and sing, mostly rock, little country…” 

Joel gaped at the stereo before looking to you. 

“Is this that old demo tape we made when we were kids?” He asked. You laughed and nodded. “Holy… where the hell’d you find this thing?” 

“I kept one,” you shrugged. “Thought it might give you a nudge toward playing again.” 

The Joel on tape started playing and Sarah came and sat between the two of you on the couch, looking up at her dad. 

“So that’s you?” She asked. 

“Sure is,” he said. “Long time ago, I was closer to your age then than mine now.” 

“What’s it for?” She asked. 

“Well,” Joel looked over her head to you and smiled a little before looking back at his daughter. “I always liked playing, wanted to be a singer for a while. Goldie here talked me into making some demo tapes to give to places around here that had open mic nights so I could actually play for people. Worked, too. Had a few places I played pretty often for a bit in there thanks to that tape.” 

“Why’d you stop?” She frowned. “You were good.” 

Joel shrugged. 

“Bigger things to do,” he kissed the top of her head. “Though speaking of music… think there might be one more thing for you under the tree.” 

Sarah’s frown deepened and she went to look around, picking her way through wrapping paper and but not finding it. 

“There’s nothing over here, Dad,” she said. “Are you sure?” 

“Oh, right,” Joel said, giving you a wink and pulling the envelope out of the pocket of his pajama pants. “Here it is.” 

She jumped over some of the boxes scattered over the floor and took the envelope from him, her eyebrows knitting together as she read the writing on the front. 

“To the swiftest music fan?” She said, looking up from the envelope and at the two of you. 

You just shrugged. 

“Gonna have to open it, kiddo,” Joel said. 

She slipped her fingers below the seal and pulled out the card, two pieces of paper falling to the ground before she had a chance to read it. She picked them up and unfolded them, reading the first one. 

“It says we have a hotel room in Dallas?” She looked at Joel. 

“Gotta read the other paper, baby girl,” he said. “That’s the important one. And the one from Aunt Goldie.” 

She flipped to that page next and only held it for a moment before shrieking and throwing herself at you, knocking you back into the couch. 

“You got Eras Tour tickets?” She pulled back, half on top of you and half on the couch. You just laughed and nodded. “Oh my GOD, thank you thank you thank you, you’re the best! OH MY GOD!” 

“Well your dad is the one getting us there and making sure we have a place to stay,” you said. “So hug him, too.” 

“Thank you!” She threw herself at him, too, and he laughed, catching her and giving her a squeeze. “This is the best present ever, it’s going to be the best time, I can’t wait! We’re going to see Taylor Swift! Oh my GOD, I have to tell my friends!” 

She shot off to her room to get her phone and Joel laughed, looking over at you. 

“OK I don’t even care that she likes you better n’me now,” he said. “She’s that happy? Worth it.” 

“We’ll see how we feel after a few days wrangling her for the Taylor Swift concert,” you said, watching where she’d disappeared up the stairs. “But… yeah, definitely worth it.” 

“Hey,” Joel said, voice oddly earnest. You looked over at him. “Thanks for loving my kid.” 

You smiled a little. 

“She’s yours,” you said. “How could I not?” 

Tommy came over a few hours later, once the turkey was in the oven and the wrapping paper was cleaned up off the floor. He gave Sarah a five pound bag of Sour Patch Kids and said “don’t tell your dad” before kissing the top of her head as she scampered off to stash her hoard in her room. He greeted you with a hug with a tight squeeze on the end and you still couldn’t quite get used to just how adult he was. There was part of you that still saw him as the little kid who trailed after you and Joel, the one who sometimes begged to go to Dairy Queen for a Blizzard. Now, he was nearly as tall as his older brother, drinking a beer and talking to Joel about a woman named Maria he’d just started dating. It was an odd reminder of just how much time you’d lost with Joel, just how much had changed. 

The four of you had dinner - Tommy teasing Sarah more like a loving older brother than an uncle, making you smile - and, before too long, the day was done. 

Sarah insisted on listening to Taylor Swift while she got ready for bed and Joel read to her from an Artemis Fowl book, you eavesdropping on Joel doing the voices from your place in the living room while the cats curled up around you. 

A keen sense of belonging settled over you then, as you held a mug of cocoa in one hand and the other rested on the back of your large, orange cat. This, you thought, was where you belonged. In this space, in this time, alongside these people. 

How could you ever hope to find this anywhere else? How were you ever supposed to recover from this stubborn crush if Joel was the place you felt most like home? 

“You OK?” Joel asked, hovering toward the top of the stairs, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

“Yeah,” you smiled and gave Puck a scratch and let yourself have the feeling. “I’m good.” 

You got up early the next morning, Joel barely awake enough to help carry your bags to the car. 

“See you New Year’s Eve,” he said, his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants and his hair in total disarray. “Better have that damn book done by then.” 

“Do you really think you can write an entire book in a week?” You asked, brows raised. 

“I dunno,” he said. “You’re the smart one, you tell me.” 

You rolled your eyes and he laughed a little. 

“Alright, I’m goin’ back to bed,” he said. “Text me when you get there, have fun being a genius.” 

“Hey,” you called to him as he made it halfway back up his walk. He turned to face you, frowning slightly. “Thanks. For being my friend.” 

An expression you couldn’t place passed over his face before he smiled a little. 

“Careful,” he said. “Talk like that enough, people might think you care about me and shit.” 

“Well, we can’t have that,” you said. “See you in a few days.” 

He watched you drive off and you made your way to the hill country and the cabin Stephanie had reserved for you. You’d insisted that it have extra bedrooms and a hot tub and were surprised that she hadn’t pushed back on it. 

“Whatever you need to get the job done, you’ve got it,” she said after sending you links to some cabins. “I’m just here to facilitate.” 

You stopped on the way for groceries, stocking up so you wouldn’t need to leave the house once you settled in. You went with most of your standbys for cooking for one and watching the careful diet you’d been on for years but then thought of Joel bringing you tamales and plying you with cookies over the last few days. Maybe he was right. Maybe you did need to live a little. You got the stuff to make the bagel sandwiches, too. 

The cabin was damn near idyllic, all stone and wood with huge windows looking out at the brush leading down to the lake in the backyard. The hot tub was set on the back porch, a fire pit in the yard and rocking chairs out front. The kitchen was large and reasonably well equipped and there were enough bedrooms that Joel, Tommy and Sarah could have their own when they all joined you for New Year’s Eve. There was even a desk set up near a window that overlooked the water and you set up your laptop and charger and got out your notebook with the pen from your Christmas stocking, arranging everything just so. 

“Alright,” you said to no one after you got the groceries put away and made yourself a cup of coffee before settling in at the desk to write. “Let’s do this.” 

And… you tried. You really, truly did. 

Day one, you got most of an outline done. Enough of one that you went to bed feeling somewhat accomplished and felt good treating yourself to a bagel sandwich in the morning. But then, when you sat down to work on the next part for day two, you weren’t sure you liked any of it anymore. You pressed on, anyway. Day three, you tried to write the first chapter and you made some decent progress, at least feeling like you were getting to know the characters a bit as you settled into the story. But, day four, you read what you’d written the day before and wanted to claw your way out of your skin. What were you doing? Why did you think you could do this at all? Had you ever made anything worthwhile on your own? Why would you suddenly be able to do it now? 

The text came through when you were taking a break for lunch, desperately avoiding the gnawing feeling of failure after days of accomplishing fuck all when you really had no excuse not to. You sighed and opened your texts, fully expecting from Joel or Anna or even Stephanie. 

It wasn’t. 

Hey Doll

You dropped your fork in shock and it clattered to your plate as you blinked at your phone in total shock. He was texting you. Why was he texting you? He hadn’t texted you in months, not since you’d left Rhode Island. Why now? Did you want to know? Could you resist knowing? 

Hi Gale

You propped your phone up against your half empty can of Diet Dr. Pepper and stared at the screen, waiting for the next shoe to drop. 

It didn’t take long. 

How’ve you been doing? 

Your hand shook as you replied. 

Alright. I like the new school. You?

He responded almost instantly. 

Not bad. Was just thinking about you. Miss you. 

You froze, your heart in your throat. 

He missed you. How could he just say that? The collapse of your marriage had been one of the most painful things you’d ever gone through, happening in slow motion as he pulled further and further away and you desperately tried to dig your nails in to keep him close. You’d all but begged for him to miss you for years and now he was just texting it to you out of the blue. How could he just say that? How could you pretend like it wasn’t what you wanted to hear? 

You went to his Facebook page and checked his relationship status, one of the upsides to being with an older man meaning that his social media presence was pretty limited. He was still listed as in a relationship with Carla, a woman he’d met in much the same way he’d met you. The thought made your stomach churn, that you’d been so easily replaced by the younger, thinner, prettier version who had been dropped on his desk, practically gift wrapped. 

You went back to the texts. 

How’s Carla? 

There was a longer pause that time. 

She’s not you. 

“Jesus,” you said, setting the phone down and closing your eyes for a moment. You tried to think, forcing yourself to be practical. This wasn’t the time or the place to be having this conversation. You couldn’t have this conversation, not when you’d just been sitting her wondering if you could do the only thing you’d ever felt like you were supposed to do without his help. 

I don’t want to talk about this now. I’m in the middle of working on my book. Maybe another time. 

You stared at the phone, waiting for him to respond. He never did. 

“Yeah, sure seems like you missed me,” you muttered, finishing your salad and cleaning up from lunch, settling back in at your desk to write for the afternoon, trying not to think about the very real possibility that your writing career had ended when your marriage did. 

“I’m losing my mind over here,” you said, breaking down and calling Joel on day five. “There’s only so much I can say to a wall, you know.” 

“We’re comin’ your way tomorrow,” he said. “Be praying for some peace and quiet once Sarah and Tommy are there, trust me. Still like pecan praline ice cream, yeah?” 

“Blue Bell?” You asked. 

“Course it’s Blue Bell,” you could hear him roll his eyes through the phone. “What kind of animal you take me for?” 

“Oh, my apologies…” 

“Anything else you can think of?” He asked. “I can always stop on the way, too, but it’s easier while I’m here.” 

“I still think it’s silly to buy ice cream an hour away and then drive it out here,” you said. 

“That’s what coolers are for,” he replied. “Stop finding shit to worry about. Just give the writing one more shot, see how far you get. Who knows, you might surprise yourself.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you remembered your texts with Gale the day before. 

“Goldie,” Joel said, tone serious. “That all that’s on your mind?” 

“Stop trying to read my thoughts,” you said. 

“Tell me,” he said. “Or I’ll show up early and make you.” 

“That a threat?” 

“That’s a promise,” he said. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Gale texted yesterday,” you said, fidgeting with the handle of your coffee mug, the coffee itself going cold an hour ago. 

“Gale?” Joel asked, tone sharp. “Fuckin’ Gale? The fuck did he want?” 

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “I’ll show you the texts when you get here, maybe you can translate them for me since he’s not making any damn sense.” 

“That asshole better not be making any trouble,” Joel said. “I will find him and kick his ass, Goldie, just say the word…” 

“I know you will,” you laughed a little. “But don’t worry about it right now. And I should let you go…” 

“Yeah, go write your book,” he teased. “Change the world and shit.” 

There was a knock at your front door and you frowned, staring at it. There was a window to the side of it but all you could see was a shadow. 

“Hey, Joel?” You said. “Hang on one second, there’s someone at my door.” 

“What?” He sounded serious now. “Were you expecting anyone?” 

“No,” you said quietly, approaching it slowly and trying to see through the frosted glass. You couldn’t make out who it was. “So just stay on the line and make sure I’m not axe murdered…” 

“Need me to come out there now?” He asked. “If you ain’t safe…” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” you said, unlocking the deadbolt. “Probably just a neighbor, but…” 

You opened the door and peered out through the crack, phone clutched against your head. 

You still almost dropped it. 

“Hey Doll.” 

***

“Hi Gale.” 

Joel’s heart dropped. 

“Gale?” He said, pressing his phone tight against his head and trying not to yell in the middle of the line at the HEB. “Fucking Gale? He’s there?” 

“I have to go,” you said quickly. “Talk later.” 

You hung up before he had a chance to say goodbye. He tried calling you back but you ignored it. 

Joel stood there, staring at his cart for a moment, his head swimming. 

Was he freaking out because it was you and he didn’t want you alone at some romantic looking cabin with your ex-husband? Was it because he knew that you weren’t in a place to handle this right now? Was it because he knew - knew - that your ex was a goddamn predator? 

He’d bitten his tongue about that fact since you’d been back, that the man you’d married had been more than twice your age and you’d only been a legal adult for all of a month when he’d met you. It didn’t matter that it was you, that Joel had gone searching for you and found you there with him all those years ago, he’d want to beat the shit out of a man like that regardless of who it was. A man like that couldn’t be trusted. 

He especially couldn’t be trusted with you. 

Joel checked out as fast as he could, calling Tommy as he drove. 

“Hey, need you to do me a favor,” he said quickly. 

“You always need me to do you a favor,” Tommy said. “One of these days I’m gonna cash in.” 

“Yeah, who got you the only job besides the army you’ve kept longer than a week?” Joel asked. 

Tommy sighed. 

“Fine. What’s up?” 

“Need you to take Sarah tonight.” 

“Joel, come on!” 

“M’serious,” Joel said. “Goldie’s ex just showed up at the fucking cabin…” 

“Oh, not that fucking asshole from the funeral,” Tommy cut him off. 

“That’s the one,” Joel said. 

“Fuck that guy,” Tommy said. “He needs to stay the fuck away from her.” 

“Yeah, somethin’ tells me he ain’t gonna make that choice on his own,” Joel said. “So I need you to pick up Sarah and take her for the night. And bring me my shit tomorrow. I’ll text you the address where Sarah’s at, she’s at her friend’s playing right now, needs to be picked up about five…” 

“Yeah, I got it,” Tommy said. “Go save the day.” 

Joel drove as fast as he dared, not familiar enough with where cops liked to hide to go too fast. He pulled up in front of the cabin you’d sent him the information for a week and a half earlier. He’d have admired it, in another circumstance. He’d always wanted a place like this, someplace quiet where there was enough space to live a little, maybe hunt. A place where Sarah could run and play and get to know nature a little. 

But in that moment, he was too pissed to take it in. 

He grabbed a bag out of the trunk - pretense more than anything else - and stalked up to the door before knocking on it, his fist coming down in heavy thuds on the wood. 

You pulled open the door, a surprised look on your face and your ex-husband at your back. 

He looked just about the same as Joel remembered him from before. Tall but not as tall as him, a refined air about him that made Joel want to deck him, a smug look on his face. His hair was gray and his face was wrinkled and Joel fucking hated him. 

“Joel,” you said, staring at him. “What are you…” 

Joel did the only thing he could think to do, fucking Brad standing so close to you with a hand between your shoulder blades like he fucking owned you. 

“Missed you too much, baby,” he said, watching your eyes go a little wide at the word. “Couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” 

He reached out and cupped the hinge of your jaw, his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck and he tugged you closer, his heart beating so fast he was sure that your fucking ex could hear it. 

But he didn’t care. 

All he cared about was the way your lips felt on his when he kissed you. 

Next Chapter

A/N: I mean we can all agree, fuck Brad/Gale.

But also... his presence does get results.

THANKS FOR PUTTING UP WITH ME! Love you!

[hijackalx]

GALE NSFW ALPHABET

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

gale will insist on doing the clean-up himself. like cleaning up both u and him. it's just his gentlemanly nature 😇 i think he also will ramble about stuff completely unrelated while doing it too 😹😹 like while he's wiping off ur face or something with a warm rag he'll be saying shit like "hm. i wonder where tara is, haven't seen her in a while. probably off eating pigeons, i suppose" STOPP IM IN LOVE WITH HIM

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

i think he's pretty proud of his shoulders. they have good width to them and idk they just look nice and stronk 💪🏻 as for his partner, he is a thigh man. he lovvessss thighs. will kiss and squeeze them while u sit on his face. also, if ur AFAB, he will not ever hesitate to grab a titty 🤭

C = Cum (anything to do with cum,

basically)

not getting any specific places where he likes to cum. i think he will cum anywhere as long as it's on/in u. waitttt he probably does like to cum in ur mouth doe. and maybe to smear it on ur lips a little like some lip gloss 😊 LMAO

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

lowkey think he's a little bit of a voyeur ooohhh nasty boy. idk like i think hes into watching/hearing other ppl fuck but he is deeply ashamed of this so dont ever bring it up 😹😹

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

dawg. nobody can convince me his first wasnt mystra. sooo.... not SUPER experienced in terms of like... numbers...... but him and mystra was doing some freak shit....... i just know it.......

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

ugh this is a good question. i think he likes cowgirl. u have to hold his hands tho and make eye contact with him or just forget it gurl 🙄✋ he likes to admire ur body and watch u use him to get off

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

okkk gale can be a little silly sometimes but are we surprised ?? HES ALWAYS SILLY !! i think he switches between serious and goofy. he takes mess-ups and embarrassing moments pretty well and will never make u feel bad over them 🥺 like he'll use humor to make u feel comfortable and safe I NEED HIMMMMM FUCK

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

yeah hes pretty hairy. i dont think his hair is EXTREMELY thick tho. like he has fine, kind of curly kind of straight body hair? not a lot on his chest but he does have a happy trail, pubes, ARMPIT HAIR 🤤, and leg and forearm hair. i think it looks rlly good on his forearms too eugh.......

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

he can be really romantic if he wants to (which is most of the time) but like i said he can also be unserious. but that doesnt make it less romantic i guess ???? anyway yeah he'll even plan everything out. like the type of dude to light candles and lay rose petals and shit 😹😹 probably likes to have some wine beforehand to get yall in the mood better too

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he will but i dont think he does often. if ur an option he prefers that. if not theres like a 50/50 chance he'll beat off. lowkey feel like he might debate on whether or not its too much work and if he should just go to sleep instead LMAO WAIT PAUSSEEEEEE MAGE HAND ????? yeah...... yeah gurl. if hes feeling lazy thats how its gonna go. prolly will close his eyes and pretend its ur hand

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

normally somewhere secluded like in a room together on a bed but if hes feeling spicy then somewhere with the possibility of getting caught 😏 maybe on a balcony somewhere or IN THE FUCKING SKY

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

i think hes pretty sensitive and in tune to teasing glances or accidentally-on-purpose touches. wordddsss too bro. loves dirty talk so much. especially if ur the one to talk dirty to him. ugh ok gemini vibes yall? yes or yes? anyway whisper things in his ear or say suggestive things in front of other ppl, like innuendo shit 😹

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

uhhh... umm.... uh

jk he wont do any noncon roleplay or anything like that. not sure if theres anything else tho 😭

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

wants to give and receive but has a preference for giving head like its probably his fav sex act 😭😭 yall know hes good af at it too and probably says nasty shit while hes doing it

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he'll adjust depending on what u want. but if ur riding him he likes when ur more sensual that way he can admire ur body a little better

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

doesnt seem like a quickie guy to me. like i said he likes to plan it out most days.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

😐

yes. hes a freak yall

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

if he does most of the work then he wont want to go another round but if its u then he probably will. i think it just depends on his mood too. if ur not satisfied yet tho he will use mage hand or projection gale to help 😹😹

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

i think he likes to tease a generous amount. he can dish it out but cant take it tho he gets flustered pretty fast lol

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

not extremely loud but will moan/whimper whatever. hes not afraid to make noise like not ashamed at all but i dont see him being obnoxious lol. mostly just talks tho LMAO

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

hes pretty much always thinking nasty but not always horny. he just like me fr. prolly not trying to smash often tho cuz he likes to plan ahead and make everything perfect. will fuck maybe 3 days a week unless ur really raring to go 😭

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

will prolly catch up on a book afterwards for a while before going to sleep. this is so comforting to me tho like what? imagine being all fucked-out and snuggy while ur bae reads their lil book and looks after u while u sleep.... need

[thatfreshi]

Appreciate the Astarion works!!! 💙💙💙

If you'd like another request, what about Tav gifting him something that allows him to see his reflection? Idk some kinda spell/amulet/potion? They're already to the point where he feeds from them or in a relationship and he's just beyond touched/ shocked they would do something for him like this? (Bc we know he's not ever had the most kindness shown to him)

he's been living rent free in my head and I just want to give him everything his undead lil heart desires.

Recommended Song: Mirrorball - Taylor Swift

(I just started listening to her music and holy shit this song is so them!!!)

It's late, the perfect time of day for the two of you. You and Astarion and out in your backyard, putting out some new furniture that he haggled for today. It's hard to say no to that smile, you would know. As you move nice chairs around debating where you should put them, you get into a playful argument.

"I know you're like, the house decorator, but gods why can't we put it in this corner?"

"Because darling, it'll ruin the feng shui. We should put the chairs here instead, and keep the plants over here."

You roll your eyes.

"I bet you don't even know what feng shui means."

"I don't, but it sure sounds fancy doesn't it?"

You giggle.

"What, I'm laughable because I don't know one tiny phrase? I bet there are plenty of words you don't know."

"Well, I don't know them, so I'm not worried about them."

You saunter over to him, throwing your arms up around his shoulders, and the two of you stare at each other for a moment.

"You know our anniversary is tomorrow right?"

"How could I forget my sweet?"

"I don't know, maybe the way you forgot what feng shui means."

"Okay, ouch. But yes of course, I have wondrous plans for the two of us."

"Okay but you can't have that good of plans because I really need to make sure you don't one-up this."

You walk back into the house for a brief moment, grabbing a scroll out of your bag.

"When I walked away while we were at the market, because I said I got tired of hearing you argue with that old lady? Well, I found this."

You hold the scroll out, and he gently grabs it out of your hands.

"I tried to get Gale to teach me, but you know I'm not very magically inclined so..."

He unrolls the scroll, reading the scrawled writing.

"This is-"

You cut him off in excitement.

"Mirror image! I thought maybe you could use it to make a reflection of yourself."

He stares at the scroll in shock.

"How much did you pay for this?"

"None of your damn business."

You grin at him, knowing all too well that you paid that guy way too much.

"This is very sweet my dear, I... I don't know what to say."

"Well you don't have to say anything, try it!"

After reading for a moment, he goes to cast the spell. He says a few words that go right over your head, and suddenly there were three more Astarions in your backyard.

"Gods!"

Astarion's cry of shock echoed through, all four of him? You're not quite sure how this works. After getting his bearings, Astarion looks around at his three reflections.

"Wow, this is certainly... wow."

You're so excited, you can finally show him all the little details you like about him, he gets to see how gorgeous he is, the list goes on and on.

"Okay, I have to do something funny, because I NEED you to see your little laugh lines. Hm..."

He furrows his brow at you, wondering what you're planning. And then you tickle his sides, causing an eruption of laughter.

"Quick, look!"

As he's still smiling, he catches a glimpse of one of the reflections, the little crow's feet he gets when he laughs.

"Oh, that was so important you had to attack me? If anything they make me look old."

"Well... you are kinda old."

He playfully pushes your shoulder. After the two of you quiet your laughter, he stands staring at one of the reflections, taking it all in. The eyes, the hair, trying to remember what he used to look like.

"What do you think?"

"I think... I think it's fitting."

He snarls to look at his fangs. Astarion has never seen just how menacing he can be, why people listen to him when he's threatening. You don't see anything scary though. Maybe you used to, long long ago. But now, he's just Astarion. That's all he has to be.

"This red really is quite bright."

He says, commenting on his eyes.

"Yeah, they're nice though. Piercing."

"At least my hair looks as good as I think it does. All my efforts haven't been wasted."

And just as fast as they came, the reflections vanish, fading out of existence. It's just the two of you again.

"Damn, I thought it would last a little longer."

You frown a little, wondering if it was really worth it. Astarion catches your glance, realizing your doubt. He tilts your chin up and cups your face in his hand.

"Even if it was short, it was a wondrous gift darling. I appreciate it, truly. Besides, now I know what kind of handsome devil you've ended up with."

"Yeah, trust me, I know."

You wrap yourselves up in each other, locking lips, somehow sharing your gratitude for each other in kisses. He gets a little handsy, and you jokingly whisper to him.

"Should've done this with the reflections."

He laughs quietly.

"Oh hush."

You end the evening tangled up in each other, and he seems to be more sure of himself than usual. Turns out seeing yourself after two hundred years can do something for the ego. Maybe one day, you'll find a more permanent soluton, but for now, one little scroll is enough. He's enough. You're both enough, as long as you have each other.

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Apparently, all it takes for a doomed man to feel hope again is bad flirting and corny jokes. Or maybe it's about the comforting presence of someone he loves?]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Whether Gale wants it or not, he's a quite predictable person. His reliability seems to extend far enough for you to always be able to correctly guess where he might be when the wizard is not near his tent. Although his tendency for routines might be mistaken for something dull, you've always thought of it as somewhat comforting - that among all the chaos that your life has become, there's a sense of regularity; the comfort of knowing how to navigate certain situations.

Just as you knew he would, Gale is sitting by the riverside. His back is slouched as he mindlessly reaches to grab a blade of grass, tear it off, and let his fingers play with it. Brown eyes would be intently staring at the flowing stream if their owner wasn't so lost in thought.

He hears you coming, dry leaves crumble under your feet but he makes no effort to look over his shoulder. Maybe you're actually a wild raccoon that will finally put him out of his misery... On second thought, that is a rather pathetic end for a wizard as great as him. To die by a raccoon. Ha!

"Hey handsome, come here often?" you ask as you sit down next to him.

Gale's robes once smelled of musty books and seawater but during your travels, they have lost their original fragrance in favour of a fresh aroma of pine needles, campfire smoke and herbal medicine. It gave him an "edge", if such a word could coexist with the wizard's homebody way of life.

"Only when I wish to wallow in pity," he answers. Although it's fleeting, almost secretive, you do notice the glance he gives you.

You raise an eyebrow at his response. "And that's often?"

A sad chuckle rumbles in his chest. Gale looks down at his fingers, for the very first time studying what his hands do with the long blades of grass. "A lot more than I'd like to admit." He actually bothers to make himself sound light-hearted but the dread eating him up has already soaked into his words.

You put your elbow on your knee and rest your chin on top of your hand. The new angle allows you to see more of his face, not that it changes your impression. Something's eating him up. "Is this what pretty wizards frequently engage in? I think I ought to update my schedule."

He looks almost like a painting, you think. The one a cleric would put up at the temple, a depiction of martyrhood in the name of something greater. Normally, you'd shrug at the thought of some poor sod thinking that making themself suffer will somehow please their god. It sounds like a questionable freedom of choice at best. But in Gale's case, you can't just shrug. Not anymore. Not since the two of you made it very obvious there's nothing platonic going on.

"I think you'll find that a moping wizard is hardly treasured company."

"Then maybe I should help him stop moping." Playfully, you bump your shoulder into his.

A sad smile graces his face. His brown eyes give you a quick glance again. Gale just can't help his longing. "As much as I appreciate the thought and the effort," he tries to sound unbothered, "my troubles already take up enough of your time. The others might want to have a word with you too."

Not a thing about Gale's statement surprises you. He's always wearing a facade of "Don't worry about little old me" but having gotten closer to the man, you know he's far from that - he wants someone to worry, only doesn't have the pride to ask for that. Part of him probably thinks he ought to earn the right to take up the space in someone's mind. How silly.

Gale's eyes return to you when he sees your fingers sneaking between his hands and a blade of grass he was playing with. No matter what he might say and how laid back he attempts to appear, all of his half-hearted bluffs dissipate when he forms a tight grip around your fingers.

"And I want to have a few words with you," you tell him in round terms. "Well, I want to have many things with you but I guess I can settle for a good old-fashioned conversation."

"I, erm..." he hangs his voice at your allusion. The blush on his cheeks is barely visible in the darkness of the night but you can tell it's there - his whole body is suddenly on fire. Gale clears his throat. "Enlighten me, then! What sort of lexicon do you wish to bestow upon me?"

You can't help the whole-hearted chuckle that leaves your lips. "You're really adorable when you talk all sophisticated." Gale laughs nervously at the compliment and he's just about to say something back but before he gets the chance, you reveal the truth about your arrival. "On a more serious note, I didn't have any endgame plan. I just thought that I'm going to ask you what's on your mind and no matter what you answer, I'm going to bless you with my presence until one of us falls asleep."

For the first time this evening, Gale's eyes linger on you for a long while. Although his initial embarrassment at your boldness is now gone, a sense of nervousness lingers. But do not misunderstand - it's a welcome kind of tension; the anxiety of holding something dear and fearing breaking it. "I'd very much like that," he answers. A small smile of genuine happiness curves his lips.

Gale momentarily tenses up when you lay your head on his shoulder. Then, as though paradoxically a weight has been lifted from his back, he finds himself sighing.

Strangely enough, he feels... calm. Too caught up in his thoughts of impending doom and past failures, Gale has been oblivious to the good things in his life. Especially in the present. He tries to grasp at the fleeting thoughts he had been pitifully entertaining for the past hour or so but they escape his focus. Now that each of his breathes is filled with the smell of campfire smoke and fragrant oils that stuck to your skin, the doom that had been haunting him before dissipates like storm clouds blown away by the wind. Part of him wants to laugh - the morbid scenarios that once rendered him sleepless seem so trivial now. Gale was dealt a bloody difficult hand, yes, but that doesn't mean it's impossible to play it, does it?

He's known hope for a long time but only now does he see her. And what a wonder it is that she's wearing your face.

[spacebarbarianweird]

request for draconic sorcerer! tav x astarion headcanons!!! draconic sorcerers are so fun bc you can mess around with the idea of draconic instincts while also getting cool magic B)

Damn, I even didn't know such things existed! Now I want to play as Draconic Soreceress, too!

Draconic bloodline sorcerers are those practitioners of the arcane arts who have some biological connection with dragons, either through their own relations or those of their forebears.

Wiki

Astarion x Draconic Sorcerer!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

There is fire in your veins and scales along your body.

With a draconic bloodline, there is a skill to speak the Dragon language and to cast fireballs.

Dragon blood calls out to you and you suffer from nightmares.

Of course, you know you can't be turned into a dragon - but your body can be changed beyond recognition if the magic takes upon you.

The tadpole is a blessing - the scales are gone and you don't feel the fire.

Of course, you also can't use your magic. Everybody assumes you are a ranger, whose favored enemy is a dragon.

Astarion doesn't believe you - he tastes dragon fire in your blood and demands you tell the truth.

But he isn't afraid. He loves this "spice" in you.

Besides, once he feeds on you, he can cast much deadlier fireballs than he usually does.

He has his reasons to ascend - you have your reasons to keep the tadpole.

The dragon's ancestry scares you, You know it waits and who knows what will happen once the tadpole is gone.

In your nightmares, you transform into a beast. In your nightmares, you yell in pain and terror.

And only Astarion's cold hands can soothe you.

Astarion assures you there is a way to control your powers and, for a brief moment, you believe him.

Astarion refuses to ascend and you refuse to engage with Mindflayers.

The tadpoles are gone.

Astarion cries in pain and disappears into the shadows.

But you...

Your worst nightmare comes to life.

The scales return on your cheeks and hands, red and soft.

The draconic wings burst out of your back, the nails transform into claws.

The pain is so unbearable you want to die.

Before anyone manages to help you, you rush to the dungeons.

Maybe Gale or Wyll would know what to do, but you can't think straight because of pain.

You hide in the Underdark, trying to get as far as possible from sentient beings.

You are going to be a monster, who lives in some dark cave, slowly losing her humanity and sanity.

"I suppose it's not the best days in our lives", you suddenly hear a familiar voice weeks later. "But next time, do me a favor and slow down."

You hide.

You can't let Astarion see you like that.

Let him remember you as you were. Besides, you haven't seen your reflection, you don't know how bad this is."

He doesn't insist. But he also doesn't leave. He makes a campfire and waits.

The loneliness finally is too much and you step from the shadows.

Astarion is very bad at hiding his emotions.

There is shock.

Fear.

Remorse.

But before you escape, he grabs your hand with his newfound vampiric strength.

Scales. Claws. Sharp teeth.

"Well, no tail. Pity - it has always amused me how many things tieflings and dragonborns can do with them."

But most importantly - wings!

A pair of amazing, draconic wings growing off your back.

"Can you fly?" he asks, studying them like an artist.

"I-I don't know-"

"Well, we should find out then. Dragons aren't supposed to live in dungeons. Maybe they are, but not you."

You cry in his hands as he lulls you to sleep.

Once you return to the surface, Astarion finds a mirror for you, and while you stare at your body with disgust, he caresses your skin with his cold fingers, calling you a demi-goddess.

He sews your dresses to highlight your red scales.

He asks you to pierce his skin with your claws when you have sex because it's a pleasant pain like no other.

He adores your wings.

When you hug, they cover you both with a cape.

It's difficult for you to sleep on your back, so you develop a habit of lying on the Astarion's chest, covering you both with the wings.

Even years later, you still have body image issues - the draconic magic went nuts on you, and other sorcerers are just shocked to see what has become of you.

But Astarion has none of this. You are one of a kind. The most gorgeous woman he has ever met.

He also encourages you to learn how to fly - you can't do it for a long time but still can, and every time you are back, he looks at you with adoration.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 25

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

The angst is real lol

Content Warnings - blood/injury

Finnick watches as your bloodied body collapses into a heap at the base of the ladder. Maybe if he tells himself it’s just the sedative doing it’s job then you’ll be fine. Maybe you’ll be ok.

Gale hops back down to help Finnick pull you up to the rest of the squad. Everyone who made it up the ladder seems relatively fine, minus some fresh trauma and minor flesh wounds. You, however, looked more dead than alive.

Finnick’s fingers brush your neck as he feels for a pulse.

“It’s faint but it’s there,” he tells the group, trying to keep himself together. “I’ll carry her.”

Squad 451 exits the sewers, following Cressida to the shop of a woman named Tigris. She leads them to the basement where they can hide out for awhile.

“Have you ever seen this before?” Finnick asks the cat-like woman, referring to the inky nature of your body.

“Hmmm,” the feline purrs. “It looks familiar but I can’t quite put my paw on it. It reminds me of an experiment one of the former game makers used to do on animals but I’ve never seen it in a human before.”

“Do you know what the experiment was?” Finnick asks.

“No,” she hisses. “I only saw the creatures once. My cousin worked with that game maker but he wouldn’t willingly divulge that information to anyone, and certainly not to you.”

“How do we help her?” Katniss asks, looking at your limp form.

“You win this war,” she tells the two victors, slinking her way back upstairs.

Finnick doesn’t sleep a wink, constantly checking your pulse to make sure you are still with him. Katniss used what limited supplies the group had to clean, stitch, and bandage your wounds but she couldn’t do anything about the internal damage using the resources available.

Your fever was gone, signaling to Katniss that the substance had stopped its spread for now. Maybe you bled enough of it out. She could tell, however, that your sleep was not a result of her arrow, but of wounds she couldn’t see.

“Get some rest,” she instructs Finnick. “I’ll watch her.”

The look he gives tells her exactly what his fear is. He can’t lose you.

“If anything happens I’ll wake you,” she assures him.

By morning, nothing had changed. You hadn’t gotten better but you also hadn’t gotten worse.

Snow made an announcement that refugees were being welcomed at the mansion and Katniss made her decision, she had to end this.

The group decided that Katniss and Gale would head out first, followed by the able bodied members of the squad. Peeta and Finnick stayed back with you, unable to stomach the idea of more bloodshed.

After they were dressed in capital disguises, the group began trickling out to join the masses making their way to promised safety.

Katniss had left Finnick the holo in case he needed to be out on the streets. He wanted to carry you to the nearest medical camp but Katniss said you needed to stay put due to all your stitches. She promised to send medics when she could but Finnick was growing impatient.

It was too risky to try and radio for help. If the signal was tracked to your location then you would be swarmed instantly. Finnick had to think of another solution.

“I’ll go find help,” Peeta states.

“No it’s too dangerous,” Finnick shakes his head.

They younger victor doesn’t have time to debate as the building is shook by a nearby explosion. Screams could be heard from the street above and a few bits of plaster fall from the basement ceiling.

“We need to move her,” Finnick states. “Grab a blanket!”

The men wrap your body up in a blanket, hoping it would cushion your stitches enough to move you. They then quickly pull on some capital clothes and venture out onto the street.

People are laying dead everywhere as smoke fills the air. Parents are screaming for their children as they search the rubble and debris.

“I think we should go that way,” Peeta states, pointing away from the chaos. He grips the holo tightly and leads Finnick through a series of alleyways.

Finnick hears a pained moan as you stir in his arms.

“Shhh stay still,” he tells you. “I’m bringing you to medical.”

Your restless bouts continue as the duo of victors makes their way towards the closest known medical station. They make it about halfway when Finnick feels his hand getting wet.

“The stitches,” he mutters as he looks at the blood coating his hand.

“Peeta!” he calls, no longer worried about being recognized. Peeta turns to see the blood seeping through the blanket and makes his decision.

“Stay here with her,” he states. “I’ll go get help.”

Finnick gives the boy a nod before he runs off to find help. He sets you down on the pavement and slowly unwraps the blanket.

One of the gashes in your side had reopened, gushing blood at an alarming rate. Finnick rips a piece of the blanket off to put over the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding.

“Hey,” he says as he notices your eyes opening. “Don’t move.”

“It hurts,” you groan.

“I know love,” Finnick sighs. “Stay with me, ok. Help will be here soon.”

Taglist:

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[fruity-mega-coconut69]

The Quiet Kid Pt. III.

[pairings]: Tara Carpenter x Reed!Fem!Reader

[Summary]: After the attack at the apartment, it wasn't long before the others found out about who you really are.

[warnings]: swearing, bad writing

A/N: I don't know, I'm thinking about changing my username. But only if you guys are okay with that. Also thanks for almost 400 followers. Holy Shit!Oh and should i Do a pt 2 of One more chance? If so, tell me what would you like to be in it.

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

After you’ve been patched up in the ambulance, you decided to just lean against it. Tara and Mindy are there too. Sitting on the back of the ambulance with Mindy’s head on Tara’s shoulder. Anika has been driven to the hospital because of the amount of blood she has lost.

As you are daydreaming by yourself, you see Chad walking up to you. However, you pay no mind to it, even as he settles beside you. There’s a long beat of silence before he speaks up. “So…..how are you?” You just look at him and after a couple of seconds he nods. “Listen, I-.....I know you like Tara. And I know, you  know that I do too.” He takes in a deep breath as he finally looks up from the ground. “ But I think it’s pretty fucking clear who she like back.” Chad laughs breathlessly.

You look up at him with furrowed eyebrows. “And who would that be?” 

“You, dumbass!” He exclaims. “ i mean, yes we maybe closer and all, but the way she fucking looks at you? She-....” Chad pauses and looks down at his shoes. “She will never look at me like that. And besides, I think liking Tara was just……my mourning.  I thought that, maybe if we’d get together, I don’t know, we could…..help each other move on. Shit, that’s such bullshit.” He laughs pathetically at himself.

“That’s not true. It just seems that the both of you are dealing with what happened to you in such different but still somehow familiar ways.  Okay? I-” You couldn’t finish your sentence as Chad’s attention is turned towards Ethan, who has just walked into the closed down area. Chad mutteres something among the lines of, ‘That mother fucker’ and ‘ Son of a bitch’ then storms over to Ethan. 

Suddenly, you see Tara’s face come into view. She smiles at you slightly. “ Hi.” You nod back at her. “Hi “ 

She looks down at the ground and swallows hard. “ So, uh, are you planning on telling the others about Kirby? “

While hesitantly nodding, you suck in a deep breath. “ Yeah, I do. But I don’t think right now is a good time for that. “Tara nods then looks over where Sam is and sees Detective Bailey stumbling out of the apartment building. Tara’s face softens and she looks back at you, grabs your hand and starts walking towards them.

Letting out a yelp, you try to keep up with her. When you arrive you see Bailey sobbing.  Tara looks up at him. “I’m really sorry about Quinn. “

He nods at her and looks down at the ground. “Thank you. “ Bailey sniffs and looks up at Sam. She puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Both my kids are gone. My whole family…..gone.” Bailey sobs out. You bite your lip as you look at the grieving man.  Sam and Tara glance at each other . then you feel Tara squeezing your hand, well you didn't even realize she was still holding it. “ they took me off the case. But I'm not gonna stop until I find him. You fuck with my family….you die.”He says angrily while glancing at Sam.

“Agreed”

Suddenly, you hear a voice-that you know all too well- say behind you with rushed breaths. “Hey, are you okay? I came as soon as I heard. “ You smile and go over to her. She grins at you then holds out her arms, welcoming you in a sweet hug. When you pull away, Tara once again takes hold of your hand. 

Sam perks up. “Gale, I swear to god.. “ She warns Gale. 

“Truce, okay? I’m here for whatever you need. “ She says, almost pleading.

Sam scoffs at her. “Yeah, okay. Nice try”

“Really, I am. “ Gale looks at the three of you then sighs. “Okay, fine. Off the record, okay?” Tara looks at Sam and she nods hesitantly. 

“Okay. Thank you. “

Then, Tara and Gale make eye contact. Tara starts shaking her head. “I’m…sorry I punched you. “ A light smirk grows on Gale’s face. “No, you’re not”

“I’m not. “ Tara smiles. Gale turns to Detective Bailey but your attention remains on Tara until your ears perk up at the sound of your sister's voice.

“Ladies. “ Kirby walks up to the five of you and when she notices you, her eyes quickly fill with concern. She steps closer to look at your bandages . “Oh, shit. You okay? “ You just nod at her and she wraps her arms around you in a quick hug then she turns to the others. 

“Kirby? What? Is the whole familia here?” Kirby rolls her eyes. “Gale” 

“She’s with the FBI” Says Sam as she looks at the two. 

Gale looks at her in disbelief. “She’s a child. When did they start letting children into the FBI?” 

“I’m 30 “ Kirby says with a sassy tone that makes you giggle. Tara smiles lightly as she looks at you then turns her attention back to Gale and Kirb’s conversation. 

“Well, you look like a zygote” 

“I have a gun, Gale” She puts her hands on her gun that’s attached to her belt around her waist.

Gale looks down at it. “Okay, fine. You’re gonna want to see this too. “

— —

About half an hour later, you guys find yourself outside of an old theater. Gale is leading the way inside with Kirby trailing behind her as you and your friends silently follow. 

“Apparently, they used fake names to rent this place.” Gale says more to Kirby than you guys. 

“How did you find it?” 

You are currently walking between Chad and Tara who are just quietly looking around and listening to Gale and Kirby. You stare ahead while walking, trying to not make anything awkward. When you arrive at a door, Gale opens it with a swiping card and lets you guys in. You go up some stairs then you come across another door. Gale swipes the card again and a couple of seconds later, every one of you is inside as Gale turns on the lights.

When the lights turn on, you see the theater. “It’s a movie theater. “

“It’s not just a movie theater. “Gale pauses as she looks at each of you. “It’s a shrine.” Your eyebrows furrow and you start walking further inside.  You look around and your eyes widen at the sight. It’s a bunch of evidence from all the previous attacks. Then, the curtains go up and on the stage is revealed all 9 robes of all 9 killers with Sam’s father’s, Billy Loomis’, in a glass box in the middle.

You all split up to look around. You go and follow Kirby as she makes her way towards the dummy with Jill Robert’s shirt on. Next to it was a display case with a photo and a knife in it. You clench your jaw as you see the slight sadness on your sister's face.

And that’s when you hear Mindy’s voice shout. “ Holy shit! Is that a kid in that photo?! “ Your eyes widen as the others walk over to her. Sighing, Kirby grabs your arm and walks you over too.

“Wait…..I-look “ Chad points at the ripped newspaper page next to the photo. “Right here, it says, ‘ Y/N Reed is officially the youngest victim of another ghostface massacre.’ What the fuck? “ They all turn to look at you as you stand beside your sister awkwardly. Of course, Tara, Sam and Gale nowhere surprised, but the twins, Ethan and Bailey? Oh, they had many questions. 

“You’re Kirby’s sister?!” 

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A/N: Sorry, this is very short!

[howlingday]

Panthera Tigris Tigris Nikos

Jaune: Hey, Pyrrha? Can I have a hug?

Pyrrha: Of course, Jaune! (Hugs)

Jaune: (Sinks into her)

Pyrrha: Would anyone else like-

Nora: (Dragging Ren) MEMEMEME~!

Fun Fact! Bengal tigers are big. Females have been documented to reach 400 pounds, males 500 pounds, and occasionally larger specimens reaching 700 pounds. Royal Bengal Tigers are reportedly even bigger, with one specimen shot by David Hasinger in 1967 was reported to be 857 pounds, measured at 11 feet long, and left paw prints "the size of dinner plates," and it's last meal was a live water buffalo weighed down by an eighty-pound weight. It is displayed in the Smithsonian Institutions's National Museum of Natural History, in the Hall of Mammals.

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Pyrrha: Ready for our run, Jaune?

Jaune: You bet! Maybe this time I could-

Pyrrha: (Ear flicks) Oh, uh, why don't you keep warming up, Jaune? I need to grab something from the dorm.

Jaune: Oh, uh, sure thing, Pyrrha. I'll be right here.

Cardin: (Sitting on the roof) What the hell? Where's Nikos go- (Door swings open, Mauled)

Fun Fact! Bengal Tigers are fast. They can make short sprints of forty miles per hour, which is about the speed of a thoroughbred horse. An incident with a startled tigress mother with her cubs in Nepal in 1974 resulted in the death of a researcher who was hiding 15 feet in a tree. In 2007, on Christmas Day at the San Francisco Zoo, an Amur Tiger cleared a thirty-foot moat to maul three visitors who were harassing the tiger, killing one of them before being killed after four shots to the skull by responding police officer's .40-caliber-pistol rounds. It should be noted that the Amur was a captive tiger, raised from birth in the zoo. Imagine a wild tiger raised in the jungle.

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Pyrrha: Are you okay, Jaune?

Jaune: Y-Yeah, I... Wait, what about the goliath?!

Pyrrha: It's okay, Jaune. I took care of it.

Jaune: But how, Pyrrha? (Holding) Your weapons-!

Pyrrha: (Takes, Smiles) I took care of it.

Jaune: (Looks behind her, Sees dead goliath)

Fun Fact! Bengal Tigers are strong. Their bite force can reach up to a thousand pounds, which is much stronger than a pitbull's and about a quarter of a great white shark. Their prey includes deer, buffalo, bison, bears, rhinos, and elephants. A single blow can break a bear's spine, and easily decapitate a human.

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Jaune: Thanks again for letting us come visit, Mrs. Nikos.

Mama Nikos: Oh, Jaune, don't be so formal. We're practically family, so just call me Mama.

Jaune: Uh... No, I'll just stick with Mrs. Nikos, if you don't mind.

Mama Nikos: Oh, you are just so polite! I'm glad Pyrrha could have such a handsome team leader like you.

Pyrrha: (Blushing) M-Mom...

Nora: Can I have more meat buns, Mama?

Ren: Nora...

Nora: Oh, right! Khm! May I have more meat buns, Mama?

Mama Nikos: They're in the oven.

Jaune: So what do you do for a living, Mrs. Nikos?

Mama Nikos: I'm a personal fitness trainer. It's actually how I met Pyrrha's father. He said he could perform a perfect double twister kick, and I told him it was impossible unless he could twist and launch himself at a 167 degree rotation with a north-northwest gale blowing at 3.5 miles per hour behind him-

Mama Nikos: (Ding!) Oh! Meat buns are done!

Jaune: Huh...

Pyrrha: Don't worry. I didn't get it the first time, either.

Fun Fact! Bengal tigers are smart. Cubs are raised by their mothers for two and a half to three years. There are also notes of tigers imitating deer and bear calls. They will chase larger prey into water, tear at buffalo legs to bring them to the ground, and will flip porcupines from to their backs to avoid spines. There are also records of tigers killing 15-foot crocodiles, 20-foot pythons, 300-pound seals, and a 20-year-old elephant.

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Jaune: Hm? Hey, Pyrrha? Who's this standing with your mom?

Pyrrha: Hm? Oh... That's... That's my mother. She... She's not around anymore.

Jaune: Do... Do you want to talk about it?

Pyrrha: I... I don't know where to begin. She was my hero, but she did something really bad, and she died when I was really young. And I...

Jaune: Hey. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.

Pyrrha: (Leans on Jaune) I was probably six years old when it happened. She and I were on our way to watch a tournament together, but then this guy came from out of nowhere. He shot at us and broke her jaw. She carried me back home, and then... She left that night. I didn't learn about what happened to her until just after getting accepted into Beacon. She... She went on a rampage and then... Then she...

Jaune: (Holds her) Hey, hey. It's okay, Pyrrha. I'm... I'm sorry to hear that. I'm... I'm sure she was a great mom.

Pyrrha: (Sniffles) She was the best. And, on the bright side, because of her, there's a new standard for huntsman and huntresses to follow. And she's part of the reason why I became a huntress. So I could make sure everyone follows the standard. Follows the example she set. (Smiles) I think she would have liked you.

Jaune: (Looks at family photo) I think I would have like her, too.

Fun Fact! In the first ten years of the 20th century, until her death in 1907, the Champawat Tiger, also known as "the man-eater" killed and ate 436 humans in western Nepal. She evaded capture and continued to kill until she was shot by British hunter Jim Corbett, who speculated the tigress lost her teeth years ago from a gunshot, forcing her to change her prey to much easier humans. He then went on to be an advocate for wild tigers and spent the latter years of his life devoted to their conservation, even having a conservation park in Nepal dedicated to him.

[cobaltperun]

Lost (6) - Snap out of it

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 6.1k

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-Under a spell you're hypnotized (ooh) Darlin', how could you be so blind?-

Furious didn't even come close to how she was feeling now that she was standing in the empty apartment in Modesto. No one she asked had seen Sam, the apartment she shared with Richie was exactly the way they left it before they came to Woodsboro, the two plates that neither Sam or Richie got the chance to wash, as they came to Woodsboro in a rush, the hastily made bed, all the other tiny signs of Sam being in a rush to get to Tara and only grabbing the bare necessities before leaving. "You let them get out of town?!"

"I let them?! I did?!" Richie snapped with anger Amber had never seen before. "If you didn't say we needed to fight Y/N together I could have stayed by Sam's side and prevented this!" and what good did that do? You still survived, all things considered Amber was almost willing to say you came out on top.

"Don't you dare put that on me! If I didn't shoot her you'd be beaten to a pulp like some pussy. You had a knife and Tara's fucking guard dog still had the upper hand!" everything was going wrong. She didn't get to kill you, you broke two of her teeth and cracked her mask and everything hurt. Her wrist her, every breath she took hurt, her jaw hurt, her pride and ego hurt and now Richie was whining when he should have stopped Samantha from leaving.

Richie threw his arms up in the air and groaned, as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. "And you fucked up by not killing her. No, instead you had to mindfuck your," he made air quotes, "girlfriend, and now my movie is going to be ruined because all we did is kill Dewey, a couple of characters no one is going to care about, and some sidenote character related to Stu!"

Killing Dewey felt so, so good, it was a much-needed relief after failing to kill you. "Our movie, you hear me? OUR movie!"

He huffed at that. "Well, none of that matters now, does it? We got Sidney and Gale, but Sam got away and as you can see, she is nowhere to be found! They didn't come here!" Richie was waving his hands around the empty apartment.

That got Amber to think. Samantha took Tara with her, but not to Modesto. You were with them. You took them somewhere. You were ruining her plans, her fun, yet again, but none of those realizations mattered. She had no idea where to look. If anyone would be able to find you right now, Amber figured it would be Tara, but Tara was with you. Were there other people that could take a guess? Maybe the couple that employed you? Your parents? Your coach? All of those would take too long and none of those were certain to be true.

"We need to get Sam to come back," Richie sounded desperate. "You'll have to forget about keeping Tara for yourself. Guess you already did, since you tried to shoot her."

Amber scoffed at that. She'd get Tara in the end. By the time all of this was over she'd permanently take Samantha out of Tara's life, and she'd make sure you were dead as well. Pointing the gun at Tara was an impulsive decision born from righteous fury. Tara pleaded for your life despite having an asthma attack. The old envy reawakened at that moment and the good old 'If I can't have her no one can.' kicked in. Since Tara survived Amber could now convince her that Amber was all Tara would ever have and they'd be together. It would be easy to do it, to convince Tara of that. "I'll handle that part. Let's just figure out the way to get Samantha back to Woodsboro."

This would have been so much easier if you were never there in the first place. If you never got close to Tara, if Tara never fell in love with you, if she didn’t love you more than she could ever love anyone else. But Amber would break that, she’d have the upper hand the next time, after all, you were stabbed and shot multiple times, you’d be easy to take out. And then the image Tara had of you, that image of an invincible fighter that could protect her from anything, you being the source of stability and safety in her life would be shattered. After that, Tara would be easy to mold into what she should have been in the first place. Completely devoted and obedient, regardless of Amber did, after all, if Amber could get Tara to get over your death, there truly wouldn’t be any limit.

~X~

If anyone asked you three days ago you'd say you would never be able to go back to Sacramento. You loved the city, you really did, but ever since Zack died you kinda didn't feel like going there. Funny how things turn out sometimes.

Susan lived in a suburban part of the city, in a two-story home that, while not as big as the other houses in the area, still had plenty of space. Memories threatened to consume you as you stepped out of the car and saw the woman. She looked much older than she did ten years ago. You guessed losing her only son like that would have such effects. She looked frailer than ever. The image of a tall, proud woman that just turned forty-three years old was replaced by this decade-older woman with gray hair broken down by time. There was no bounce to her steps, and now that she approached you just as Sam was stepping out of the car you could see that she barely had any spark of life in her eyes.

"You didn't mention you were hurt as well," she touched the bandage on the right side of your face, where Ghostface sliced your jawline.

Somehow you didn't find yourself leaning away from her touch. You accepted it and just nodded. "Yeah, sorry about that. It didn't seem important," you brushed it off, doing your best to ignore the disapproval in Susan's eyes. Instead, you took in the surrounding area and your eyes fell on a cherry tree in the middle of the empty front yard. "The tree's grown," you mumbled awkwardly, finally getting the woman to smile.

"Of course, I'm making sure of that," the spark of life seemed a bit stronger now.

"I'm glad. This is Sam, by the way," you suddenly realized you failed to introduce them to one another. Sam already took the wheelchair, crutches, and bags out.

"Thank you for letting us stay," Sam expressed her gratitude as she and Susan exchanged a handshake.

"Of course, dear. I'm sorry you went through so much," Susan was still the same person you remembered as a kid, that much you could see.

"Sam, I'll get Tara," you said and went to the other side of the car where Tara was already opening the doors. "I got you," you assured the sleepy girl. She was so exhausted she adorably fell asleep in your arms while you were on the road.

"Mhm," she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and stretched a bit. "Maybe I could use the crutches?" she suggested but then realized the tiled path to the house wasn't exactly even and that she'd have to deal with more than a couple of stairs. "On second thought," she sheepishly reached out for you.

You smiled, she really was adorable. "I swear you'll get used to this and demand to be carried even after you recover," you teased lightly as you picked her up.

Tara hummed at that and then just leaned up to give you the lightest kiss on the cheek possible. Payback for earlier or not, you couldn't stop the heat warming your cheeks.

A fake cough from the side interrupted whatever Tara was about to say.

"Right. Tara, this is Susan," you awkwardly introduced them to one another.

"I'm sorry I'm meeting you like this, and thank you," Tara twisted her body as well as she could so she could shake Susan's hand.

"Considering how Y/N is, I doubt we could have met in better circumstances," Susan laughed lightly.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at that. "Awesome introductions ladies, how about we get inside now?" just a suggestion, since you were still injured and as much as you hated to admit it, carrying Tara wasn't the easiest at the moment.

~X~

The entire house felt as if it was stuck in the past. As if Susan was trying to preserve the memories of Zack as much as she possibly could. Everything was the same, to the minute details such as the MMA gloves hanging on the wall. Your eyes landed on the only photo you and Zack had together.

Zack was thirteen years older than you and there were remarkably few similarities between the two of you. The opposite hair color, a somewhat shorter build, and the only trait you physically shared was the color of your eyes. That was probably why Susan was so adamant about looking into your eyes since you sat down in the living room.

Susan and Sam took armchairs and you and Tara were on the large sofa. All of you opted for just a glass of water, not exactly feeling like drinking anything else. The tea cakes were on the table, but they remained forgotten as Sam seemed a bit on edge, which in turn put Tara on edge as well. Not to mention Tara was trying not to sit too close to you, she was just near enough to feel your presence.

You felt how tense Tara was, how much she wanted to lean on you, at least a bit, at least to press her side against you. “Say, do you still have the tea Zack used to drink? Was it nettle tea?”

Susan smiled at that. “Of course, and you know, you could use one right now, I’ll go an make you one,” well she either understood what you were trying to do or she just wanted to make it for you. You didn’t pay much attention back when Zack was telling you about it, maybe it was for muscle ache, or something.

“Cool! Thanks!” you’d take the opportunity though. It was what you were trying to do anyway.

“You want some honey?” she asked as she opened the door to her kitchen.

“Sure,” there was no way you’d drink a tea you never tried before without some honey, just to make sure it wasn’t too bitter.

With Susan in the kitchen, you closed the distance between you and Tara and hugged her from the side. “What’s wrong?”

Tara visibly relaxed, leaning into your touch. “Sorry, I’m just thinking,” she looked away, refusing to meet your eyes.

You followed her line of sight and saw that Tara was looking at the photo of you and Zack. You were nine and leaning your weight on Zack as you held a shovel. The freshly planted cherry tree was to your left. You were sure you hadn't grinned that widely ever since he died. She must have noticed Zack’s gloves, and was now piecing it all together. Your reason for fighting, why you kept choosing MMA no matter how much she disliked it.

Susan came back with the cup of tea, she didn’t make the comment about you hugging Tara, or the way Tara leaned against you. She just smiled, handing you the cup and sitting back down.

“Careful, it’s still hot,” she warned.

You chuckled at that and set the cup down. “Yeah, let’s skip burns.”

Susan nodded and then got serious. "Okay, I know you went through a lot and that this might not be comfortable for you all, but I'd like to know what exactly happened to the three of you," Susan's demand was fair as far as you were concerned. While you were sure no one would be able to find you, you probably were putting her in some danger with this.

So, the three of you went and recounted what happened, you didn't go into detail, but Susan got the gist of it. You thought she might be able to provide the three of you with an outside perspective.

"I don't like the timing," Susan seemed lost in her thoughts as she leaned her chin on her hands. "It had to be the 23rd and not a day later, so someone very close to at least one of you two," Susan motioned toward you and Tara. "had to be involved."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, so far you thought the main target was Sam, and while that was still likely the true neither of you thought of at least one Ghostface’s relationship with you or Tara, aside from, well, knowing you.

Susan motioned toward you. "Think of her lifestyle several weeks before fights and roughly a week after the fight," and then it made sense to you.

"I'm at my weakest the first couple of days after the fight," you groaned, removing your arm from Tara and leaning the back of your head against the sofa. There was no way you could have seen this coming, but it was clear whoever attacked Tara chose 23rd for a reason. "I have to lose between ten and twenty pounds before each fight, training is longer and more intense than usual, I get beaten up, then my body cools down and I can't just go back to eating like I normally do right away. I have no energy and I'm in pain. Why not 22nd though? I'd be even weaker than I was today," it was almost surreal to think that it was still the 25th, even if there were only two hours left.

It looked like Tara had an answer to that. "I think I would have invited you in if you took me to my place," ah, there it was. There was a chance she wouldn't be alone. "I didn't plan to do it, but I hadn't seen you in some time and I missed you, so there's a chance I would have done that," she clarified, blushing slightly at the implications of her inviting you that late at night.

"And if you weren't alone," Sam began and then turned to look at you.

You abruptly got up. "I need a moment," you stepped outside the living room before anyone could say anything to you. It was irrational. There was no way you could know. Even if you acted on that bad feeling, maybe that would just delay the killers until your next match and maybe Tara wouldn't be lucky enough to survive and all the what-ifs and maybes swarmed your head as you got out of the house and just took several deep breaths.

But you did have one thing that could have stopped all of this altogether. You could have taken Tara away from that damn house. The moment she turned eighteen you could have tried to convince her to come live with you. A tiny rational voice in your head told you there would still be times when she would be alone in your apartment, like several days you spent away from Woodsboro before each fight. Then there was the fact that you did, in the end choose fighting over Tara, you knew Tara didn’t like that you were an MMA fighter, that it was a big part of the reason as to why you weren’t together, but as you watched the cherry tree you remembered exactly why you couldn’t choose Tara back then.

Now it was different. Now you nearly lost Tara and, suddenly, that bond with Zack felt less important. Still, even if you weren’t an MMA fighter, you couldn’t be home or with Tara all the time. Maybe with it being a building with apartments, someone else would have been capable of getting between her and her attacker.

Who were you kidding? Like that could have ever happened. The security didn’t come after they heard gunshots and someone must have heard them, yet it took Sam and Dewey coming to the hospital for someone to come and help you. So, if someone whose job it was to keep the hospital secure didn’t budge, a random neighbor definitely wouldn’t. Even if you knew, even if you had some vision of the future, you'd never be able to keep Tara completely safe. There would always be some window of time during which she'd have to protect herself.

You can't control everything.

There's only so much you can do.

There's only so far you can push with overprotectiveness before Tara herself gets sick of it.

~X~

Watching you leave like that, while understandable, still stung. Sam didn't mean to make you feel guilty, Tara was sure of that. Tara was also certain you felt guilty on some level regardless of how ridiculously unreasonable that guilt was.

If someone wanted to hurt her, they would have gotten her sooner or later. Instead of considering how you kept her alive, how you made her feel safe and cared for, and how you wouldn't leave her side unless you were forced to, you laser-focused on one moment you weren't with her.

Coming to this place also indirectly revealed something important to her. Guilt gnawed at her when she caught herself thinking that maybe, now that she nearly got killed, you would consider leaving MMA. She pushed that selfish part of her as far away as she could, but looking at the gloves hanging from the wall she felt that guilt come back tenfold.

"Could I ask a question about Zack?" she tried to phrase it as politely as she could and be as clear as possible that she would take no for an answer.

There was a hint of sorrow in Susan's eyes as she nodded. "You can."

"Was he an MMA fighter?" she figured he was, she just wanted to see how far it went.

Susan looked at the gloves somberly. "He was. He managed to fight three times, lost his first fight, won the second, and lost the third, but then his sickness got worse, and he had to quit."

That was the last piece of the puzzle she needed. Tara always had more influence over you than anyone else she knew, but not even she could get you to stop with MMA. Now she understood why you couldn't let it go. She nodded her thanks to the still-grieving mother.

Would her mother be like this if she died? Somehow, she doubted that. "I should probably go to bed," she looked to the side.

"Of course," Susan was more accepting and understanding than her own mother and that hurt. She couldn't even begin to imagine how you must be feeling. Not only because of your own bad relationship with your parents but also... Well... She noticed how your brother had the same eyes as you, she noticed how Susan looked at your eyes. How did that make you feel? Did you notice? She was sure you did.

At times Tara thought the woman wasn't seeing you, but her dead son, and that hurt Tara. You lost your brother, and you grieved too.

Not wanting to interrupt you or force you to come back to her side pretty much the moment you stepped away she took her crutches and with Sam's help went to the bedroom Susan prepared for the three of you. It was a guest bedroom with two beds, but seeing as she was sleeping with you it worked out just fine.

Sam helped her get ready. She missed that. She missed having Sam in her life. She missed Sam being caring and gentle with her. She missed Sam always being there.

"I didn't think I'd come back to find you this attached to Y/N, or maybe I should have seen it coming," Sam teased as she helped Tara out of her pants. The cast was making everything difficult. "I mean, it's not bad, I just thought, with how physically intimate the two of you are that you'd be together. How come you chose Amber?" Tara figured Sam was trying to catch up on the five years she missed.

"Promise you won't laugh," honestly, Tara regretted that moment, her accepting Amber’s feelings, every time she wanted to kiss you.

"I'd never laugh at you Tara," Sam reassured her softly.

"I wanted to get Y/N jealous," she mumbled.

"Huh?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"I lied and said I was dating Amber almost a month before I actually started dating Amber. I thought she'd get jealous and confess," Tara explained, but she lightly bit her lip, knowing full well that she wasn’t telling the whole story. Although, making you jealous really was a part of the reason why she chose Amber.

Sam sighed. "I’m guessing that’s not the entire reason."

Tara looked away at that and, with Sam’s help, moved to lie down. “Y/N chose fighting, I guess. Back then I thought she didn’t love me back,” she paused, annoyed at the incredulous look on Sam’s face. “Sorry, there wasn’t a life or death situation before this,” she grumbled, blushing and unintentionally guilting Sam into dropping the ‘are you serious?’ expression. “I just… I was immature, I didn’t have the whole picture, I just thought Y/N chose fighting instead of me, despite how often I made it clear I didn’t like seeing her get hurt.”

Sam nodded. “You thought it was just about fighting and didn’t understand why she’d keep doing it if she loved you back,” Sam understood and Tara felt relief at that.

“God, I feel so bad now,” she whispered, angry at herself for making you choose. She had no idea she was making you choose between her and your memory of your brother, but now that she knew… that must have been so painful to you. “I know Y/N wouldn’t say a word, but I still wish I asked more, tried to understand more.”

Sam placed a hand on Tara’s shoulder, and it brought her so much comfort, it eased her worries because Sam was finally back in her life. “You said it yourself, Y/N wouldn’t say a word. Tara, you were a child, you are still just a teenager, you will be immature at times. Trust me, I know all about it,” Sam smiled gently, her eyes were filled with love and understanding and Tara had to reach up and place her hand on top of Sam’s in gratitude.

“Then there was Amber. She… kept saying Y/N would abandon me, that it was only a matter of time, and she just kept repeating that. I don’t know how, but I started believing her when Y/N just let me get together with Amber,” that was her greatest shame, and she was being stupid, she knew that, but Amber was so convincing, so adamant that she was right, that Tara accepted it. So, she told Sam everything.

It was a slow process. Before her and Amber got together Amber would complain about you, and Tara would argue back. So, Amber would keep her mouth shut, but that was when they were kids. After you turned eighteen Amber would complain again, and this time, when Tara argued back, Amber would go for silent treatment.

It hurt Tara, because Amber was her close friend back then, only second to you. Add in that you let your parents back then, and that Tara had no idea why, and her insecurities were almost unbearable. So, afraid she’d lose both of you, Tara began arguing less and less, just to avoid Amber’s silence. It was fine, right? She wanted to be loved, and Tara quickly learned that the price of Amber’s love back then was letting her complain about you.

Tara felt awful, she felt awful every time she hugged you, she felt so awful she ended up telling you about it. And you, in a way only you could, told her it was fine. You didn’t care what Amber thought, and you knew Tara needed someone other than you in her life, you didn’t want Tara to get hurt, so, you gave Tara permission to stay silent. To let Amber vent. And it became easier after that.

She should have known it would escalate, but by the time she realized that, she was with Amber and she was going along with Amber’s demands. She agreed to distance herself from you, she agreed to pay the price for Amber’s love yet again.

All the while Sam clenched her fists, shaking in barely controlled anger. “Tara, she manipulated you, she took advantage of your trauma, she conditioned you,” Sam seethed, and Tara was surprised she wasn’t yelling at this point. “This is all my fault. If dad never left then I likely wouldn’t either, and you’d never fear being abandoned so much. I’m so sorry Tara, it’s all my fault,” angry, frustrated tears fell from Sam’s eyes.

Tara sat up, though it was a bit difficult to do so, and hugged Sam. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t make Amber act like that,” she tried to comfort her sister.

“No, but I gave her something she could use,” Sam argued back, pulling away slightly to look Tara in the eyes, and then her eyes widened in something Tara could only describe as horror. "Never trust the love interest, that's what Dewey said."

Tara felt panic setting in. Amber's anger and jealousy toward you. Her insistence on keeping Tara away from you. No, there was no way it was Amber. And then it came back to her. The numerous times Ghostface called her baby, just like Amber did. The conversation with Susan came back, with the way Amber insisted on Tara coming to her place the night of your fight suddenly making even more sense.

The realization hurt more than all the physical pain she went through over the past few days. "It's Amber," her voice cracked as she said that. Everything just faded into the background until Sam reached her and pulled her in.

Sam was a frantic cuddler, as Tara liked to describe people's ways to cuddle. Sam's hands were moving up and down her arms, then she moved so that one hand rubbed circles across Tara's back while the other smoothed her hair. It did little to soothe her this time, but it was nice. It felt nice. It felt warm as opposed to the chilling cold gripping her heart.

Amber did this to her. Amber turned her life upside down. Amber made her distance herself from you, so you wouldn’t be there to protect her. Amber made her shoot you.

So, Tara cried, she sobbed and wailed as she clung to Sam as hard as she could. She cried herself to sleep with Sam doing everything she could to comfort her.

For how long did Amber plan to do this? Was she ever jealous in the first place? Tara’s feeling for Amber weren’t as strong as her feelings for you, she’d never love anyone the way she loved you. But Tara still liked Amber, she tried her best to love Amber back, and she was betrayed and forced to hurt you.

~X~

When you came back inside you heard Tara and Sam were upstairs and figured you could stick around for a bit longer. Just to give the sisters a bit of time together until fatigue caught up with you and you'd have no choice but to go upstairs and sleep. So, you sat down, picked up the cup of tea you left behind and took a sip.

It was okay, a bit different than what you were used to, but you could drink it.

"Y/N, how is college going?" Susan's question made you freeze for a moment.

"Uh, I'm not going to college," you looked away, subconsciously glancing upstairs to where Tara and Sam were.

Susan seemed taken aback by that. "How come. You were a smart kid, I doubt that changed."

"I haven't saved up enough money to give it a try yet, and I'm not eager to get into debt unless I absolutely have no other choice," you explained.

Susan frowned and you felt your palms sweat a bit at the way she was studying you. "What about your parents?"

It would make her angry, but you'd still be honest with her. "I cut contact with them when I turned eighteen. It was a mutual agreement, even if it wasn't, it's my life. I'll figure it out on my own."

As you expected there was fury in her eyes. "And Zack's request?"

It was your turn to frown. "Come on. Surely you didn't expect them to honor it," how naive did she have to be to think your parents would listen to Zack, regardless of the nature of his request.

"I'll pay," there was a definitiveness in her tone.

"No, you won't," yet you didn't leave any space for arguments.

"Y/N," there was a warning in her tone, but you were almost conditioned by your parents to never back away from such tones.

"I'm not Zack, Susan," that went too far, it was a low blow, but it sent a clear message. "I get it, you miss him, but giving me what you didn't have a chance to give to him won't happen. I can't let you."

She looked away and you could see she was holding back tears. You could see her shoulders slumping even more. "I know, but it was his final request," she tried.

"He didn't ask you to do it, though. He asked my parents to take good care of me," you argued back as softly as you could. This was why you didn't let Susan know about the extent of your injuries or the heart attack. She'd worry, she'd try to take care of you and, as much as it hurt to admit it, you didn't have it in you to let someone other than Tara get that close to you. It just became a habit you couldn't get rid of, and Tara remained the exception.

~X~

When you went upstairs you found Tara wide awake, even though Sam was sleeping. “Hey, how come this happened?” you teased her a bit, sitting on her left side and poking her shoulder lightly. The look in Tara’s eyes made your smile drop. “Tara?”

“It’s nothing, just lie down,” she pleaded, her voice barely louder than a whisper. Now that your eyes adjusted to the dim light you saw her eyes were red, she was crying.

You slipped beneath the covers, and hugged her. “You’ll get through this,” you felt her closing the distance between your bodies as much as your injuries allowed, you felt the desperate grip she had on the back of your shirt, her right fist clenching around it.

“Call me Love again, please, Y/N,” she whispered as you reached up, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

You hesitated a bit, not sure what that meant for her right now, but if she needed to hear you say it, you would. “I’ll call you however you want me to, Love.”

“Say it again,” the request was timid, and you could see the tips of her ears going red.

“Love,” you repeated, you wanted to ask her why she was crying before you came back, you wanted to be sure she was fine, but it didn’t look like you’d get anything out of her right now, so you just tried to relax her, to make her feel safe.

Eventually, she did fall asleep, her head resting on your chest, the soft, even sound of her breathing lulled you to sleep as well. You were safe here, you could relax.

~X~

Later that night, sometime after midnight, Sam struggled to fall asleep, even if she pretended to be asleep before you came in. Tara needed you to comfort her, and she feared staying awake might make Tara hold back. Still, anger was burning through her veins. Amber hurt Tara. Amber nearly killed her little sister. Amber downright psychologically tortured Tara. Amber forced Tara to shoot you. Amber betrayed Tara's love.

Amber was going to pay.

With that thought in mind Sam jumped sat up, careful not to wake you or Tara up.

"That's it, Sam, let's go make the bitch pay! Cut her throat and carve her up!" she saw him in the mirror, she knew she should fight it, she knew she shouldn't give in. That she shouldn't be bloodthirsty.

This time was different.

The enemy was no longer a masked, faceless killer who tried to kill her sister. It was an actual person. She had one of the targets. She wouldn't let anyone else hurt Tara.

"That's it! That's my daughter," the monster she was trying to get out of her head cheered as she grabbed your car keys.

~X~

The annoying sound of your phone ringing pulled you out of your peaceful slumber. Tara groaned, pulling the blanket above her head in an attempt to get back to sleep. By some miracle, you managed to reach your phone without making Tara move from her spot in your arms and rejected the call.

Almost immediately it began ringing again. "Who dares call at this hour?! What time is it anyway?" you hissed and finally answered your phone. "What?" you couldn't care who it was.

"Why are you coming back to Woodsboro?" that didn't make any sense.

"Huh? What are you talking about? Who even are you?" you were beyond confused.

"Listen, kid, your car is on the way back to Woodsboro, I put a tracker on it when you left, so don't try to fool me," the woman spoke and you were wide awake. You sat up, pulling Tara with you.

"Sam took it," those three words accomplished plenty of things, they woke Tara up, they made the woman talking to you curse loudly, and made you hope Susan's car was good to go. "How much of a head start does Sam have?" it was only at that moment that you truly realized what the tracker meant. What if Ghostface placed a tracker on your car as well?

"Considering where she is, I'd say an hour."

Shit, even if you rushed there was a high possibility she'd still get to wherever she was going way before you. "Thanks for calling. I'm going after her," you'd think about who was on the phone with you later.

You hung up and began getting dressed.

"Sam left?" Tara was sitting up, looking almost catatonic for a moment.

"She’s going back to Woodsboro," you wanted to help her, but the best thing you could do for Tara right now was make sure Sam was safe.

Tara grabbed your wrist and you saw the fear in her eyes. Was she afraid Sam was leaving her again?

"She went after Amber, Amber is one of the Ghostfaces," Tara revealed, her voice filled with anguish, and you saw red at the new information.

'God damn it, Sam, you better not kill Amber before I get there,' you thought.

~X~

Just for a moment Amber thought that maybe there really was something wrong with her. She watched her friends, Chad, Mindy, and Liv, drugged, unconscious, ready to be cut up to lure Sam back to Woodsboro. She’s known them for years, ever since she was a child. She knew Wes as well, she knew Tara. She loved Tara.

But she didn’t feel any regret, just a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction at the power she had. Maybe there really was something wrong with her, but she felt good, she felt like she had a purpose, something bigger than her, something grander than just one person. She was a fan that was turned into a star of her favorite fandom. Stu to Richie’s Billy.

So, what if she was a bit unhinged, if she lost it a bit as she stabbed Liv. Liv wasn’t screaming, so maybe she really did go too far with her. Maybe she hit a vital organ in her excitement. It was so easy, much easier than when she went after Tara, much less painful than trying to kill you. It wasn’t as thrilling though.

She should wait until Chad and Mindy regained consciousness.

[teaffrogy]

Everything's okay[Astarion]

SUM. Maybe it was jealousy what Astarion felt when Layla was with Wyll, and that they had fun. Maybe it was because Layla made fun of him and with Wyll she didn't. Maybe it wasn't hate what he felt with Layla but hurt.

A/N: Tav is Female in this part. Also I will make more side stories for everyone. :)) as always you can change it to whatever you'd like. If you have any request u can always send them to my inbox!! Love you all❤️ also I am sorry if Astarion seems OOC :(

Explanation here<-

Astarion wasn't very fond of Layla. After all, she is a kid, and he hates kids. She was a mess, a horrible mess. She gets dirty easily. She likes to get in the mud with scratches and the OwlCub. She was also a troublemaker. A big one. If Astarion looked away from his tent just for one second, his nicely stacked books were now all on the floor, or some of his belongings were missing.

Ha has openly said how much he hates Layla, but everyone calls him a jerk. Oh, but Layla had favorites, and one of them was Wyll. She admired him, she loved him!! And that annoyed him. He found it annoying how she would keep his tent so nice and tidied and nice. She never took anything and did not even make fun of him at all! He crossed his arms as he saw Layla talking with Wyll.

“Is something the matter?” You ask as you look at Astarion. He hummed and turned to look at you. “Oh, nothing, darling.” He says as he touches your face, admiring how gorgeous you looked. You smiled at him and kissed his hand. “Is it Layla again?” You ask as you look at your daughter who was playing with Wyll. You held his hand and smiled, “She will like you soon, okay? It just takes time for her.”

“Well apparently with Wyll she didn't.” He said and you chuckled at him. “Stop that,” Astarion says.

“Stop what?”

“Making fun Of me!”

“I am not! I just find it funny that you are jealous of Wyll.” You say. And he presses His hand to his chest, surprised. “I am not jealous. Not one bit! Actually, and I am sorry to say this, dear, but I hate Layla.” He says. You shake your head. “Okay, whatever you say.” She says and kisses his cheek. “You can feed on me tonight.” You say and head back to helping Gale. “Thank you, Darling.” He says, hoping you heard that. He looked back at Wyll, and Layla was looking at him. She had this curious look on her, but when she noticed Astarion looking at her, she stuck her tongue out and ran to her mother. You look at Layla gently pick her up and kiss her on her cheek.

Layla, while still looking at Astarion, kissed her mom on the cheek. He rolls his eyes at her and grabs his book. It wasn't like he cared anyway.

He sits down to read his book. And he knew that Layla was coming. He drops the book and grabs her arm. “Ah! I caught you!” He yells and Layla laughs. A Laugh she gives to Wyll or Karlach when they play. She stops, seeming like she noticed and stopped herself on purpose. And before she could run away, she kicked His nicely stacked books on the floor. She laughs at him and runs away.

“You little shit!” He yells.

As Astarion pulls away from your neck, gently, he takes the last gulp of blood he had left in his mouth, moaning at the taste. “Thank you again, Darling.” He says and you nod. You moved to touch his face and moved his hair behind his ears. He smiles at you and you smile back, bringing him into a soft kiss. You sit up and say, “I will be right back, I'm going to clean myself off. Please take a look at Layla while I am gone.” You grabbed some spare clothes and looked at Astarion. “Can I kiss you?” You asked.

“Can't get enough?” You giggled, and he brought you in for a kiss. You kiss him back, testing the metallic flavor of the blood he drank. “Okay, I'll be back soon.” You say as you walk away. Astarion stood there, not knowing if he should stay in his tent or go to your tent. He decided to stay, not wanting to be greeted by Layla's attitude if she did wake up. Like always, he grabs his book, turns on a candle, and starts to read. He would look up from his book to your tent from time to time. His red eyes scanned around, and everyone was in their tents, sleeping. It felt quiet and lonely.

But the silence stops as he hears soft sobs. He hasn't heard these sobs before. He turned to everyone's tent but everything seemed quiet. No candle was on. He looks at your tent and is met with Layla, her hair is messy and she's rubbing one eye as she sobs. She looked lost. She moves to look at Wyll’s tent but he isn't there. She looked over at Karlach but She wasn't there either. She looked at everyone but the candles were out and no one was outside, except Astarion. Her sobs become crying as she runs up to Astarion. He froze as he saw her running to him. She then lays in his lap and wraps her arms around him as she sobs. “I miss Mama.” She cries as she hugs him. He slowly moved his arms to wrap them around her small body and he sighed.

“She will be back soon,” Astarion says. “I want Mama back!” she cries, he could feel her tears wet his shirt, but it didn't matter. “Everything is okay.” He says as he gently rubs his hand on her hair. “She will come back.” He still holds onto her as the candle shines. Her crying calms down and her breathing becomes softer. As she falls asleep, Astarion still holds on to her. He fixes her up in his arms as her head is lying now on his arm instead of his shoulder. He grabs a blanket near him and puts it on her. He looks down at Layla. She had dried tears on her cheeks.

She must have been terrified. She lost her mom once. Is this how she was when she couldn't find her mom in the morning? Did she cry like this? Who did she hug? He brushes Layla's hair behind her ear and feels sad. She must have felt so alone. He didn't hate her, he just didn't like that Layla didn't like him. He wanted to have a good relationship like hers and Wyll's. He had a soft spot for her. And he had that feeling for you too, that feeling of having something to care for.

He hears footsteps approaching and he sees you. “Oh.” Was all you said as you saw Layla in his arms. You smiled at him and kissed Layla's forehead. “Thank you Astarion.” You say and press your forehead on his. “She looks just like you.”

“I know, I've been told that a lot.” You say and close your eyes. “I…I don't know what to do.” He says and you look at him. “She likes you, you know?” You say. “She did this to a boy she liked but didn't know how to approach him so she would throw anything at him. At the end, she just said she wanted to be his friend.” You say, remembering how your Layla, who was 5, told everything to you about that boy. She wanted a friend, she just didn't know how to be his friend.

“What if she actually Doesn't like me?”

“She does.” You say as you kiss his cheek. You look down at Layla, who was sleeping, so calmly. “We will try, okay?” You say and he nods.

“I don't hate her, I really care for her.”

“And she knows.”

He looks at Layla, and he actually sees her with you and him. In his life. Where you three all live together. Maybe he did want that. Layla, you, and him.

And everything would be okay.

Astarion was woken up by Layla's giggles. He opens his eyes and sees Layla looking down at him. “Hi.” She says.

This felt…weird. By now, his whole tent would be a mess, but it was nice, pretty like always. “Hello.” He says as he sits up. Layla looks down at her shoes and back at her mom, who was 7 feet apart from them. Layla was blushing, her little foot digging the floor. “I'm sorry.” She whispers. “I'm sorry for being a mean person to you.” Layla says, and Astarion just smiles at her. “It's okay, except for the fact you called me old.” Layla smiles at him, but her smile drops as she looks away from him.

“I just don't want Mommy to leave me again.” She admits. “And I won't take her.” He says. Her [Eye Color]’s look at his red eyes. “Really?”

“Really.” He says, and Layla smiles at him. She gives him a hug and runs back to her mom, giving her leg a hug and hiding behind it. She likes Astarion. And Astarion does, too.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 6: Dancing with Darkness

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

“Have you completely lost your mind? You can’t be serious!”

Shadowheart paces in front of you; a brooding scowl darkens the delicate features of her face. This is the third argument with her in as many days about you moving back in with Astarion and the obtuse notion that maybe you could help him regain some semblance of his old self.

Gale was due to return home soon, and you’re not looking forward to repeating this argument with him.

“I need to do this, Shadowheart.”

“You most certainly do not! You don’t owe him a damn thing.”

“It’s my fault he’s like this. I let him down in that ritual chamber.”

I should have tried harder to talk him out of it.

“He let you down,” she sneers, “do not allow him to make you think otherwise. Gods, I requested you stay out of trouble, not go barrelling headfirst towards it!”

“Shadowheart,” you gently grasp her arms to halt her ferocious stomping, “look at me.”

She inhales sharply at your touch, and you recognize that look from when Astarion used to touch you before you were this walking corpse.

You drop your grip, “Sorry. I forget how cold I am now.”

Shadowheart grabs your hands, concern furrows her brows and creases her forehead, “It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous. Don’t do this.”

“I know, but I must try. If not for him, then for myself. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why would you agree to such a thing in the first place?”

You sigh, “I think you know why.”

“You’re still in love with him.”

There’s pity in her eyes.

“I’m not sure I will ever not be in love with him.”

Shadowheart scoffs at you, but her voice loses its serrated edge, “Do you think he is still capable of loving you?”

No.

Yes?

No. I cannot allow myself the luxury of that fantasy.

“No… I don’t know, but that’s not what this is about. Astarion would have done the same for me once upon a time.”

“There’s no talking you out of this suicide mission, is there?”

You give her a solemn look and shrug your shoulders. There was nothing anyone could say to put an end to this madness. Your decision had been made that night in the Crimson Palace when you had watched him battle with himself as you clung to him.

“What if this is another carefully orchestrated maneuver to regain control over you?”

You shrug, “Then I am a foolish woman.”

“I would argue that you’ve far surpassed simple foolishness. Good Gods.”

“He doesn’t need to plan such an elaborate ruse if what he wants is simply control. I’m his spawn. He has the ability to control me completely at his whim.”

Shadowheart’s eyes narrow skeptically, “Is that what this is? Has he compelled you to do this?”

Has he?

“No. He asked for my help, and I gave it freely.”

Did I?

She huffs, her eyes upcast in exasperation, “I will never understand your deluded loyalty to him. Hells, Gale is going to be furious."

Loyalty or love?

“One angry friend at a time, okay?”

She chuckles with an exasperated sigh, “Less angry, more worried.”

“Your style of worry looks a lot like anger.”

She scowls at you, but one side of her mouth is tugged up in a wry half-smile, “I’ve been told that before.”

Shadowheart takes a deep breath and sits down. Her heartbeat starts to slow, and you nearly want to praise the Gods on your knees for it. That thrumming in her chest clamoured in your ears and made your mouth salivate obscenely. It took every ounce of your control to be in such proximity to her without lunging for her neck.

Astarion has been keeping you fed while attempting to teach you how to hunt for yourself, which is the only reason you can bear to be this close to Shadowheart in the first place. Your lessons are not going well, although he seems to find the spectacle of your ungracefulness extremely amusing.

My, my, how the tables have turned.

“I can’t believe you’re willingly returning to that dreadful palace.”

“You’ll be happy to know that I’m not.”

Shadowheart leers at you suspiciously, “What do you mean?”

“Not living in the palace was part of my… terms. Astarion purchased another residence.”

Her eyes go wide with surprise, “He agreed to this?”

“Shocking, I know.”

“But you will be staying close by, I hope? When something inevitably goes awry, you can return any time.”

“We will be in the upper city, I believe.”

“The upper city?” Shadowheart giggles, “How very posh.”

“Not my first choice, but would you have expected any different?”

She laughs, “No, I suppose not. He always gravitated towards luxury, like an insect to a flame. When is this happening?”

“Soon. I was hoping Gale might be home before I left so I could tell him myself.”

She winces, “It might be best if I do it.”

“I don’t wish to put that on you. I’ll return to tell him.”

“Perhaps, don’t bring Astarion when you do. Gale may be a gentle soul, but his feelings for you might lead him to do something rather rash.”

His feelings for me... I had hoped those were long put to rest. It seems she knows something I don’t.

You sigh loudly, “I know.”

Your fingers shake as you pack what little things belongings you have. Fear coils tepid and stewing in your chest. Shadowheart is right. Astarion is dangerous. There is no telling what he’s capable of or what he might do to you when you inevitably make him angry.

Replaying your recent interactions with Astarion in your head, you evaluate what seems to provoke him. Every time you’ve disobeyed or challenged him, in some way, shape or form, he loses himself. This realization scares you more than not knowing and opens up many other questions. You know what happens when you make him angry, but what happens when someone else does? His new lover, his “business” partners, whoever and whatever they may be, or anyone else for that matter?

I will undoubtedly upset him. I will not be intimated into being his subordinate, not again.

You’ve landed yourself in a precarious situation, and your life, if you can call it that, hangs in the balance, but you’re not unaccustomed to fighting for your life.

I may have finally thrust myself into a battle I cannot win.  

Astarion comes to retrieve you in the early morning to escort you to the place you and he will once again be sharing.

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s very… large.”

He chuckles, “Anything would look large to you after living in a bedroom for over a year.”

The manor is bright and airy. Heavy curtains are hung on all the windows but are pulled back to allow the sunlight to flood in. The shining radiance of the daylight you’re not used to hurts your eyes and causes your head to pound. You still fear the sun. Standing in it makes your stomach churn, and your muscles quiver.

This will take some adjusting to.

Nervously, you walk around the ground floor to familiarize yourself with your new lodgings while Astarion trails behind you.

Entering the large kitchen makes you wonder. In the time you had lived with him before, he would do the hunting for you as he did now and then drop you back off at your room and disappear. He had kept you corralled where he wanted you like an animal, and you had never witnessed him eat anything, blood or food.

I will not let myself be controlled like that again - no matter the consequences.

“Do you eat food now?”

“I can dine on both as I see fit, but I won’t if it bothers you.”

I miss food.

“It doesn’t,” you wave at him dismissively, “You can eat or drink whatever you please.”

Astarion gives you a sultry gaze, “Whatever I please?”

You ignore his provocative tone and climb the wide staircase. You peek into a cozy library. It seems Astarion has moved his rather impressive book collection already. The filled shelving reaches up to the high ceiling. The room has only one small window, which is covered to keep the sun’s bleaching rays from deteriorating the texts.

You continue down the long hall, which has multiple bedrooms off of it. You look into all of them curiously.

“Which room is mine?”

“Whichever one you want. There are several; take your pick.”

With all your charisma, you plaster an angelic smile on your face, “I want the biggest one.”

“I… uh-”

He’s still adorable when he’s flustered.

“Relax, Astarion,” you smile at him wryly, “I’m well aware that’s your room.”

“I could be convinced to call it our room.”

What? Nothing has been ours since he ascended unless he was saying candied falsehoods.

“That’s not what this is, is it?”

His eyebrow cocks, “What do you mean?”

“Trying to get me back into your bed?”

“To what end, my dear?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “Power. Control. Possession. Pleasure. Take your pick.”

“I suppose I deserve that.”

You scold yourself inwardly while running your fingers through your hair. You were still angry with him, of course, but you were letting it get the better of you.

“Sorry. I’m still-”

“Apology accepted,” he halts you with a resigned sigh, “I am angry at myself most days.”

Who is this person?

“I have business I must attend to in the city today.”

Your eyebrow cocks, “Business?”

“Yes.”

“With that terrible woman?”

He chuckles, “No, not today.”

“Something is off with her, Astarion. Be careful.”

“Oh, pet. Your jealousy is utterly adorable, but she’s harmless.”

You pivot swiftly, scowling, and poke your finger into his chest hard, “You will not call me “pet” anymore. Do I make myself clear?”

“I… Yes, I understand,” he looks around anxiously, “it never bothered you before.”

“You mean when you were a spawn?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t own me then. Moreover, you didn’t want to. It became a slight as soon as you thought of me as nothing more than another pretty possession.”

His knows knit together, “I do not wish to own you.”

“You have held it over me on multiple occasions.”

Astarion’s red eyes shift around as if searching his memories, “I have, haven’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Apologies,” he bows shallowly, “I’ll work on it.”

I am sure you will.

“You didn’t bring many things.”

“I don’t have many things anymore. I left it all behind when I left…”

Your words trail off, but Astarion finishes your sentence for you.

“Me.”

You nod, “Yes.”

“I’ll have your belongings brought from the palace.”

What?

Your eyebrows shoot up, “You still have my things?”

There’s no way he kept them all this time.

“Of course, darling. One doesn’t simply throw away perfectly good magical items. It would be a ghastly waste.”

“I figured you would sell it all.”

“I admit, I considered it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’m… not sure,” he waves his hand dismissively, “I just never got around to it, I suppose.”

Too busy bedding the trollop.

Ugh.

“How far is your business in the city?”

“Not far,” his brows knit together, “Why?”

You point to the windows, “The sun.”

“Right, of course. We will have to figure out where the limit is.”

“Astarion?”

I need to know.

“Hm?”

“Do you control it?”

“Control what, love?”

“The sun protection. When you sent me away, you eluded that you have the power to grant me that benefit or not. I need to know if this is another thing you can control me with.”

Astarion takes your hand in his, a sincere expression on his face, “I wouldn’t let you burn.”

“You might if you get angry enough with me, which you will. It’s a certainty. Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

This does not bode well for me.

Pulling away from him, you step back from the sunlight spilling through the nearby window. You shiver noticeably as you try to swallow the harsh truth that you might very well end up as a pile of ash on these floors one of these days.

Astarion squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, “I won’t allow the sun or myself to hurt you.”

“How can you be so sure of that, Astarion?”

“I just am.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shrugs, “It’s the only answer I have for you right now.”

You point at the room furthest from his, “I’ll take this one.”

“I’ll leave you to get settled then. I will inform you before I depart.”

The room is large, and the heavy curtains are already drawn, suffusing it in darkness. It’s furnished with a generously sized bed, a few wardrobes and several little tables with oil lamps and candles. A pair of plush chairs with a damask patterned fabric sit off to the side of the bed in front of a small stone fireplace with ornately chiselled dragons, vines and fire inlaid with gold and silver.

A small room just off the main holds a wooden tub and glass washbasin. You note there are no mirrors in this room, but you had spotted several throughout the manor.

Not that I need a mirror, but I imagine he can’t get enough of staring at himself now.

Crawling onto the bed, you wrap your arms around your knees and take deep breaths of useless air to try and settle the disquietude sitting heavy in your belly. Being here with him, knowing he was just outside that door and could barge in at any moment, was terrifying. You’ve been desperately trying to hide your fear from him since he came to fetch you this morning.

Shadowheart had tried to talk you out of this again before he had arrived, and you find yourself wishing you weren’t so mulish. You had been adamant with her that this was what needed to be done, but your resolve was wavering, especially with the knowledge that he did have control over your protection from the sun.

Had I known, would I have agreed to this?

Probably. Idiot.

Am I trying to get myself killed?

Maybe.

Rolling over onto your side, your eyes brim with tears. You have not known joy for so long, and you wonder if you simply agreed to this in the hope that he might end that suffering, whether on purpose or by accident. You push yourself into your meditative state to allow yourself some peace.

A knock jolts you from your trance, and for a moment, you panic, looking around the unfamiliar room. You never thought you would miss the smell of Shadowheart. She carried the fragrance of safety but also food. You console yourself with the knowledge that at least your friends are safe from your insatiable hunger.

Slipping off the bed, you unlock and open the door. Astarion is attired grandiosely, and you wonder what business he’s going to, but it’s none of your concern.

He’s so handsome it’s nigh on unlawful.

“I’ll be taking my leave now. The curtains are all drawn. I am unlikely to return until late.”

“Okay,” you look past him and around the dimmed manor, “thank you for letting me know.”

“You will be okay here on your own?”

“I’m not going to go chasing nobles through the streets if that’s what you’re asking.”

He chuckles, “Not what I meant, darling, but thank you for the assurances. I’ll see your delicious self later.”

Once you hear Astarion leave, you take another lap around the manor mentally making note of where all the windows are and inventory of all the exits.

Just in case.

In the kitchen, your eyes fall on a shelf full of extravagant and exotic wines, liquors and spirits.

Can a vampire spawn get drunk?

Fuck it.

Let’s find out.

You pick up whatever bottle your hands land on first, uncork it and gulp it down. You cringe at the taste of bitter, vinegary ash on your tongue. The liquor sits precariously in your stomach, a balmy tingle arising and spreading through your limbs. It’s been forever since you’ve had a drink, quite literally a lifetime.

You could never indulge in such stupidity when living with Shadowheart and Gale. Anything that could alter your mind or dampen your resolve was not a risk you could take, but here, the only person you were endangering was yourself.

An acceptable risk.

Finishing the bottle, you pick up another and take it to the large dining area, sitting at the dark wood table with delicately carved legs. You’re desperate to feel the numbing caress of the spirits as it fuels you with the courage you’re currently missing, even if that courage is nothing but a hoax being played on your dimmed mind.

Time passes by in a blur as you sit there encased in your own self-loathing and morbidity, and old memories you wish you could forget start to surface as the authority you have over yourself slips.

“Wake up, Astarion.”

You reach out but go to jostle him a little to pull him out of his trance, but his hand catches your wrist, and his eyes open in narrow slits.

“My favourite travelling companion, what can I do for you?”

“Keep your voice down, or you will wake the others. Get dressed and meet me at the edge of camp. Bring your weapons and wear your armour.”

Astarion sits up and peers around the camp. The others are all fast asleep in their tents around you. He cocks an eyebrow at you, confused but nods his understanding.

You creep as best you can through the camp away from his tent, but rocks grate harshly under your feet with every step. You stop and look around constantly to be sure you haven’t awoken anyone else.

“Gods, if you keep making that ruckus, you’ll get us both caught.”

Astarion’s sudden appearance by your side makes you jump, and he grabs you before you can clatter to the ground and muffles your breathy shriek with his hand tightly over your mouth. You pull his hand away from your mouth and scowl at him. You keep your voice in the quietest whisper you can.

"Not all of us are imbued with your talents, Rogue.”

“No, Sorceress,” he tuts, “that’s readily apparent. Do you trust me?”

“What are you on about?”

He smirks, “Don’t scream.”

Astarion sweeps your feet out from under you and lifts you effortlessly. He quietly carries you the rest of the way out of camp before setting you back down with a smug half-smile.

“You didn’t have to carry me.”

“Darling, I’m surprised you made it to my tent without waking the others. I heard you coming a mile away.”

“Why didn’t you say something then?”

He shrugs, “I wanted to see if you were coming to plunge a stake through my ribs.”

“And if I was?”

“Then I would have had to stop that pretty little heart of yours,” he pokes a finger into your chest, “Now, what are you waking me up for in the dead of night? I do need my beauty sleep, you know.”

“I’m going to go take care of the Gur tracking you. I thought you might enjoy the show, and if you care to lend a hand, I wouldn’t say no to the help.”

His eyes widen in surprise, “Why? You ever so vexingly made us walk away from him earlier.”

“Karlach and Wyll are not murderers. I didn’t want to stain their hands with blood against their will.”

“But you are? A murderer, I mean.”  

For you, yes.

“Sometimes… sometimes death is necessary, and I’m not afraid to do what’s necessary. I won’t allow him to make a deal with the Hag, hunt you down and take you back to Cazador.”

“How very… sweet.”

“Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me like I’m your next meal?”

“A man can dream. Lead on, my dear.”

With only the two of you, the battle with the Gur is fatiguing and arduous. He is well-equipped and trained, but your magic is a draconic firestorm. Astarion took him by surprise, allowing you both to land several attacks before he could recover. You hold back and let Astarion land the killing blow, driving his dagger deep into Gandrel’s chest.

Regardless of your magical prowess, you don’t make it out of the battle unscathed.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be fine. He caught me with an arrow or two.”

Astarion grabs your hands and shoves them hard against your wound, “Keep pressure on it. Hold on.”

He jogs over the Gandrel’s backpack and starts rifling through it. There’s concern inlaid in his features that you haven’t seen.

Well, other than for himself.

He returns to your side quickly and hands you a Potion of Healing, “Drink up. Preferably, before you bleed out.”

You roll your eyes at him but drink the potion happily, which eases some of your discomfort and refuels your body.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Astarion. Really, but you’re injured as well.”

“I’m already dead, my dear. Not to worry, I’ve been in far more dire straits. We are positively bathed in blood. We can’t return to camp like this unless you wish to appraise the others of our nighttime activities.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“There’s a river near that village. We can wash up there before I sneak us back into camp.”

You nod and start toward the river. The night is clear, and the moonlight is enough to light your way without the need for extra magical assistance.

When you arrive at the river, Astarion strips down without hesitation and wades into the running water. The pale light from the moon washes him in an otherworldly brilliance. A gentle breeze stirs his hair and casts frolicking shadows over him.

Gods, he’s beautiful. Mere words can’t do this man justice.

A haughty smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “Are you going to join me or just stand there gawking?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. You know I am all for shallow praise.”

You strip off your trousers and blood-soaked robe but hesitate when it comes to your undergarments, feeling suddenly shy as his crimson eyes pour over your body.

“Bashful tonight, are you? You were not so reserved when we were getting lost in each other in the forest.”

A rush of heat washes up to your face at his teasing, and he chuckles. With a deep breath, you calm your flighty nerves, strip down and wade into the river.

“I thought you said one or two arrows caught you.”

You look down at your body and see several wounds marring your flesh where arrows grazed you. There is a rather deep puncture wound in your shoulder where you had to pull one out mid-battle. That one would have lodged itself right into your heart had Astarion not pushed you out of its path at the last second.

“Or three or four. Who’s counting?”

Astarion’s fingers graze over the wounds lightly, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Are you concerned for me or at the waste of my blood?”

He shrugs, “Can it not be both?”

You huff an exasperated sigh and turn away from him, scrubbing the blood off of your hands, arms and body. Astarion’s chest presses up against your back, and his arm wraps around your waist carefully.

His lips ghost over your ear, “Thank you.”

“Drinking the expensive stuff, I see.”

Astarion’s voice nudges you out of your thoughts, and your eyes lazily drift to him leaning in the archway, observing you with an earth-shatteringly handsome smirk.

“I’ll pay you back for it.”

He laughs, “Your tab is running rather high these days - a rug, shirt, and now several bottles of imported liquor.”

“Sell my stuff like you were going to.”

“No, darling. I don’t need coin. Although, if you keep drinking like this, I may have to start picking pockets again.”

Astarion takes a seat at the table with you. Reaching over, he grabs the bottle and takes a long drink. He smells like his familiar self, but there’s a tinge of tangy blood, and it’s not his. He looks on edge, something frightening in his body language, and your throat constricts.

“How was your business meeting or whatever you’re up to?”

“Disappointing. I’d rather not discuss it.”

“You’re angry.”

“Yes.”

It comes out as a warning that makes your hair stand on end, and you fill your body with the weave, tugging on your inherent talents.

“Shall we go and get you some food and continue your lessons?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea tonight.”

He takes another swig from the bottle and sets it on the table. His finger taps the side, making the glass ting sweetly.

“I will change, and we can be on our way.”

“I said not tonight, Astarion.”

“I will not allow you to go hungry. We are going.”

“No!”

With a dark, dangerous growl, Astarion swiftly rises from his chair, grabs you by the throat and slams you hard against the wall. Your head bounces off of it with a loud thud, and stars burst in a spectacular light show behind your eyes.

Your head swims groggily, “Stop, Astar-!”

He increases the pressure on your throat, causing your words to cut off abruptly in a strangled wheeze.

“Or what, sorceress?” he laughs menacingly, “Are you going to burn me again?”

His eyes are once again listless and piercing, and he scowls at you grimly.

This is what I’ve agreed to. This is why I’m here.

I’m an idiot.

His grip on your throat stops you from being able to speak. If you’re going to get through to him this time, you’re going to have to resort to violence. It was something you didn’t want to do because violence seemed to escalate him further, not calm him down, but you can’t do anything pinned to this wall.

Thankfully, since Astarion has been keeping you fed, you’re stronger, relatively clear-headed, except for the liquor, and in control of your body.

Swinging your feet up in a swift motion, you plant them on his stomach and launch him backwards off of you. His grip is ripped away, and you clatter to the floor.

“You ungrateful petulant ingrate!”

“Astarion,” you croak, “I’m begging you. Listen to my voice and come back to me.”

“The Astarion you knew is long dead, pet. I should have let you burn!”

He’s taunting me, trying to provoke me. I have to keep my wits about me.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I… I-”

You’ve got him fumbling. Righting yourself, you launch at him, wrapping your arms around his neck with your legs secured around his hips. You cling to him and bring your lips to his. It feels like kissing a stranger and makes you want to cringe. He’s rigid and tense. His mouth is set in a hard line under yours.

You squeeze your eyes shut and say a small prayer to any God listening, hoping this works. If it doesn’t, you’ve lost before you could even really begin.

You feel the shift in him start as he trembles savagely against you. His hand grabs a handful of your shirt in a tight fist, and he grits his teeth.

You shift your lips away from his and bring them near his ear, “I’ve got you, Astarion. Fight.”

Squeezing closer to him, you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. All you can do now is wait and see if he can find his way out of the sadistic purgatory he retreats to when this thing, whatever it may be, takes over his control, compelling him to be this monster.

Your heart aches for him. All Astarion has wanted as long as you’ve known him was not to be a puppet, a slave to someone else’s whims and desires. The promise of power and eternal safety is what made the ritual so appealing to him. What a cruel joke it was to end up a slave to a version of yourself you don’t recognize.

Astarion’s hand snakes up your shirt and slides smoothly over the skin of your back, pulling you closer, “I’m back, little love. You can let go now.”

I don’t want to let go.

Releasing your grip on him, you slide back to the floor and step away, feeling unexpectedly shy.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, but you’re afraid.”

“I have good reason to be.”

He nods, “You do.”

“I need your consent, Astarion.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“If this is to continue, I need to know you’re okay with the… physicality. I can’t fight you back. It only drives you further away, and it will end up getting me killed. The only way I’ve been able to break you free from the chains your thoughts hold you with is… well, you know.”

You shift on your feet anxiously with your hands wrapped behind your back while he stares at you.

“Why do you think I would not be comfortable with such an…. arrangement?”

“You know exactly why, Astarion. If this is to continue, I need your assurance that I’m not pushing any boundaries.”

“You have my consent; do what you must, but do not allow me to harm you. Fight me if that’s what must be done. Fight me with everything you have. Don’t hold anything back.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Astarion.”

Even if I could.

The back of his fingers glide tenderly down your cheek, “Do what must be done, my love.”

No.

“Fine.”

He nods, and relief floods the vibrant red sea of his eyes, “If you do not wish to go hunting tonight, that’s fine. If that’s all, I will retire for the night.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

“What happens when someone else makes you angry? Someone that’s not me.”

His voice is dark, cold and grim, “They don’t survive.”

Oh… How many people has he killed? 

“I… see. Goodnight.”

Astarion doesn’t even look at you as he turns around and retires to his bedroom.

Withdrawing to your room, you lock the door and slide into the empty bed with a dismal sigh. He may not have said it outright, but the urging nature of his voice telling you to “do what must be done” was daunting.

Was he telling me to kill him if I must? Even if I were capable of it, could I do that to him? If it came down to my life or his, whose would I choose?

Too many questions, not enough answers.

You try to pull your trance over your consciousness to blanket it, but it doesn’t come. The events of the night weigh too heavily on your mind. Not only did you have to be wary of upsetting him, but you also had to be wary of anyone else who might aggravate him.

That’s why he smelled like blood tonight… Someone lost their life to his demons.

In truth, the people he was doing “business” with were probably hardly people who deserved to be saved anyway. Regardless, you worry that every time he gives in to these gruesome impulses, he might lose more and more of himself until there are no traces of him remaining.

A very fine mess indeed.

You toss and turn in your bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Your senses are all heightened and alert. You’re scared to sleep, to leave yourself vulnerable to attack with him so close by. A locked door will not keep him at bay if he decides he no longer wants to participate in this experiment.

“I won’t allow the sun or myself to hurt you.”

His words surface in your mind. How could he possibly know that? He just admitted that he kills others who provoke him, likely without remorse or thought. He had sounded so resolute when he said it as if it was just a simple matter of fact and not simply conjecture.

He hasn’t killed me yet, I suppose.

You spend the rest of the night flip-flopping around in your bed, lost in thought and unable to find any rest. 

You’re still wide awake, sitting in your bed when a knock at your door finally rings through the silence. When you answer it, the sun streams in bright and glorious, and you jump back, a reflexive habit, falling to the floor.

Astarion approaches you with sorrowful eyes, offering you a hand up, “You’re safe, love. I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”

You take his hand, and he hauls you up on your feet, “It will take some… adjusting to, I think.”

“Your belongings have arrived. Would you like me to have them bring it to your room or leave it downstairs?”

“Are they living or spawn?”

“Living.”

“Leave it downstairs. I can’t be trusted around them. I’ll bring it up myself.”

Astarion bows, “As you wish.”

He disappears out your door to give directions to whoever has been sent to fetch whatever belongings remain at the palace. Soon, you can hear hearts beating heavily with effort, and it sounds like a euphony lullaby. It marks your guts stir with well-known, unslakable sanguine thirst.

Crushing your eyes shut, you dig your nails into your palms harshly, causing shallow wounds that weep blood to give you something else to focus on other than the siren song of the living.

One day without food and I’m already losing it.

Astarion’s hands find yours, and you lurch at the sudden contact, “They’ll be gone soon, darling. Hold onto me.”

You need to anchor yourself on something, anything, and you fold your arms around him and hold on tightly, gripping handfuls of his coat. You put your ear to his chest and try to focus on the sound of his beating heart. His hand rubs your back comfortingly. It feels like forever to you before a voice rises from the staircase.

“Master Ancunin?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve finished.”

“Very good. You may leave.”

“As you say, saer.”

The door shuts, and the beating tune of hearts fades slowly. Your hands finally unclench and stop tugging on his jacket.

“Getting blood all over my clothing again, I see.”

Shit.

“Sorry. I… I wasn-”

A low laugh catches you off guard, “Don’t worry, my sweet. I’ve learned not to wear my fine clothing around you. You’re always bleeding on me, burning me, or throwing me across courtyards, after all. Look at me.”

Looking up at him, he brushes your hair back, “You didn’t sleep at all last night. Why?”

“How do you know?”

“I can hear you tossing around in here.”

Shifting away from him, you cast your eyes at the floor, “I’m not used to sleeping at night.”

Not quite a lie, but not quite the truth.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

How does he always know when I’m lying? I’m able to persuade most people, but not him, never him.

“I should get my things.”

“Would you like a hand?”

“No, thank you,” you smirk, “I’m sure Master Ancunin has more important things to do.”

He chuckles, “Cheeky pup, aren’t you? If you need help, you know where to find me.”

You have to make several trips to bring all your old things to your room, stacking boxes and crates in a corner.

I didn’t realize how much I left behind.

Astarion kept all your clothing, robes, quarterstaffs, circlets, and various enchanted rings and necklaces. It takes hours to unpack, sort through it and put it away.

Reaching into a long crate, you pull out the Cazador’s quarterstaff, Woe. You reflexively throw it to the ground, and it clatters on the wooden floor with a loud bang. You shuffle back away from it as fast as you can, as if it were threatening your life by simply existing.

Astarion appears in the open doorway to your bedroom, seemingly out of thin air. He perceives the horror afflicting your expression and looks around as if searching for danger.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out a little too fast, “Everything is fine.”

His eyes search the room and land on the quarterstaff strewn on the floor.

“Quarterstaff troubling you, my dear?”

“Why did we keep this thing?”

“It’s a decent item,” he shrugs, “I’m sure it has its uses.”

Images of Astarion completing the ritual and ascending froth over in your mind.

The red glow of his eyes. The sound of the other spawn and prisoners popping. The maniacal laugh that resounded from him.

You recoil, cringing, “I don’t want it. Get rid of it.”

He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, “Why? It could be useful.”

“I don’t care how useful it could be. I don’t want it. Sell or destroy it. I couldn’t care less but get rid of it.”

He cocks a brow at you, confused, “If that’s truly what you want. Perhaps I’ll give it to Elowyn.”

“Elowyn?”

“Ah, yes, you don’t know her name.”

The mulberry-haired woman.

A jumbled fusion of betrayal, anger and jealousy rises like bile in your throat, “Don’t you dare, Astarion.”

“Why not? You said you don’t want it, and I have no use for it.”

“She’s dangerous. Something is off about her.”

He giggles, “Jealous, are you? That’s very cute.”

Jealousy does not begin to describe it.

“You never listen to me. I said she’s dangerous!”

“Darling, she’s a mere human. She’s no more of a danger to me than a fly is to carrion.”

“You’re blind if that’s what you truly think, Astarion.”

“Care to elaborate on your analysis of my relationship?”

Relationship? Ouch.

That stings.

“I’m assuming she knows what you are.”

“She knows I’m a vampire. Nothing more.”

“Gods, for someone smart, you’re dull sometimes.”

He laughs, “Am I?”

“Give me the fucking quarterstaff. It’s safer in my hands than it is in hers.”

“No, you said get rid of it. I will oblige your request.”

You cast Telekinesis, ripping it out of his hands, and grasp it. It feels repulsive in your palm, and you shudder, fighting the urge to throw it to the ground.

You level a challenging glare at him, and the intonation of your voice is defiant and harsh, “I said it’s mine.”

You catch his eyes shift again. The telltale sign you’ve irked him in some form, and you wait for the inevitable strike. Astarion grits his teeth, but keeps his eyes open, staring into yours boringly.

“May I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Please.”

There’s urgency in his voice, and you watch as his hand balls up into a shaking fist.

He’s trying to fight it himself, but he needs my help.

“Yes.”

Astarion crosses the room quickly, ripping the quarterstaff out of your hands and throwing it to the ground. His lips meet yours with desperation, like you’re the single thing in existence that will keep him afloat.

His hands find your waist and tug you closer to him, crushing himself against you. Your eyes flutter shut, and you’re engulfed and consumed by the depraved thoughts swirling through your head.

His kiss turns rougher, more insistent, and you murmur against him. He takes the opportunity, and his tongue slips between your lips. Any rational thought you were capable of is blown away in a supernova of sensation and is replaced by desire and passion alone.

You want him. You want him with everything you have and everything you are so entirely you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted anything else more in your life.

Astarion grinds into you with a rumbling groan, and you can feel his pulsing erection. He guides your hips and rolls them against himself, eliciting a shuddering pant from you at the exquisite friction against the throbbing in between your thighs.

“Gods, you feel good against me.”

His voice breaks you out of your passion-fuelled delirium, and you push him away, taking several steps back.

“Are you back?”

“Oh yes,” he coos, “I’ve been me for quite some time now.”

“Great. Now, get out.”

“What? You can’t be serious. Look at you; you’re practically vibrating with need, as am I, quite obviously,” his eyes shift towards the bulge in his trousers with a devious grin, “We could assist each other.”

“Go get Elowyn to assist you.”

His brows knit together, “Is that really what you want?”

“What I want hasn’t mattered to you for quite some time, I imagine.”

“What do you want? Name it, and I will make it yours.”

You.

You point at Woe, “I want you to destroy the quarterstaff.”

“What?”

Will he? I’m pushing my luck.

“Destroy it. Snap it in half. You’re strong enough to do that, are you not?”

“Of course, but-” he sputters.

“No, “but,” Astarion. You either do as I ask, or you decline. The choice is yours.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow slightly and shift to the quarterstaff lying where he threw it. He picks it up, inspecting it raptly. His crimson eyes slither up the surface of it while his hands do the same.

With a growl, he easily snaps it in two. A bright flash of light emits as the magical enchantment is released, making that terrible, hideous thing nothing but an inert hunk of useless, gleaming metal.

“A pity,” he pouts, “I do hate to waste perfectly good treasure.”

He actually did it?  

“Thank you, Astarion.”

“I aim to please,” he bows shallowly, “Now get ready. The night is almost upon us, and I imagine you’re ravenous.”

In more ways than one.  

Thank you to everyone who reads/likes/comments/reblogs! I plan to keep updating as long as people seem to be enjoying the story.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

[mistystepmoonbeam]

Reborn into BG3: Chapter 7

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 7: To the goblin camp!

Word count: 2.1K

The next morning you’re exhausted and nauseated.  You aren’t sure how much blood Astarion took but it was enough to get Tav flitting around you, his mother duck feathers ruffled.  

It’s hard not to look at Astarion as you try to gauge the vampire’s attitude—does he want to tell the others?  After feeding on Tav the others just seemed to know in the morning once you start talking to him, so you’re at a loss for words stuck between wanting to tell the truth, and wanting to earn Astarion’s trust.

“Looks like you and Astarion had a late night last night,” Karlach interjects with a wide grin.  “Saw him slinking out of your tent in the wee morning hours.  Gotta say I’m a little jealous—of both of you I mean.  Getting to touch another person like that…”

Gale chokes on his water, sputtering and coughing behind you. 

“I don’t think that’s what they were doing, Karlach,” Shadowheart says.  “Unless it was before he took a bite.”

Karlach laughs.  “Isn’t biting part of the fun?”

“Biting?” Tav questions.

You lift your arm, expecting to see dried blood and two little holes in your wrist but it’s completely normal.  Even whatever blood hadn’t made it into Astarion’s mouth was nowhere to be seen.

Shadowheart reveals, “I healed the wound and cleaned up the blood.  Astarion didn’t want to be blamed for you bleeding out in the middle of the night.  Nor did I.”

“Thanks,” you respond, eyes still on your wrist.  If you didn’t feel like throwing up it’s like it never even happened.

Gale appears at your side.  “To each their own, I always say, but if it leads to such dire circumstances perhaps you should find yourself a more suitable partner.”

“For the love of—“ Astarion cries out.  “We didn’t have sex!  I fed—I’m a…I’m a vampire.”

That little admission didn’t sound intentional, but you’re glad to have the attention on him. 

He must have told Shadowheart because she’s the only one that isn’t displaying shock, confusion, curiosity, or disgust.  

“But you’re in the sun.”  Karlach is first to break the quiet.

There’s a discussion about what the parasite is capable of, resulting in Karlach complaining, “So you can walk in the sun but I still can’t touch anyone?  Seems unfair.”

Tav grabs you into a one-armed hug, nearly slamming you against his chest as he points his other hand at Astarion.  “You feed off me next time!  I have more blood, I can afford it.”

“Isn’t it better if he feeds on me?” you ask into the tieflings chest.  “Since I’m not going out and fighting off goblins and spiders?”

Your dream comes back to you—talking around the fire, learning magic with Gale…but you can’t decipher which is memory and which is the dream.  You focus on it, knowing that Tav had found the amethyst and was tossing it around like a toy only to be scolded by Gale.  But no book.  Maybe that was why you hadn’t felt anything from it in the dream—there was no memory to pull from.  You find yourself a little disappointed by the fact that Gale hadn’t offered to test your magic but quickly push away the feeling.

You push Tav away, too.  “Besides, I’m fine.  I’m not that important here anyway so if Astarion needs to feed on me now and again he’s welcome to.”

“Thank you, darling,” Astarion says, “but I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

After that the group forces you to consume as much fruit as possible in a single sitting.  Soon enough your nausea isn’t from blood loss but overeating, and you’re shooing away the worriers—Tav, Gale, and Karlach. 

“Don’t you guys have somewhere to be?  Halsin is still out there.”  There’s a pang in your chest knowing he’s in the goblin camp.

“That’s true.”  Tav sighs.  “You should come with us.”

You pause, wondering if you looked healthier than you felt.  “…why?”

“It’ll be fun?  And when you lose blood it’s better to be out and about.”

“That doesn’t sound remotely right,” you reply.  Tav is kneeling beside you, eyes large and watery as they look into your own.  Can tieflings be half puppy?  You have to stop yourself from agreeing to his request on the spot.  “I don’t want to slow you guys down.  Or get one of you killed.  Or die.”

“We aren’t going to be fighting, they’re going to let us in.”

There’s too many variables and you’re forced to repeat, “Why?”

“We went back and got Sazza, the goblin you saved,” Tav explains.

“She was grateful enough to offer us an introduction to her tribe and leaders,” Gale says.  “I’m sure your presence will grease the wheels, so to speak.” 

You conceded, if only after Tav gave you another small health potion.

You set out with more party members than you thought you would—Tav, Karlach, Gale, and Astarion.  You hope Wyll would be enough of a buffer for Shadowheart and Lae’zel as they search the upper roads for signs of the githyanki.  It’s strange to see the camp split up, but it makes more sense than leaving people to sit around all day. Granted, you’d love to be sitting right now as you approach the bridge leading into the goblin camp.  It’s not just the fatigue, or the anxiety of being surrounded by goblins, but knowing what will happen when they cross the bridge.  When you cross the bridge.  And what it means if nothing happens. You hadn’t actually seen the device Shadowheart held and she wasn’t even here right now…

“It will be okay,” Gale says quietly.  You’d lagged back far enough for him to notice, and stay near you.  “You’ve seen just how charming our fearless leader is.”

You force your lips into a shaky smile and nod.  With Gale at your side you catch up to the others as they’re about to cross the bridge into the ruined shrine.  The spiky barricades aren’t nearly as threatening as what’s about to come. 

Tav sets one foot on the bridge, then Karlach, Astarion, Gale…you.  Your leader is halfway across when you briefly think you might be in the clear, until he falls to his knees.  He grunts in pain, holding his head as the others follow suit, all of them going down at the same time beneath the pressure of the Absolute.  

You flinch back and…nothing.  You’re fine.  You hear no voice, feel no pain in your body, other than what you had before, and watch while the others shiver and groan, listening to the Absolute's message about the chosen three.  You grip your staff as you watch with wide eyes, heart clenching, unable to help them or understand why you aren’t included.  But the tadpole in your head doesn’t stir, not even when the relic shoots out of Tav’s bag and saves them from the Absolute’s control.  It glows orange as it floats above Tav until he can grab it, releasing the group.

“What in the bloody Hells was that?” Astarion shouts.

They’re each breathing heavy as they stand, shaking their heads in hopes of clearing their minds.  

“I think that was the Absolute,” Gale suggests, “and her chosen.”

“Whatever it was, that thing protected us.”  Karlach’s eyes are in the Githyanki device in Tav’s hands.  He shifts it between his fingers but it doesn’t react, so he puts it back into the bag at his waist.

And nobody questions you.  Being the last one behind, they seem to assume you’d heard the voice and seen the vision, too.  You’ve never been so grateful to be an unimportant extra.

You try not to let your exhaustion show in front of the goblins.  Your body and mind both feel like there’s a heavy weight on them, pushing you towards the ground until your knees want to buckle.  You’re using the staff to help keep you upright, and blame everything on blood loss and anxiety.  

Thankfully Gale was right about Tav’s charisma and you get inside the temple with little trouble.  The trouble being dragging Tav away from chicken chasing.  They have a chicken, not an owlbear, and the only other human there is Volo so you’re not sure what route was taken yesterday.  Nobody had mentioned an owlbear, meaning they had skipped past the cave…or perhaps didn’t want to tell you about killing the cub.

Regardless, apparently chicken chasing is as fun for Tav as it is for the goblins, and you’re only able to get him away and into the temple by promising you’ll give it a try when you’re feeling better. 

Once inside and past the guards, you see Priestess Gut.  Her presence is more imposing than her stature suggests and there’s a crackling fear that runs through your body when her eyes fall on you.  Tav takes the lead, denying the branding after a quick meeting of the worms, and the Priestess invites him elsewhere. 

“Not that one, though,” she says, looking at you.  “That one’s not a True Soul, been abandoned by the Absolute.  They’ll stay locked up until we’re done.”

“Huh?”  It’s all you can think to say as two goblins with pikes and shields approach you.  They don’t get close enough to touch you before the others step to your aid, which puts the rest of the surrounding goblins on alert, drawing their own weapons.

“Not gonna happen,” Karlach announces.

“Put your weapons down while I’m bein’ nice,” Priestess Gut orders.  “I could just have you all killed on the spot but I’m feeling generous–you’ll all walk out of here fine but that one stays in the cage until we’re done.”

Tensions rise when she spits out the words “that one”, like you’re some gnat needing to be squished.  Your companions don’t lower their weapons, and neither do the goblins.  You know how this fight goes, you know it can be won when turns are taken but right now there are no turns.  No waiting.

“I’ll go!” you shout.  You hold your staff out to Gale, cursing the slight tremble in your hands and voice.  “It’s just for a bit.  I’ll wait for you guys in…prison.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Gale whispers.  He only takes your staff when you shake your head.

Karlach and Tav seem about to argue, fight even, before the goblins can react, but you shake your head at them as well.  I’ll be fine, you think.  You wish you understood how to use the tadpoles to send messages, but maybe it went through anyway because they all holster their weapons.  Even Astarion, whom you’d hadn’t realised was willing to fight on your behalf as well, returns his daggers to their holsters.

“Just uh, don’t be too long, okay?”  You try not to think about the people the goblins are cooking outside, or that the butcher is in the same place you’re about to go.  You don’t look back at anyone as you’re taken away, hoping you didn’t just sentence yourself to death.

And it did feel like a death sentence walking past all the goblins.  But it was a little exciting, too.  The heavy beat of your heart couldn’t decide if it was from dread or a morbid interest in the creatures that barely came to your waist.  While still in sight of your companions nobody said a word to you.  You think the entire journey is going to be silent when a goblin shouts, “Hold up, eh?”

You and the guards halt, turning to the source of the voice.  Sazza.  She eyes you, but she isn’t what you’re wary of right now.  Beside her floats the scrying eye.

When the game says looking at it is like falling into an inky black pool, it’s not wrong.  You waver a moment as the hairs on the back of your neck raise, the feeling of being watched coming over you.  But it’s a different kind of watch than the goblins, more predatory.  If that was possible.

“What d’ya want?” one escort says.

“This thing flew right over when it saw this one,” Sazza explains with a wave at you.  “Guess it likes ya.  I should probably say thanks by the way, for takin’ the arrow.”

She doesn’t actually thank you.  

The scrying eye spins around you, floating up and down as if taking stock of you, kind of like when Gale first came out of the portal.  Was it interested in your coat, too?  Soon enough it stays in front of your face, examining your features.  You don’t have an option menu before you, and with a waver in your voice you say, “Uh, hello?”

The eye vibrates, or shakes, or maybe it shivers.  

“S’weird,” Sazza says, watching the eye.  Nobody can disagree with that.

“C’mon,” your other escort says.  “Don’t care if that things watchin’, gotta get the prisoner downstairs.”

They begin to lead you towards the worg pens and the eye follows you.  The only reason it leaves your side it when the door to the pens slams shut before it can get inside.

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